by Ward Fulton
"But he didn't punch it in right away. He just let me slide down until his Big Baton was resting up against my slit, letting me feel the quivering of it. And my twat did the rest. It practically nibbled at Dad's prick, the lips actually working. I could feel it, as if my cunt wanted to eat that huge thing.
"By that time all I could see of his love-stick was the shiny head, dribbling a little juice, poking over the edge of my mound, working slowly back and forth, peek-a-boo fashion, popping in and out between my legs. I could feel that pulsy shaft rubbing the side of my pussy and the nibble-nibble of my cunt lips against it. That wasn't any tame pussy down there, that was a hungry little tiger cat, ready to eat it up.
"Funny thing. My twitchy twat was active as hell, working on Dad's love-stick but the rest of me was limp. When one foot slipped off the chair seat, I just let it dangle. Yet I could feel. And feeling seemed magnified. I could have counted the scratchy hairs on his leg just from feeling them against my skin. And wherever he touched me with his hands, I could seemingly feel the roughness of his skin and maybe even his fingerprints.
"Everything was keyed up, bigger than life. Even I felt bigger. And yet lighter, sort of floating-the way you get with a fever. Maybe screwing is a kind of fever.
"Then Dad started maneuvering my hips and twisting himself, so that his dong was pushing that love-knot right at my cunt. Pushing hard. While he kept up a sort of running murmur against my boobs, running his tongue around my nipples. Once in a while he'd kiss my throat or run his tongue along that pulsing vein just under my ear, until it made a kind of roaring in my head, as if even my hearing was magnified, hearing the scrape of his tongue on my skin.
"Yet everything in me was concentrated on what was happening down at my twat. His love-knot, that big, purple head, was thrusting aside the lips of my cunt, stretching it until it hurt so much I gasped. It hurt, but I didn't want things to stop. And, weak as I felt, I thrust right back. I felt the big stretch, where my wet, hot cunt lips opened their widest-and the big love-knot slid in.
"Dad paused for a moment, once his big head was inside. That sort of gave me an opportunity to catch up on things. Hazily, maybe, but enough to know I was really getting fucked, and, despite the pain-and don't kid yourself, a tightly stretched cunt can hurt-liking what was going on, and wanting more. Not that I could imagine anything more. Then, at that moment, Dad's big love-knot in me was fucking. It was exciting, but there was still something lacking. It didn't finish anything off for me.
"Then Dad started working his pelvis back and forth, moving that hefty love-knot farther and farther up me. I didn't know where it was going, but I could feel each new movement, each new penetration. They hurt some-not as much as that first big stretch, but some; nothing, however, to compare with the heat they generated or the excitement they built up.
"I could look down and see Dad's love shaft-less and less of it as he reamed up me-and feel it moving on up inside me. I didn't think I could move-I felt too limp-or wanted to. But suddenly I did want to-I didn't decide it. My cunt and my insides decided it for me. And I was humping and moaning. And my cunt lips were chewing and milking at Dad's love muscle. He was humping at me, driving his shaft deep into me, until I was sitting hard down on his hairy bush.
"We were sitting in that big leather chair, humping at each other, with me clawing at Dad to get more of him up me, which wasn't really possible. And Dad was mouthing at my boobies and holding tight to me, just wiggling me a little and keeping the rhythm smooth.
"Suddenly he gripped me very tight, holding me rigid, while he pulled his joy-stick way, way back down my love tunnel-and we held it like that I knew this was the big moment-the real wow-but what it would be like I hadn't ever tried to figure out.
"Then I knew. Dad rammed his love-knot back up my tunnel so far it seemed to stretch my tunnel till it was ready to knock up against my diaphragm. My cunt lips felt it first, the surge and swell in his shaft, and on up, up, up my tunnel, until everything let go. I felt his hot come explode in me, really hot. And I tried to hold on to it, to hold that moment of intense excitement. And couldn't. Everything let go at once.
"I was gushing hot juices, one big splash and then lots of smaller ones, and slowly collapsing. Dad was leaning his head between my boobs and whimpering as if he might cry. He'd roll his head a little and then shudder, and a new load of jism would hit me, starting some new sensations for me, too.
