The Bradford Family Saga Part 1

"And the favor, Mr. Bradford?"

"My parents are celebrating their anniversary this weekend, and they're planning a family party. I'd like to take tomorrow off and fly down - if it's alright with you, of course."

Lucy Parsons came around the desk and stood close to him. He caught a flash of tanned thigh as her skirt flap parted. "This must be a first. A new lawyer showing consideration for the firm."

"Isn't that the way it's done?"

"Not usually. Young lawyers are a fairly arrogant lot, and favors always come with a pay-back."

"I'm just asking for the day off."

She smiled at him, the way a cat smiles at a mouse just before it leaps. "Everything has its' price, Mr. Bradford."

Lucy leaned back against the desk, arms back, legs apart, skirt taut; the slit wide, nylon-clad thighs showing.

"What's the price of a day off, Miss Parsons?"

She came at him like a shot. Her arms gripped him tightly, her lips covered his - hard; her tongue searching for its mate, entwining like a mad snake. Her body molded to his, seeking; in need.

Peter's hands found her tits, and her tight ass. He pulled her to his groin, and ground his dick into the vee of her crotch.

"Damn you," she hissed, "Damn you! I missed you last night." Her voice was thick with emotion, her movements frantic. She grabbed his erect prick through his pants and squeezed it hard.

"Ow! Why the hell are you mad at me? You're the one who had to go to that shitty recital," he said, kissing her eyes, her nose, her lips. His tongue traced a wet course down her neck into the cleavage of her silk blouse.

"Corporate duty," she said in a voice hoarse with passion.

"Fuck corporate duty. I want you! Is that door locked?"

"I don't care, just fuck me! Here! Now! On the desk!"

Her mind reeled with lust, causing her to lose all sense of precaution, of convention. The possibility of discovery actually added to her excitement.

Peter pushed her back against the desk until she was forced to put her arms back for balance. He grabbed her legs and pulled them up off the floor. The edge of the desk bit sharply into her ass. Lucy Parsons wore no panties. A lacy black garter-belt framed the thick, black thatch hiding her throbbing pussy. The cunt-hair sparkled with droplets of cuntjuice. With a practiced hand, he unzipped his pants, releasing his engorged cock, and with a sure stroke, parted her pink cuntlips and roughly sank his rod into her hot, butterslick pussy.

The sudden shock of penetration sucked the breath from her lungs. Her mouth opened, as if to yell, but no sound came out. Her eyes glazed and her body convulsed as the first spasm of orgasm - a little one - rushed through her body. Her arms went around his neck; her legs around his ass, in a desperate attempt to force his wonderful cock in as deep as possible. Pain mixed with pleasure as the edge of the desk gouged her bare asscheeks.

"Ughhhhhh . . . oh, Christ, yes! Yessss! Fuck me, Peter," she hissed in his ear. "Stick your big cock deep! Make me young again!"

With a purpose, Peter plunged his thick, cum-slick cock in and out of her. Lucy's body shook with the force of each stroke. He forced her legs up against his shoulders, and she moaned, half in pain, as her body strained against the awkward position, but it gave deeper entry into her cunt, and she sighed in wonder as the extra fuck-meat filled her up.

"Give me your cock," she wailed. "I'm dying for it! Oh, yeah! Yeahhhh!"

"Com'on, boss lady, fuck me back. Com'on, bitch, fuck!"

"Peter, oh, Peter . . . yessss! Oh, I'm gonna cum again. I can't hold back!"

"Cum for me, baby, cum for me!"

"Aaaaaaggggg! Cummin' . . . yesssssss!" Lucy felt the violent contractions deep inside her cunt, and she bit her lip to hold back the automatic scream of pleasure that rose to her throat. She felt Peter dig his fingers into her ass, unable to hold back the eruption in his balls. His cock pounded her raw cunt-hole and his hot jism spurted deep into her sopping pussy, mixing with her own juices; overflowing her cunt. It traced as hot path down her asscheek.

Peter's legs trembled, and his body heaved with sexual aftershock as he tried to control his ragged breathing. Slowly, he pulled his still rigid cock from Lucy's steaming cunt. Her legs fell heavily to the floor.

"Oh, God, that was so good," she said, and slid to her knees in front of his slick, twitching cockhead. She began licking him clean, heedless of her own dripping pussy. Cum- juice spotted the expensive rug as her tongue swirled around his slowly deflating prick, searching for stray droplets of mixed cum. One hand cupped his large balls while the other milked the last vestige of their passion from his purple dickhead.

