He Bop, She Bop

Once Upon a Time in the South

A Tawdry Tale of Incest and Miscegenation

He Bop, She Bop

Copyright 2021

Bennett Leone didn't masturbate often. He was that rare teenager with a steady supply and an endless variety of twat. The nineteen-year-old redhead was handsome, popular and well endowed. Any number of women batted their eyelids and surreptitiously poked their tongues into their cheeks (feigning fellatio) to gain his attentions. His older sister Abby had schooled him in the art of lovemaking early on. Ben passed Abby's lessons on to their younger sister Annie, one year younger, who slept in the bed next to his and was available day and night, since their youth, to cloak his incessant erections in hole. With so many viable options, masturbating seemed, to Ben, a waste of time and semen.

It wasn't only his sisters that obliged him. Ben was the scion of slave-holding family based in antebellum northeastern Louisiana. His father Nathan was a deacon in the church. His sisters caucused with a cadre of local white women in a secret society known as 'Pussy Posse', a group whose sole purpose seemed to be the sampling and evaluation of penises. Ben had black slave girls, church mavens, southern belles and penis-samplers at his beck and call. He'd grown up in a pussy-rich environment. Given these obvious advantages, why should he engage Rosie and the Five Palm Sisters?

And yet, here he was, four o'clock in the morning, lying on his back, staring into the darkness with his dick in his hand. His cock raged and bucked upward, demanding Ben's attention, inundating his brain with luridly suggestive sexual scenarios.

Penis: "ANNIE!! LET'S FUCK ANNIE!! WAKE ANNIE UP!!"

Ben: "No. She's snoring. We just ranged that rump five hours ago!! She'll be mad."

Penis: "THE NIGGER QUARTERS!! THE NIGGER QUARTERS!!! LET'S GO DOWN TO THE NIGGER QUARTERS!!"

Ben: "No. There ain't time. Sun'll be up in a l'il while and ..."

Penis: "SANDRA JEAN!! SANDRA JEAN GOES DOWN TO THE SPRING EVERY MORNING!! BY HERSELF!!"

Ben: "Are you fucking nuts? Pa would kill me!!"

Penis: "SUZY!! GLORIA!! TILLY!! JEMIMA!!! MIRIAM!! GRETCHEN!!! ABBY!!! MOLLY!!!"

(Each of these pubic scalps already dangled from Ben's belt...except that last name: Molly Fierson. Penis was getting desperate.)

Ben (intrigued): "Molly? Molly Fierson?"

Penis (excitedly): "YES!!! MOLLY FIERSON!! PAULIE GASTON'S GIRL!!!

Having settled upon a masturbatory fantasy victim, Penis' job now was to exacerbate Molly's virtues to accommodate his own nefarious ends. Molly Fierson was a fiery, petite, short-haired brunette from across the river. She came from a well-to-do family with a reputation for being a tad "hoity toity". The Fiersons didn't fornicate. They didn't drink. They didn't gamble. They didn't ruckus. They didn't farm; the father was a dentist. The Fiersons didn't even attend the regular Bapticostal Church. They were Presbyterians which, in itself, was the definition of "hoity toity".

When the regular country rabble got together to revel, the Fiersons held themselves above the fray. They watched but did not participate. There was no hint of scandal attached to the Fierson name. They lived and died by their family honor.

Consequently, Molly Fierson was a prized catch. She'd been snatched up by one of the town's chief poon hounds, Paulie Gaston, who promptly found that Fierson honor was no myth. The first time he went to ingratiate himself by way of Molly's pubescent goods he was rebuffed. Similar rebukes occurred on the second, third, tenth, twentieth and fortieth attempts, too. Though she appreciated his efforts, Molly Fierson planned to reserve her virtue for marriage—as had her mother, as had her grandmother. Molly was no prude. She fully intended to marry Paulie Gaston. She intended to marry the hell out of him—after a reasonable engagement period, of course.

This charade had been going on for two years now. Known poon hounds don't stay celibate for two years. Women who refuse to succumb to the wiles of known poon hounds become valuable commodities, this on the off chance that the known poon hound might trip and fall clumsily into foreign poon, thus ceding claim to the virtuous poon. Ben wasn't the only man who fantasized about fucking the living shit out of the very demur Molly Fierson.

In the pre-dawn darkness Bennett Leone settled in to a comfortable vision of masturbatory poon. He often fantasized a grandiose world in which he lived as the chief prince of a tropical kingdom. In this capacity he had access to any number of beautiful women, all princesses, and all of whom bore the visage of women he knew in the real world.