"I could feel Dad's love-muscle subside, like it was shrinking, and come sliding out of my cunt. Like a plug out of a drain, it came out, with all our juices streaming behind it, leaving me shivering and shuddering.
"Dad revived some, then, and picked me up, setting me back on the desk, and went down on me, scooping out the juices with a rough, hungry tongue and starting things twanging inside me again. But that gradually subsided, too, until I was just a limp bundle of sweaty meat, but very, very satisfied, even if my experiment went a lot further than I had meant it to go. I had only started out to see if I could get a man stirred up-and I'd found out I could. My own dad. And I found out I liked both the stirring up and what came afterwards-the real nitty-gritty-getting fucked. But that was just the beginning."
Alexis S- is bright, attractive, and brash. In another atmosphere she might have grown up to be a gay, happy young married, a social leader, and a splendid mother. The elements for all this existed in her. She has no false self-pity, makes no effort to shift the blame to where it really belongs, on her wealthy parents: a mother who lived a life where sex was almost a way of life and a father who had too little restraint.
While the life she lived does not necessarily mean a girl becomes a sexual delinquent, yet, with the liberties and economic freedom of the very rich, there is lacking many of the restraints-perhaps a bit puritanical-of our Western civilization and the great middle-class mores. By these, while we are not always willing to admit they are "middle class," most of us live, accepting even some of the puritanical restraints with only the mildest of protests, even though we may regard many of them as ob-surd.
Alexis remained loyal to her first lover-her father-even when he was being harangued and prosecuted for his amorous interests in her sister, Carol, who, by Alexis's account, was very much an opportunist, exploiting her sex. Alexis does not press the point of her sister's exploitation of sex. She simply states, as a fact that occasionally puzzled her, that Carol obtained expensive gifts in exchange for her sexual favors. Alexis, as her later statements show, does not seem to have considered the economics of sex at all. She accepted gifts from her wealthy father, but more because he was her father than because he was her lover. She made no attempt with her other lovers to work them for gifts. Alexis did not choose her lovers on a sound economic basis, as her mother and sister did. She often selected a relatively "poor" but attractive male in preference to one who could give her substantial rewards. In the milieu in which Alexis moved, there were, of course, no truly poor individuals.
Alexis, even though she was sexually precocious, appears to have retained for some time a curious ambivalence, that of a little girl operating within a maturing body. She still, after several sessions with her father, was more concerned with malteds and hamburgers than with the gifts he could have given hen as will be seen when her narrative is resumed. Nevertheless, she had considerable compulsion toward sex, having been aroused and inflamed by the society within which she moved. She set out deliberately to "stir up" her father-the closest available male. There can be little doubt that she was practicing a strong psychological tendency toward ambivalence in not allowing herself to recognize that this "stirring up" was to become sex. So that she had what Klein and Riviere, in their Love, Hate and Reparation, call "compulsion and dependence." She had the compulsion and yet she seemed to feel she could trust in her dependence on her father.
She was right. Except that she did not realize, or remained willfully blind to, the fact that her father was a strongly sexed male and that, since he saw little of his two daughters in their
normal intra-familial relationship, he could not entirely regard her as a daughter or the act as incest.
Capri and Brenner, in Sexual Behavior: Psycho-Legal Aspects, blame the male's approach to very young girls, such as Alexis was at the time her father seduced her, on the fact that the male is "unable to achieve satisfactory heterosexual relationships due to psychic impotence" and therefore turns to children, rather than prostitutes "because of fear of humiliation were he to experience sexual failure."
There may be just a hint of truth in this about Alexis's father. He may have, during his marriage with her mother, suffered the "humiliation of sexual failure." Her mother told so many conflicting stories about the reasons for the divorce that Alexis was unable to sort out truth from fantasy.
Her father certainly, by Alexis's account, seemed virile and capable of repeated sexual acts. On the other hand, his two known paramours were his teenage daughters, with whom he may well have been sexually uninhibited.