Her cunt tingled with wild pleasure, her body glowed, and her mouth caressed the nine inch fuck pole that had become her magic carpet to youth and passion. Lucy Parsons was ecstatically alive.

"I guess this means that I have the day off," he said, laughing.

CHAPTER FOUR

By five-thirty, Carol Bradford was ready. The catered buffet was set up, the wine chilled, the neighbors invited. Peter's flight schedule had been checked and Marsha's route and time had been efficiently plotted. The only thing that remained was the waiting. Suddenly, she felt tired.

It hadn't been an easy accomplishment. Mike's arrival

had triggered another round of lust, with Mary the happy recipient of the big dildo. Carol flushed as she remembered Mary's squirming, panting body as she plunged the phony prick well up her dripping pussy; Mike and John shoving their cocks into every available hole they could find; her own demanding body seeking thrill after thrill. It had taken a supreme act of will on her part to get them out of the house. She could have gone on like that forever. Sometimes her late discovered lust scared her. It was so intense!

She sat at her dressing table and checked her make-up, one last time before going down stairs. The face that looked back at her didn't look like the one that had spent the morning sucking cock and eating pussy. That one, the one she saw in the video re-run, seemed so wild and abandoned, so wanton, so intent on her physical pleasures, that it appeared to belong to someone else; a person whose wild desires had made her succumb to the ultimate sin! A sudden chill gripped her. I've become two different people, she thought. Wife, mother, and . . . incestuous whore! I'm fucking my own brother! Mike's fucking his own sister! The words clutched at her heart. What if their logic was wrong and incest did apply to consenting adults? And, if the world's right, and what we're doing is wrong, then, she wondered, what will be our punishment?

A horn honked and she heard her husband yell, "Carol! Marsha's here!"

Her mind snapped shut, and the fear was, once again, buried in the deep, dark recesses of her subconscious. She looked at her reflection and her face became defiant. She had made her decision. She would live with it. The world be dammed!

Marsha ran to her mother and they jumped up and down and squealed like a couple of schoolgirls; like sisters, which they did look like; blonde against blonde, only the length of their hair seem to tell them apart. Mother and daughter even giggled alike when the gathering neighbors started to applaud. Carol watched Marsha make the rounds of family and friends, suddenly aware that the men, Mike and John included, were openly eying Marsha's shapely contours; the brief, denim outfit seemed to draw their eyes to every secret nook and cranny of her young, lush body. She flashed Mary an angry look when her Sister-in-law whispered, "Nice tits!"

As the Bradfords and the Cummings surrounded a smiling, happy Marsha Bradford, Peter's taxi pulled up and the boisterous group surged to greet the new arrival; all except Marsha, who hung back at the rear, finally greeting her brother with a nervous hug and the lightest touch of her lips. No one seem to notice except Carol. A feeling of foreboding came over her. Already, the reunion was losing its luster.

"Let me at him," Mary Cummings yelled, grabbing Peter in a bear hug. Startled, Peter found his aunt's tongue in his mouth and her hips grinding against his pelvis. Her kiss was deep, and wet, and loud. To others, it appeared corny and dramatic, but Peter's surprise and his hard-on were real. Carol blushed and looked at her husband, Mike, who only smiled tolerantly. Obviously, he thought, his sister had been at the punch already.

"God, you're a good-looking guy," Mary said with conviction, ignoring her more than slightly embarrassed nephew - and her annoyed sister-in-law.

Before anyone could react, Carol took Mary's arm and started to push everyone towards the house, telling the neighbors to come over in a few minutes, after the kids freshen up. The awkwardness passed before anyone was truly aware of it.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" Carol hissed at Mary as they went up the driveway.

"What? Can't I tell my nephew he's handsome? It's true!"

"Damnit! You know exactly what I'm talking about!"

Mary shook her head. "There's no harm in looking, Carol! In case you haven't noticed, Peter is one hellava guy! Built, too, if you ask me. Don't be a hypocrite! Our recent playmates were younger than the kids; something that didn't seem to bother you, then; in fact, that's the way you like them, isn't it?

"Look at Mike and John . . ." she turned towards the retreating group, "for Christ-sake, they're watching Marsha's ass in that tight skirt! Get real!"