The fantasy always opened with Prince Bennett astride a magnificent golden steed galloping along a tropical beach at sunset. Behind him galloped several more stallions, each hosting a naked princess bearing gaudy bejeweled headdresses, spears and side arms. These were his palace guard. Depending upon the whims of Penis, the racial heritage of these princesses often fluctuated.

Tonight Molly Fierson, Jem Jenkins, Sandra Jean Leone and Abby Harkness served as the prince's guard. All of these women, and others, had been suggested by Penis that night in his manic desire for succor. Prince Bennett reserved the final cut unto himself.

Now the Prince regarded his pride of lionesses. Silent killers, all.

His older sister Abby was the longest tenured member of the group. The auburn-haired beauty had been the first to introduce the young prince to the joys of cleft. Married now to a royal duke, Abby remained one of the Prince's favorites. He turned to her often when his well-oiled penis required expert re-calibration.

The very cocoa Jem Jenkins satisfied the Prince's appetite for exotica. She was as mocha-chocolate as they came, with perky black nipples topping demitasse breasts, a wide behind, and a V-shaped abdomen that dovetailed perfectly into a sensuous, curly mound at the juncture of her thighs. She had an impish smile and dimples that belied her thousand-yard stare. When she and the Prince smashed genitals the Earth moved. The heavens burst asunder. Her pussy tasted of coffee liqueur laced with honey manna. The Prince delighted in the lingering aroma of her resonant labia on his lips. And if it came to a fight, it was she that Prince Bennett preferred to be at his back. Jem was a warrior.

The very mysterious Sandra Jean Leone made the cut by virtue of her sheer unavailability. The Prince's father forbade Sandra to all, leading all to conclude that the bi-racial baby was the King's daughter by another mother. And yet her beauty led many to include Sandra in their masturbatory fantasies. She possessed the best qualities of all her racial forbears: Curly, reddish-black hair. Freckles. Wide, Mediterranean eyes. Sultry brownish-nippled breasts. Round mounds of balloon-like buttocks that wobbled gelatinously in concert with her tits when she walked. And finally, a reputation for sneaking off to service her own needs—in the absence of suitable lovers—that indicated a roaring, unrequited, unsoiled southern motor.

Ben had never seen Sandra Jean's goods in real life. A wispy line of reddish pubic hair ran up past the lip of her bloomers to her navel. He'd seen that much at the swimming hole. Now he used that memory to extrapolate a vision of her heart-shaped vulva.

In his fantasy life Ben imagined Sandra's vagina to be a chasm of dizzying delights. He imagined a much smaller version of himself leaping headlong from her labia into a pool of sticky ecstasy, and swimming laps from one pussy lip to the other as she looked on, spread-eagle to the winds. Improvising upon this starter vision, Ben further imagined Sandra's gullet to be an appropriate repository for his semen.

"I bet she sucks dick like a champ!!"

He envisioned himself emptying seed into her throat, her hair, her cheeks and her tits.

Yes, Sandra's inclusion in tonight's romp would be very necessary.

At the head of tonight's palace guard rode the virtuous Molly Fierson. In real life Molly had no idea that she was the subject of Ben's masturbatory fervor. She viewed Ben as one of Paulie's friends. They shared polite banter, demur smiles and little else.

Nor was Molly aware that her boyfriend Paulie regularly told extravagant tales of their sexual hijinx, none of which were true. Paulie felt compelled to uphold his reputation as a poon hound at Molly's expense. And so, by his account, he'd been soiling each of her sexual holes since time immemorial.

"She sucks a mean dick, that I can tell you. An' that doodihole? Sheeee-it. NICE. An' howbesomever good Annie Leone's pussy might be, Molly's pussy is better."

Known poon hounds also tend to be known liars. Few believed Paulie's assessments of Molly's capacities. Her public demeanor was wildly at odds with his tales. Such was her family's reputation that Paulie's lies often fell on deaf ears.

Ben didn't believe a word of it. He reined his stallion and waited for his entourage to canter up. Molly's Viking headdress seemed a bit too big for her head; her longbow and quiver of arrows were slung jauntily across her back. Her leather breast shield covered her shoulders and sternum while exposing her tits. She also sported a leather girdle that covered her waist while exposing her cakes and her cunt. Ben couldn't see how her armor might be effective in battle. He noticed that all four princesses were similarly arrayed. Penis stirred.

Molly dismounted her horse. She set her weapons against a tree and casually stripped her girdle. Without a hint of embarrassment, she squatted to urinate. The other three princesses promptly followed suit.

Molly (still squatting): "Whew!! I thought I was gonna have to pee in the saddle!!"

Jem (squatting): "I know, right? We been humpin' these damn horses for goin' on three hours!!"