From Alexis's account, she certainly provoked the sexual encounter with her father. There is every reason to believe that Carol was equally as aggressive if not more so. This sexual aggression among young girls is not unusual. Wilhelm Reich, in The Sexual Revolution, cites a study of 495 young girls of school age, among which he found 25 were pregnant, and the remainder had had some form of sexual experience but "managed to avoid pregnancy because of the knowledge of contraceptive methods." He also indicates that the majority of these young girls had had their initial sexual encounters in their own homes, that is, by incest, in which they were at least partially the aggressor. He says, with typical Germanic bluntness: "They knew what they were doing."
Alexis may not have fully realized what she was about when she sought to arouse her father but she certainly became very rapidly involved in the emotional situation she created. Later, she set about a rather spectacular approach-a striptease. It is an old and very effective "aphrodisiac," recognized even in Salome's time and among the.priest-kings of Ephesus. Karl Bernhardt, in Natural Sex Techniques, devotes a major portion of a chapter to this form of sexual arousal. He says: "The mildly aphrodisiac effect of… music has already been outlined. Dancing to music is an even greater stimulus."
Alexis refused to play her mother's game and would not testify against her father, though Carol, caught in flagrant delicto, through her mother's deliberate planning, made an adequate case against the father.
"Dad has a private bathroom, with the grooviest gadgetry shower in it, a real space-age dingus. The water doesn't come from above but from rings all around, up and down, with temperature controls for the different rings and different sides of each ring. You practically need an engineering course just to get in it.
"In there together, he could make it cool for me and warm for him, or we could sort of dance around each other, getting warm and cool showers. But the real fun wasn't in the gadgetry. It was in being in there together, with Dad sponging me off with a big, squishy sponge. He also had some very bubbly soap that frothed way up, until we were practically to our knees in scented foam. Oh, I've seen bubble baths before, but never a bubble shower.
"Dad was very gentle with me, because I.still ached some from having his love-meat slammed into my cunt, sponging me very softly and slowly, sort of lingering a bit, as if he enjoyed it, too. Which I guess he did. Come to think of it, a man maybe gets as big a kick out of sex as a girl. Or there wouldn't be so much sex-and a lot less babies, and things would grind down to a halt, with no humans. I sure hadn't thought of that angle when I started on my big. experiment. A person doesn't. I mean, when you think about yourself and how you're going to act and react, you don't always figure the other person's responses.
"I know I had miscalculated Dad's. I was way off. And even about myself. I just intended to stir-things up a little, and watch Dad squirm and feel me get hot in the twat. I guess that's about what Nero said when he lit the match that started Rome burning-he just wanted to stir things up.
"I had lit my match-and I burnt my britches behind me and in front. And liked it. I'm not complaining one bit. Dad's love-muscle reaming up me was the most! And playing around in the shower afterwards came a close second. It was almost as good as a fuck. That warm sponge riding up between my legs, right on to my twat, was like a second ride on Dad's broomstick, almost.
"Dad left the sponge between my legs, so I could pump 'em a little and get spurts of warm water squirting up my cunt and watch the puffs of bubbles squeeze up around my mound. Fun! And Dad could give his whole attention to swabbing at my boobs and swishing the soft cloth around my nipples.
"Maybe the best part of it all was that I could see Dad's love-shaft, hanging out of his mat of wet hair, and dangling at first, reddish with knotty blue veins all through it. Gradually, as we played around in the shower, Dad working on my twat and then my nipples and boobs, sometimes kissing them and making faces on account of the taste of soap, his big baton got back into formation, swelling and standing up.
"I could bump against it every now and then, just pretending I hadn't noticed, and feel it quiver. A couple of times I turned my back and bent a little, so his love stick hobbled against the cheeks of my ass. Real fun stuff! And once I turned around and just let my hand rest on it, wrapping my fingers around that thrilling old, throbbing old shaft.
"Dad caught my hand under his own and squeezed down, so my hand, underneath, was squeezing on his cock. He grinned at me. 'Like it, kid?' I had to draw a deep breath, still holding his prick, to decide-and I did like it. So I nodded. Dad moved my hand up and down his shaft, playing with it, and watching me real close.