Mary pulled her arm away and started up to the house, leaving Carol momentarily dazed. Looking at her husband and brother she saw that Mary had spoken the truth, they were looking at Marsha's swaying ass. And Peter was a handsome young man; just the type that made her blood rush to her head and her pussy begin to cream; just the type she and Mary loved to fuck. Embarrassed, she realized her annoyance with her sister-in-law had really been envy. Sadly, she followed the group up to the house. What have I done to myself? What have we all done to each other? She didn't wait for the little voice to answer.

Marsha was unpacking when Carol entered her bedroom.

"Hi, Mom," Marsha said, brightly. "It's so good to be home again. I hadn't realized how much I missed everyone."

Carol sat down on the bed. "Does that include Peter?" she asked directly. Marsha blushed and her brow furrowed.

Her daughter seemed different somehow, more . . . Carol searched for the right word . . . worldly; sexy! Yes, sexy! She had that vibrant, physical allure that went with sexy people. Carol wondered what had happened in the past year to cause the change, or is it really a change? Maybe I was just to close to noticed, she thought as she eyed Marsha's discomfit.

Abruptly, Marsha sat beside her. "I didn't think anyone would notice," she said, toying with a folded blouse. "I guess I forgot about old eagle-eyed Bradford."

"There was a time when you told old eagle-eyed Bradford everything. You still can, you know."

Marsha shook her head. "I know I can, but this . . . is something different and I don't think it's one of those things you want your mother and father to know about.

"Anyway, I'm probably only admitting it to myself right at this moment. I can barely grasp it myself. Don't ask me anything more, okay, Mom?"

Carol put her arm around her daughter. Clearly, Marsha was distressed and wanted to talk, despite her words to the contrary and Carol was a firm believer in talking out ones problems.

"Tell me, honey," she gently coaxed, "You'll feel better, and nothing you could do would ever change the way I feel about you. Com'on, what is this thing with Peter? Did you two have a fight?"

"Oh, Mom," Marsha said dejectedly; a desperation in her voice. Suddenly the words spewed forth. "I'm either in love with my brother, or, heaven help me, in lust with him."

The look on her mother's face brought tears to Marsha's eyes. "See! See, I told you! I told you! I can't help it, he's always on my mind, ever since we were kids. I dream about him. I go to bed with men that look like him."

Defiantly, she looked at Carol through teary eyes. "If he asked me, right now, I'd go to bed with him, just to stop this mad craving I have. I think I'm going crazy!" Marsha said and started to cry again, her face against Carol's breast.

Her daughter's confession was like a splash of ice-cold water in the face. Carol's stomach knotted and a guilty shiver shook her body. Hugging Marsha tightly, she rocked her back and forth, feeling the press of her chest against her own; her traitorous body enjoying the pressure of her daughter's big tits. Angrily, she pushed the feeling from her mind.

"Hush, baby," she said, fumbling for words. "Don't cry. You have nothing to feel bad about. It's only normal. All girls have a crush on their big brothers. I have . . . had one on your uncle John. And so does aunt Mary; on your father, I mean."

Carol dabbed a tissue at Marsha's eyes. They were blank and she wasn't sure whether she had heard a word said.

"Most of the time," Carol continued, softly, but with a cold dread in her heart, "you grow out of it. Sometime, like now, I guess, it lasts longer. Maybe it's because Peter isn't your real brother, just your adopted brother and the feelings you think you have appear stronger."

Marsha stood up, blew her nose and wiped her eyes. She shook her head. "Not 'appear' Mom. Are! I kept telling myself the same things you've said, then I'd remember watching him play with himself - yes, I watched him all the time - and I'd just go crazy with desire. Do you have any idea what I'm talking about?" she asked, looking at her mother's gawking face. "I mean, I drool thinking about his cock! His cock, Mom! I have to dream about it to make myself cum, even when I have another guy in me!"

Her shoulders slumped. "It's a perverted fantasy, Mom, and it's taking control of my whole life. I think I'm going crazy."

"Stop it!" Carol snapped. The urge to tell her daughter the truth, to ease her hurt, was overpowering. It took a conscious act on her part to fight the words down. Besides, she thought, what good would it do? The sins of the Mother have already been passed to the Daughter. She took a deep breath and shook the maudlin thought from her mind. One has nothing to do with the other, Carol told herself - but she knew she had to say something; something that would help.

