Free Birds in the Bayou

"Well?" She asked, her brows raised, "Did you like it?"

I noticed how my rubbing hand had turned to a trailing caress to savor the sting. I nodded, and sighed. "Goddamn it, I really did. Did you like hitting me?"

She inclined her head thoughtfully. "It was fun, but I didn't get a thrill out of it."

"Not like I do, huh?" I mused, pinching and twisting her nipple, enjoying the sound of her shuddering breath, the pleading glint in her blue eyes. "I really like this." I whispered.

"So do I." She moaned, her brows knitting.

"Sometimes, I won't be very nice to you," I said, "and at those times, I want you to call me 'Domina.'"

"Domina?"

"It's what Roman slaves called their mistresses." I leaned in, "And I'm going to call you, 'Pet.'"

"Oh..." Josie groaned, closing her eyes and licking her lips, "I like that very, very much."

"We're kind of kinky, huh?" I laughed breathily, "I mean, normal girls -and I know normal girls don't fuck their sisters-, but besides that, normal girls aren't into this weird shit right away, right?"

"We're far from normal. We always were."

"We've always been freaks, just not in the sheets; not until now." I giggled, "We just didn't know how bad it was. We still don't."

"I guess we have a lot to learn about ourselves." She whispered, opening her legs for me.

I position myself between them, interlocking our thighs, pushing our slits together. "Well then, we better get started."

Over the next ten months we explored each other to the fullest, then ventured out to explore other people. We held hands as we laid on our backs, lurching on the bed as the men we'd selected took our hetero virginity. We kissed each other as we were bent over the back of a chair, our legs straddling the leather arms, our bare cheeks spread wide so that our anuses could be violated. We winked at each other from across the room at the BDSM club, our bodies hogtied in rough rope, every one of our holes filled with men. Needless to say, we escalated things quickly. I supposed a psychologist would label us 'nymphomaniacs,' though even as we delved deeper into deviancy, it was never purely for our own indulgence. We did it for each other. When I was swinging from the ceiling with my heels bound to my wrists, screaming around the cock ravaging my throat as two more grinded against the membrane that divided my holes, I was watching her succumb to the same violation, and what made me come wasn't the fervent pumping of men into my orifices, though that was ecstatic. No, it was the look in her eyes; that animalistic, pure, mindless pleasure staring back at me, and knowing that what was being done to her was being done to me, that the lecherous bend of her body, the corruption brimming on her face, the yawning holes between her cheeks were all the same for me, and the pleasure we felt was the same too. We were being fucked by a room full of strangers, but we were making love to only each other.

We graduated high school later that year. We'd both committed to Puget Sound, which was geographically as far as we could get from our mother in Tampa Bay. Life was looking bright, and with each other, it felt like there was nothing we couldn't do. There was just one thing that held us back, an anchor that tugged our hearts back into Florida: Dad. Every year since we were five, Josie and I had spent August with our Dad at his lonely shack in the panhandle. It was quiet, humid, and hot as all hell there, but it was by far the best month of every year. And this would be the last. We'd always worked hard to make Dad a present to hold him over emotionally until we saw him again. One year, it was a collage of construction-paper flowers. Another, it was a movie we'd made on our laptop, featuring us fighting stuffed animals in a cardboard space ship. Last year, it was a vase we'd spent weeks making in pottery class.

"What should we get Dad this year?" Josie had asked me a month ago.

"Shit, I don't know." I sighed, "What do adults give their parents? A nice card?"

"Dads love beer, right? I can call up Thomas and have him buy us some lagers or something."

"You think Dad would be cool with that?" I raised a brow, "I know he'd pretend to be, but he'd probably worry about where we got it."

She gave me a frank look, spinning in her office chair away from her laptop. "I'm sure Dad drank in high school, Kelsey. It wouldn't be some great mystery to him."

"Yeah, but every time we see him, we're a year older. He still thinks of us as the awkward nerds we were when we were seventeen, and now..." I gestured to the clothes we were wearing, the tight skirt and tanks that exposed our midriffs. "If we're too different, it'll make him feel like he missed everything, and you know that's his worst fear."

"Yeah." Josie sighed, looking up at the picture of Dad. She chewed on her lip, and typed on her keyboard. A second later, sound blared from her speakers, the slap of flesh on flesh, the moans of a woman being given what she deserves. I pedaled my feet against the floor, rolling my office chair across the room to sit beside her. Without even thinking about it, we slipped our hands into each other's pants, and slid our fingers where they belonged.