Ben noted golden puddles accumulating in the sand at the women's feet. Penis stirred involuntarily again. Ben dismounted his horse. Without wiping, the women stood to face him. Ben paced back and forth before them as an inspecting commanding officer might, pausing to fondle a nipple here, bending to sniff a sweaty, saddle-weary vagina there. The women did not think this in any way unusual. He was their prince.

At last he stopped before Molly Fierson. Her green eyes blazed into his. She knew enough not to show fear or trepidation.

Penis: "C'mon! C'MON!! She's RIGHT THERE!! Pussy jist a-BULGIN' OUT!! PUT ME IN!!!"

Ben: "Will you SHUT THE FUCK UP!! I GOT this!!"

Penis: "I'm jist sayin'..."

Ben (to Molly): "I noticed your armor, fair maiden. Do you warrant it sufficient, were we to be accosted by bandits?"

Molly: "My Prince, my knife and my bow are as quick as they are deadly. These I place at your service day and night."

Penis (interrupting): "What about that pussy?"

Ben (agitated): "WILL YOU SHUT UP!!!"

Penis (sulking): "Hmmmmph."

Ben (to Molly): "I apologize, My Lady, if the long ride has caused you discomfort. You were right to ... to take moment for yourself there. I feel the need to take a moment of my own."

Molly: "My Prince, allow me to unburden your girdle and take your aim. It would honor me if you felt compelled to add your puddle to my own."

Penis (interrupting again): "SEE!!! I TOLD YA!! I TOLD YA!!!"

Ben: "IF YOU DON'T SHUT UP, I'LL......"

Penis: "Hmmmmph."

Ben (to Molly): "Yes, My Lady, that would serve me well. I have long yearned to mingle your essence with my own. And yet I've always lacked the opportunity and the means. This, I fain, is an excellent start. Have your way, Princess."

Molly unstrapped the Prince's girdle. Penis dangled free. She regarded Ben's lumbering, uncircumcised member with a measure of awe. This was no pampered, inbred lothario. This was a true Prince of the Realm.

Penis (to Ben): "Wait. Hold up. What's this about HER taking YOUR aim? Did I hear that correct?"

Ben: "You heard her."

Penis: "Well, I dunno what you think this is. What's gon' happen the moment she touches me? What's gon' happen when she goes to 'take YOUR aim'? Yeah, that's right, Benny boy. I'm gon' git hard. And then where's your pee? I don't reckon you've thought this through, son."

Ben: "Ummmmmm...."

Penis: "Too late now. Here she comes!"

Penis' prediction proved prescient. Molly's touch sent shockwaves of electricity throughout Penis' passages, opening the floodgates of his arousal. In seconds, Penis arched to the sky, a lunging scythian pole. Even if Ben were able to pee from this angled arc, he would need to be forty feet away for his piss stream to hit a target on the ground.

Molly seemed neither embarrassed nor perturbed at Ben's sudden arousal.

Molly: "My Lord! Your sword seems in sudden need of a scabbard. Mayhap we are not destined to mix golden puddles? Perhaps it behooveth My Lord to seek a warmer, pinker puddle?"

Prince Bennett's wry smile by way of reply bespoke volumes. Princess Molly's gaze drifted down to his towering erection. Penis spoke to her in terms of his body language but in a voice only audible to men.

Penis: "Oh, My Lady! If only to marinate in your gullet for a trice, yea, a trice of a trice! My joy would be complete!"

Molly (to Prince Bennett): "My Lord, nothing would make me happier than to bend the knee and suckle, chosen first among equals. Your manhood speaketh my name, meseems. Come with me to the edge of the sea. I wouldst pussify* thee e'er I bent the knee."

*(PUSSIFY [puss-uh-fahy] -- (verb): to imbue or immerse with pussy. Ben actually invented this word on the spot during his imagined conversation with Molly. He really did. Only a fellow masturbator can appreciate the creativity with which these graphic scenarios are crafted. Apologies to the screenwriters at Game of Thrones for the alliteration.)

She gently gripped Ben's rampant cock and led him down to the edge of the shore. Her sister princesses followed. Each of them bore a knowing smile and little else. The wispy scent of female cleft lingered on the wind. Penis inhaled this ethereal aroma, knowing that he would soon be immersed in the sticky glory of cunt.