"He began to do some deep-breathing exercises of his own as he drew me closer in the shower. 'You like playing with your Dad's dong, don't you?' When I nodded, he said, 'How'd you like to taste it?' And waited.
"How did I know if I'd like to taste it? I never had. It's like asking somebody who's never had any how they like olives. So I told him, 'I don't know. Maybe I'd like it Maybe not. But I'm willing to try. And his joy stick did look like a big tasty stick of candy. Watching it, I found myself getting real interested.
"I'd been fucked, really reamed, and while the stuff we were doing in the shower was exciting and sort of building things up again inside me, I didn't want to go that route again. Things were still too tender down between my legs. My love tunnel needed to get used to that big stretch, good as it had felt. If there was another way of getting a thrill out of Dad's big baton I was willing to try.
"Dad hugged me in the shower. 'Try is all I ask, Alex.' He ran his hands up and down my wet back and cupped my little butt, pulling me up against his prick. 'Yes, baby, I think you'll like it. As much as you liked getting fucked.' He rinsed us off quick and then warm air swished out and dried us as we turned around in a kind of slow waltz, with Dad's dong riding between my legs and right up against the lips of my cunt, making things very, very exciting for me, along with my tits rubbing against his lower ribs.
"When we were dry-or pretty near-Dad picked me up. He had to, because I was limp from the lovemaking, the shower, and the new excitement building up. He carried me to that big desk of his and laid me across it, with my legs dangling off one side and my head just at the other. Almost like before, only he wasn't sitting facing my twitchy twat. He was standing at my head, bending down to kiss my mouth, with his face upside down.
"He went on from there, working his way slowly down my body, kissing and tonguing my throat, my boobies, giving my nipples an extra swirl, another in my belly button, down along those creases between legs and tummy, and on to my cunt, already opening and juicy, so he could ream his tongue right in, diddling my clit and then diving in.
"All the time he was sliding down my body, I was seeing his chest and hair that ran down into his belly button and out again to form that bush around his love shaft. And seeing it bug-eye close, so that each hair looked like a ten penny nail and his belly button like a pink, hairy crater.
"Then that love shaft! Wow! When that slid over m
y horizon! It looked like the front end of the The Super Chief! I couldn't have gotten that reamed up my twat! And yet I knew I had-and liked it. I couldn't possibly get that head in my mouth, but it smelled-oh, male. Very male. And on the very end, right on the tip, was a drop of crystal quivering.
"Besides, Dad was scouring out my love cave with his tongue and every now and then hitting my clit and diddling that until I was humping and bumping on his desk, trying to push my twat deeper onto his tongue. So I grabbed that love muscle with both hands and raised my head, sticking out my tongue to touch that crystal drop. It slid down my tongue, into my throat-and I tasted a man! Yummy-yummy! I raised my head farther and nibbled at that head with my lips, getting more juices and more taste, all of it part of the excitement going on down in my twitchy twat and farther up, inside my belly.
"About then, with my lips around his head, Dad really leaned into it, driving it deep into my mouth, nearly choking me. But I found I could breathe, and my tongue started sliding and slithering over all that lovely love-meat, getting tastes I had never imagined. "Oh, part of it was the excitement Dad was stirring up down at my twat, and by playing occasionally with my boobies or just rubbing his hairy stomach over them. I couldn't have taken his cock just cold. There had to be more to it-more happening to me, in me. And Dad knew how to make it happen. And I knew what I was doing and that it had a really ugly name-cocksucking-but I didn't care.
"Then Dad sucked real deep on my twat, reaming his tongue up and scooping up juices, enough to trigger me into giving more and really humping at him. That's when he drove his shaft with that big balloon of a head on it, way down my throat.
"I had to let go the shaft I was teasing and squeezing or maybe bite off my own fingers. In it went, down, making my throat awfully gulpy and not giving me any room to breathe. But it was only for a moment. I could feel my throat stretching, feel my throat muscles try to handle all that meat. And then it happened.