"No Johnny Sins this time, huh?" I laughed breathily, "You done with your bald guy fetish?"

"I'm just shelving it for now." She smirked, her face flushing with arousal.

I watched the middle-aged man railing into Dakota Skye, marveling at the ergonomics of the ordeal. How someone so small could take something so deep was truly a miracle of physiology. "I don't recognize the dick; who is he?"

"I'm not sure what his name is." Josie mused, expiring pleasured gasps between her words. She scrolled down to the description, and that was when I saw the title. Dad Fucks Teenage (not) Step-Daughter. I looked at Josie, and she looked at me, and both our smiles curved wickedly.

"That's it." I whispered to Josie in the backseat of the Escalade as Mom and Daniel set the stage for her sixth divorce, "Get that pussy nice and wet for Daddy."

RYAN

The black Escalade stopped on the dirt road in front of my porch. I was tempted to get off my chair and talk shop with the driver of such a fine automobile, when I saw that the driver was rather occupied screaming at the passenger. The passenger, who was a woman of many last names. Bridget Anderson was her maiden name, then Bridget Brees when she married me, then Bridget Rivers, then Bridget Cuddyer, then Bridget Young, then Bridget Hernandez, and finally, Bridget Dickerson. That made poor Daniel Dickerson the driver of the fine automobile, though I suspected Bridget would soon own it, along with half of Daniel's shit before the year was out. Hell, three more and we could field a baseball team of Bridget's ex-husbands. Actually, we should probably form a support group. I thought with a bitter laugh.

"Hey, Daniel!" I called from the porch, "Hope the ride here wasn't too bumpy!" He ignored me, of course. I didn't care. My eyes were fixed on the rear door of the Cadillac, my heart beating a little faster than normal, my mouth a little drier than it should be. I always got nervous before I saw them. Was this the year they'd finally realize what a useless sack of shit I was, and never talk to me again? I wrung my hands, and tapped my foot. The back door opened on the other side of the car. I saw the top of one blonde head, then the other. The door slammed shut, and Daniel slammed on the accelerator, apparently taking his anger out on the transmission. When the dust settled, I was staring at two blonde swimsuit models. I rubbed my eyes just to make sure. Gone were the baggy athletic shorts and band t-shirts of yesteryear; now it was crop-tops and skirts that were a summer's breeze from being indecent exposure. My little girls had grown up; I guessed it was bound to happen eventually.

"Hey, you angels lost?" I called, "You're in Heaven's Gate, Calhoun County. I do believe the real heaven's gate is somewhere in Fort Lauderdale, or maybe that's just God's waiting room."

"You're still so hilarious!" Josie called from across the road.

"Is it open-mic night in the swamp?" Kelsey jeered.

"It is, actually, but even the crickets don't chirp after my punchlines." I smiled, "Did ya'll develop an allergy to clothing over the winter? You seem to have an aversion to it."

"We're on summer vacation, Dad." Josie grinned behind her aviator sunglasses.

"We need to get some tan-lines before going off to college." Kelsey said, displaying a pale thigh that would never in a million years be anything darker than Swedish ivory.

"Only thing you'll get wearing that getup is a venereal disease." I snorted, "Ya'll better get in here before paying customers arrive."

"Oh, Dad!" Josie and Kelsey laughed in unison, and came sprinting across the lawn. There were my girls, those jubilant smiles on their faces, that mischievous excitement sparkling in their blue eyes. I threw out my arms, and took them into me, squeezing them like I could juice the love from their bodies. They embraced me with the same desperate love, eleven months of separation washing away in just a second.

JOSIE

Dad was on the wrong side of forty, but he'd aged well. At least, he'd aged well up until this point. It seemed the last year had been rough for him. His brown hair was thinning and greying, and though his face was still ruggedly handsome, it now hung from his cheekbones with a worn-out look to it. His eyes were still sharp and blue, but were now cornered with wrinkles that were more crow's feet than smile lines. He'd always stood tall despite his five-eight frame, but now his posture was slightly bent, his well-muscled shoulders rolled forward instead of thrown back to display his broad chest. Despite all this, seeing him from my new perspective was like seeing him anew, and as I ran my eyes up his body, I felt a tingle between the press of my thighs, and I knew that my desire had not been a mere perversion of the moment. I could tell just by the way Kelsey was standing as she watched him, that she felt the same. Still, we had our work cut out for us.