Princess Molly lay on her back in the sand. Small wavelets of seawater washed over her naked body. Her tits wobbled in an ever-tightening spiral before trembling gratefully back into place. Penis gasped at the vision of her shimmering raven-haired pubic mound, cleaved asunder by a vibrant pink slit, and crowned with a budding, marble of a clitoris. The princess lifted her ass and opened her legs, exposing the brown-eye pulsing at the center of her cakes. The sight of both her lovely holes brought Penis to the precipice of disaster. Prince Bennett stepped up to mount her. The young princess demurred. She positioned him sidesaddle, perpendicular to her honeypot, lying on his side, in deference to her sisters. She reached down and pointed Penis into her opening.

Molly: "Your Grace. I, Molly Fierson, First of my Name, Queen of the Vandals and the Stonehawks, Princess of the Realm, Right Hand of the King, now baptize thee with the Fruit of my Womanly Pudding. My Lord, probe forward, I implore you. Fill my Pudding with seed e'er I bend the knee."

Throughout this cumbersome, royal-speak diatribe, Penis strained to immerse himself in hole. It was right there in his face in all its dizzying glory. Only Molly's grip stood between Penis and his rightful home—Womb's Gate.

Penis: "BITCH!! WILL YOU STFU AND BRING THE PEDIWINKLE!!?!!"

Ben (embarrassed, even though he knew Molly could not hear Penis' profane rantings): "Keep it up, y'hear? I'll put you back in my drawers, roll over and go to sleep. An' you can sniff my fucking balls the rest of the night."

Penis: "Yeah, right. We both know THAT ain't gon' happen."

Ben plunged forward. Instantly the sublimely transcendent sensation of initial penetration flooded his brain. Truly, there is no better dopamine catalyst than that first surge into the clasp of a fresh, hot pussy. Penis felt vindicated. In the darkness of her pinkness he inhaled the aromatic sex lubricant percolating from her slide. Penis steeled himself for the long, sloppy trip into her luxurious cavern of lust. Molly, too, braced herself for full insertion. She reached down to stroke Prince Bennett's nuts lazily. Five inches of pole remained unwettened. Five inches of hole remained unfulfilled. The Prince was in no hurry.

Princess Abby broke the awkward silence.

Princess Abigail: "I don't know about y'all, but I ain't about to sit here an' watch these two doin' it, an' I don't git none. His dick might be busy, but he gots a perfectly good tongue, you reckon? I can use a good suckin'. I been humpin' this durn saddle long enough."

As the Prince's sister, Abby was not bound by the formality of royal-speak. She spoke her mind in the argot of the Leone family. They were Southerners, dammit! All this faggy, highbrow bigworditude was for commoners not born to the crown.

"It's NOT the other way around!!"

She draped a riding blanket in the sand next to Prince Bennett's head, then splayed open her pussy inches from his mouth. Penis was still straining to fill those last few inches of Molly's squeezebox; his date with Womb's Gate was nigh. Prince Bennett's eyes were closed. He was adrift, concentrating on that last, stump-wettening thrust into paradise when the unexpected scent of Abby's vagina, so close to his nostrils, lurched him awake. North of there, Abby's snarky smile let the Prince know that THIS pussy was not to be ignored. Tepidly, he offered her his tongue.

Princess Abigail: "OH HELL NO. That's not how you lick pussy, Bennett Thomas Leone. I've showed you plenty enough times how to lick a good twat. In fact, FUCK this. You gimme a back lick, crack to clit. DO IT. C'mere, Sandy."

With that, she rolled over onto her knees and budged Benny's nostrils up between her cakes. Now she began to flap her butt cheeks wildly, as if breaking wind, but without the implied indignity. She painted Ben's entire face in ass crack. Both her southern holes sluiced his chin, lips, tongue and nostrils. Soon she was awash in his saliva.

Meanwhile, Princess Sandra Jean had spread herself out before Abby's face, legs askew. Abby was eating Sandra's pussy on the one end while wiping her ass with Ben's face on the other. It was not the first time these two princesses had engaged each other, nor would it be the last. They were not "strictly dickly".

In his masturbatory fantasy Ben watched his sister languidly lapping cooze. This was remarkable because both Abby's butt cheeks impeded his vision. Penis' assault on Molly's cervix further clouded his viewpoint; he imagined himself to BE Penis, and watched himself colliding monotonously against the entrance to Molly's womb.

Ben witnessed all these trysts in a panoramic montage of masturbatory fervor as he jacked Penis maniacally under his night blanket. And when Jem stepped up to squat over Molly's face, all five of Ben's senses were delirious with joy. He now imagined himself to be each of the sexual organs in play, luxuriating in the thrust of both penetration and intrusion, licking, lapping, humping and sucking. He pulled Penis from Molly's pussy and mounted each maw by turns before returning to Molly's most southern hole, doggystyle. She immediately climaxed with a series of regal ululations. Ben moved on to the next orifice. There certainly was no shortage.