"You're not crazy, Marsha. Far from it."

"Mother!" Marsha interrupted. "I'm talking about incest! You know, fucking my own brother!" Her words were harsh and she was immediately contrite.

"Oh, Mom," she said, taking Carol in her arms, "I'm sorry, I really am. I didn't mean to lay this on you.

"It's a fantasy! It's crazy, but I'll work through it. Don't you worry, I'm not going to do anything stupid."

"Everyone has fantasies, Marsha. Fantasy . . . is part of life, honey, don't shut it out. It can make life bearable until . . . " Carol's voice trailed away. Marsha looked at her strangely. What was her mother trying to tell her?

"Until what, Mom?" Jokingly, she asked, "What's your fantasy?"

The blush on her mother's face brought her up short. Oh, my God, she thought, Mom's had an affair. What else could her fantasy be?

"Making love to another woman," Carol said in a small voice. Now it was Marsha's turn to gawk.

Carol, relating to Marsha's feelings, was trying desperately to give her some solace; to tell her it was alright to have these feelings, just as she had had, but without sharing the family's incestuous secret. That, she knew, would drive her daughter away from her, and possibly, straight into Peter's bed. The sin would be perpetuated!

"It's something that was always there. I was curious about it, that's all. Sometimes I'd look at another woman and I would wonder. Haven't you ever done that?"

Surprised, Marsha found herself nodding. She had thought of making love to another woman, even a three-way with Peter, but she never thought she's heard similar words from the lips of her own mother.

"Everyone has a fantasy, honey; sometimes more than one. Even your mother. And I'll tell you another secret," Carol whispered, "I like to watch my brother jerk-off, too. It's how we first learn about sex. A big brother is every girl's first love."

From the bottom of the stairs Mike heard Carol and Marsha laughing. He hated to break up their private party, but the guests were arriving.

After her mother left, Marsha finished hanging up her clothes. The sharing of secrets and the final laughter, made her feel better about confessing, but she knew the feeling, the gnawing, was still there, just below the surface and Peter was just beyond the door, right on the other side of their connecting bathroom. All she had to do was open the door and walk into Peter's room.

Suddenly, her hand stopped in mid-air, a skirt dangling from the raised hanger. Her mother had said 'have a crush' and 'like to watch' and 'was curious.' A slip of the tongue? One, perhaps. But three? She looked at the closed bedroom door and remembered her mother's words. A sliver of excitement ran up her spine. Had one of those fantasies come true?

* * *

Everyone told Carol that the party was a huge success, and she had to agree. The party-goers were just tipsy enough to let their hair down and have a good time, without being drunk. Carol and her family were no exception. Her only moment of apprehension came when Mary started do the dirty bogie with Peter, a fast, graphic, pelvic-grinding exhibition, but when everyone started to clap and encourage them she let out a sigh of relief and joined in the fun. Twice her ass was pinched by person or persons unknown.

At the beginning, Marsha had danced with her father and uncle, seeing them for the first time through a different set of eyes; trying to envision them the way their kid sisters would have seen them years ago. They were both handsome men. Her Peter - she thought of him in the possessive - would look like his father later in life and that pleased her. He would still be a handsome man when he was . . . Hell, Daddy isn't old, she thought in amazement, I've dated men older than him. And the thought of her father as just a man gave her a strange sexual feeling.

Happy-go-lucky, Uncle John was another story. He was an outrageous flirt, just like his wife. The more he drank, the closer he held her while dancing, his hand frequently straying to the rounded contours of her ass. Once he had even ground his crotch into her pelvis. Marsha had giggled, but her brain registered the size of his prick, and she was impressed. Her face flushed when she realized she was wondering what her father's cock looked like.

As she ushered the last of the guests out the door, Carol caught sight of Peter waving goodnight from the staircase. Marsha was no where in sight and that made Carol sad all over again. Neither of her children had spent any time together during the party; as if they both were trying to avoid contact. She wondered if Peter sensed Marsha's latent desires and was trying to keep his distance. Carol felt as if she was sitting on a case of dynamite.

"Com'on, babe," Mike said, "let's hit the bed."

"Wha . . ." Carol said, her mind miles away.

"I told Mary and John to use the downstairs guest room. He's in no shape to drive. Great Party, kid."

Carol nodded and followed her husband upstairs, but she hadn't heard a word he had said.

* * *