Dad's shack was always a bachelor's pad, but I'd never seen it in such a mess. Beer cans littered the corners, clothes were strewn about, and the dishes were stacked in precarious ceramic towers about the sink. Everything looked to be in a state of disrepair, and cobwebs hung from the rafters like streamers. I shared a glance with Kelsey as Dad tossed garbage off the pullout couch. Something was wrong here.

"I know, I know," Dad said, reading our minds, "the place could use a woman's touch."

"So could you." Kelsey said.

"Nah, I'm done with all that. Finally gave up on the dating scene and decided to try living with just me."

I picked up a bottle of lotion from beside the couch. "I see you've been getting along with yourself splendidly."

Kelsey sniggered. "I thought your hands felt remarkably soft."

"I'm sure your mother told you I got laid off at the mill," Dad brushed crumbs off the cushions, "so I've had nothing to keep my calluses thick."

"I think Kelsey was referring to something else."

"Specifically, your nights of passion with Lefty and Righty."

Dad rolled his eyes. "You're both very funny. This might surprise you, but men use lotion for more than just their pricks."

"Is that so?" I extended my foot toward the couch, and stepped on a towel whose corner had been peeking from beneath it.

"Don't pull that out." Dad said.

I grinned. "Why? Because it's as stiff as a board? Did I just find your girlfriend?"

"Do Lefty and Righty know about her?" Kelsey chimed in.

"How many of our dead brothers and sisters are on this towel, you murderer?!"

"Jesus!" Dad made a face. "No, it's covered in bug repellent! You lay a spiked towel under your bed to keep the Brown Recluses away." He shook his head, "I forgot how warped you two were."

"And we've only gotten worse." I giggled.

Dad opened the linen cabinet, and tossed some sheets onto the couch. "There, that should keep you guys situated for a while." He grunted, stretched, scratched the paunch-belly he was growing, and smacked his lips. "Hey, you guys wanna shoot some shit?" He asked, then promptly exited the backdoor.

Kelsey exchanged eyes with me. "Dad's... a little different, huh?"

"It's not just me is it? I thought it might be because we changed so much, but he's... well, you're right, he's different."

She chewed on her lip, her perfectly-white teeth indenting the supple pink flesh. "How should we go about doing this? There's not really a handbook out there on how to seduce your own father."

"He's still just a man." I touched her lip with my thumb, unable to resist it, "And we have a perfect record against the weaker sex."

She flashed her dangerous blue eyes at me. "Same tactic as always then? I'll be the lead, and you'll be the southpaw."

"The one-two combination that put Tampa Bay on its knees; he doesn't stand a chance." I smiled, outlining her perfect mouth, "Now kiss me, you magnificent bitch."

She pulled me hard against her, and our mouths met, our tongues seeking and wrapping in a practiced slithering dance. I traced her jaw with a trailing finger, smiling as I separated my legs about her leading thigh, rubbing myself against her. We parted with a braid of saliva bridging our mouths, and I twirled it about my finger, and brought it to her parted lips. As she sucked it clean, I brought our brows together, and whispered, "Go get him, Tiger."

RYAN

I always thought of myself as a "cool" dad. I guessed every divorced father had to be the cool dad, since we couldn't rightly claim to be the patriarch. It was a fine line to walk, being both a friend and a gentle teacher while maintaining the semblance of authority. It meant that if I wanted to say something about their life choices, then I couldn't say anything about their music choices, media choices or clothing choices. Up until today, I never thought I'd feel the need to. I glanced up at my twin daughters, opened my mouth, then sighed, and closed it. That ship had sailed years ago. Yes, they were women now. They were definitely women. I undid the lock on the safe, and pulled out the lever-action thirty-thirty.

"Put on your ear protection, ladies."

"You're into guns now?" Kelsey laughed incredulously, staring out at the dozens of targets I'd set up in the back yard.

"You're a bleeding-heart liberal." Josie said, "Didn't you once call guns 'dangerous toys for men who never grew up?'"

"Well, I guess I got converted." I chuckled, loading the gun, "You can't go ten minutes out here without hearing one of the neighbors shoot their entire paycheck into the woods. You remember Fred Benson by the creek?"

"You mean the most fabulous man in the panhandle?" Kelsey smiled, making an affected wave.

"That's him. Well, I went over to his house sometime in April, and we got to the topic of guns, and I figured he of all people would be sympathetic to my opinion. You know what he said? 'Ryan, I'd rather be a flag-waving faggot than let those New York commie fucks tell me I can't put led into the sycamore stump.' He took me out back and threw a rifle in my hands, and well, I'll be damned, it's fun!"

"So you broke a steadfast principle of yours because it was... fun." Josie smirked, exchanging a look with Kelsey as she put on her ear protection.

"How easily he succumbed to the forbidden temptation." Kelsey smirked back, muffing her own ears.

"You can't fight your surroundings." I said, aiming down the sites, "A man's gotta adapt to his environment. I know a good father would tell you, 'stick to your principles no matter what,' but well..." I pulled the trigger and cocked the lever in quick succession, sending five rounds down range in a barrage of explosions, "...your Daddy's a bad, bad man."

"Who just missed every fucking shot." Josie tittered.

"What a bad man you are." Kelsey laughed.

"You think you can do better, little cowgirl?"

She stood up, took my Stenson hat from my head, and placed it on her own, casting her face in the shadow of the brim, but her blue eyes still sparkled. "I reckon I can, little cowboy." She smirked.

JOSIE

It was always a treat to watch Kelsey work. Whereas I played the ditsy party girl, she played the smooth seductress, gently breaking down are victims until they were putty in her hands. She had her platinum hair braided in twin ponytails, a do that might've been cute on a little girl, but was just southern-belle-slutty on a woman. She knew exactly what she was doing when she put that hat on. I eased back into my chair, crossed one thigh over the other, and admired the show from behind my aviator glasses.

"Now," Dad instructed, "first rule is to always keep the business end aimed away from you."

"So the opposite of what you're used to, Kelsey." I laughed.

She smirked over her shoulder at me, and Dad followed her gaze. He twisted his lips, then continued his instruction. "When in doubt, keep the weapon pointed at the ground. You have to always, and I mean always assume there's one in the chamber ready to blow up in your face."

"Oh, she always does." I sniggered.

Dad looked side-eyed at me again. "Anyway... once you're locked and loaded, raise the barrel like so. Good, now make sure the butt is pressed good and tight against your shoulder, or your gonna shoot higher every shot, not to mention bruise the hell out of yourself. Put this foot forward, and plant on it. You want to lean into the shot, you get?"

"Like this?" Kelsey asked, propping herself against the fence, bending over at the hips, bowing her back so that her too-short skirt hitched up past the bottom crease of her ass. From my mouth-watering angle, I could see clearly that she wasn't wearing any panties. Dad's angle was less revealing, but not by much. The stretch of her back caused her cutoff tank to fan out, exposing the bottoms of her small breasts, the tantalizing arch of her gymnast's body, the domed protrusion of her perfect glutes exaggerated by the anterior tilt of her pelvis. He looked at her with an unreadable expression behind his sunglasses, his jaw twitching.

"Dad, am I doing it right?" She queried softly, her support hand running lasciviously down the barrel, stroking it.

"No, not like that!" Dad growled, unusually flustered, "You ain't shootin' pool, you're shooting a rifle!"

"But it's such a natural position for her." I giggled.

Dad shot me an angry look, then turned back to Kelsey. "Come on, stand up!"

Kelsey straightened lethargically from the hips, the bow in her lower back still very pronounced. "Like this?" She asked with a teasing grin.

"Jesus Christ." Dad growled again. Gosh, he was suddenly so impatient! "This leg," he patted Kelsey's thigh, "goes forward. This leg," he patted her other thigh, "goes back. Brace your core," he placed one hand on her naked belly, and the other on her naked lower back, and straightened her out, "and lean at the waist, not the hips. There, perfect."

Kelsey aimed down the sites, and shifted her weight back. Her pelvis tilted down, and her ass popped out. Dad grumbled, positioned his hands on her belly and lower back, and straightened her out again. Kelsey adjusted her hat, set her shoulders, then popped her ass out again. Dad grumbled once more, put his hands on her belly and lower back, and straightened her out again. The moment his hands left her, her ass immediately popped out again.

"Are you fucking with me right now?" He growled.

"Sorry Dad, but I've got a gymnast's pelvic tilt." Kelsey said, "Tight hamstrings and weak abductors; I can't help it."

"You need to brace her hips." I said.