HUNGER: A Love Story of Incest

HUNGER:

A Love Story of Gentle Fetishes and Incest

by

Jonathan Stone

1

"Jon, I don't want the fact that we're married to keep you from any joys and pleasures with your niece. I mean that."

The lovely black woman in the red sweater and short tan leather skirt rubbed her unsupported breasts against her husband as they embraced before she left for work. "From what you've shown me of her, I'd treasure an opportunity to have her completely relocate and live with us."

Jonathan Stone looked at his wife in surprise and said, "Heather, would you be able to be intimate with her? And what if she wants to...mmm, how do I say it...?"

"You mean could I make love with her and what if she wants to make love with you? Well, sport," and she pulled his long hair with a lusty laugh, "few things could thrill me more. What arouses me most is our time together; something in addition would be icing on our cake, gravy on our potatoes, sauce...."

"Okay, oKAY!" he laughed. "I see where this is going. I should have known with your hunger, few things would be a problem."

"With you, my Jonathan, I am yours. You own me, elegant Cajun man. You be careful, have an incredibly unrestrained time with your niece, and I'll spend my nights on-line with the denizens of your company's website."

He kissed her, felt the large cushions of her breasts beneath the red sweater, and let his hands drift to the hem of her very short leather skirt. Sure enough, his wife wore nothing beneath; his fingers tugged the crisp curls of her pussy strip. She stared at him, nodded, and smiled broadly.

2

_ _ _ _ _

Marlowe Ryan stared unseeing at the distant purplish mountains marking the high desert horizon outside Fort Bliss, Texas.

"There's an oxymoron to beat 'em all," muttered the young lieutenant colonel of Military Police. She twisted in her battle dress uniform to break the bond between sweaty underclothes and the outer duty clothing, grousing as she did so, "I cannot wait to git nekkid out of these things. My week with my uncle in those mountains cannot get here soon enough!"

Then Marlowe did a double-take on her previous remark. 'Good, grief...I'm wanting to get naked and I'm going on a week-long junket in north Alabama with my uncle. Is this [a] me having the gift of foresight? [b] me expressing a deep and forbidden inner desire? or [c] me just screwing around in my thoughts? Damn! I hope it's all three!'

Her thoughts turned to her uncle, Jonathan Stone, a man she had loved and respected deeply for as long as she'd known him. Stone was an unusual bird. On one hand, he had lengthy combat military experience, and although she did so as well, she realized that his unusual assignments gave him a depth that even she didn't know in certain respects; once she'd seen his array of medals...she knew very few general or flag officers who had anything like his accomplishments. He'd been in the saddle as she had. He loved his country as she did, teared up at patriotic music as she did, and rarely exhibited the medals and ribbons he'd received, a trait she'd emulated.

The other side of Stone was atypical for a military-minded man and one who still engaged in activities he could discuss only with a few men and women like her who owned high security clearances. There were times when she playfully called him 'my girly guy' in recognition of his unusually long, dense hair and the erotic activities she knew he'd had with PRISM Designs, the company for which he worked. At present he was married to one of the most beautiful women she'd ever seen, Heather Longstreet.

He was not all that many years her senior, but their relationship had always been one of mutual admiration, enjoyment when they'd worked together on the same Rollerball and Bullwhip projects, and something else much deeper.

Something neither of them had wanted to touch, for both realized that it was electrically charged.

Marlowe had never married. It wasn't that she was unattractive; she was a little more than five feet tall, had a strong and shapely body from her consistent physical training, nearly flawless skin, a good sense of humor to offset her high-powered mind, dark hair turning gray and swept back in a short cut, and a love for both people and long periods of silence.

Sexual desires and their satisfaction certainly hadn't bypassed her, either. Marlowe had a private and extremely erotic enjoyment of herself. Friends, advertisements, allusions on television, and even Allison's Pleasures on a corner in the suburbs had provided her with ideas, techniques, and items such as pussy and anal inserts. Even the website of a women five years her junior, an extremely daring and uninhibited girl who, to Marlowe, got away with the most blatant public exposure and outright nudity, provided her with tempting and delicious ideas as well as some of the most erotic clothing she'd ever seen.

She contacted Karen, the host of the website, actually went to see her, and in addition to getting a sizeable number of clothing items, went with her on several outings during which Marlowe bared herself with abandon. Afterward, she hardly used the sensuous clothing except when she was alone. In view of her military career, she could hardly believe she'd let herself go in such an extreme fashion.

All of this proved, however, that though she may have seemed chilly and aloof on the outside, Marlowe was a volcano that one day would erupt, given the right circumstances and person.

Eric Boston had been a soldier and lover whom she adored. While she was embroiled in odd locations such as Grenada, Panama and Somalia, he had been on combat operations in Iraq and a few unmentionable elsewheres. They were to set a date for their wedding when he returned this time.

Only, Eric didn't completely return this time. He'd changed in ways she had difficulty expressing. The man who came back from Iraq was short-tempered, rude, crude, boorish, selfish, physically threatening to her, and seemed to enjoy making her look like a fool in public. A light shone in his eyes that she'd never seen. Something else now lived within him, something she sensed was deeply hostile, dangerous.

Eventually Marlowe and Eric agreed to part ways. It never seemed to trouble him; he virtually peeled her off and out of his life as if she were a used Band-Aid. The termination of her love and desire for him was long in coming and had hooks on it that left scraps of the dead love along her life's path as if she were dropping bread crumbs in order to retrace some long lost trail.

On a mutual assignment in the Pacific, the relationship between her and her uncle made a graceful yet definite turn. The two were strolling along a walkway that fronted the ocean when Jonathan stopped, turned to her and remarked, "You know, Marlowe, one of the things that makes me saddest is that someplace out there is a fine man who is missing the thrill of the greatest woman he could possibly find...you."

She stopped and turned to Jonathan, clasping his upper arms as she did so. "That is the kindest, most gracious thing you could say to me, Jonathan."

"Well, I mean it, dear. Listen, if I weren't married myself and I was fifteen years younger than I am, I'd chase you around the world, Marlowe, until you dropped."

"You know, Jonathan, I just might let you catch me, too," she whispered over the fragrant sea breeze.

In one of those acts unplanned, surprising but not regretted and clearly recalled afterward, the two drew each other close and kissed. It was not merely an accidental move, nor was it childlike. Marlowe felt his lips on hers, then she stabbed her tongue into his mouth and flipped it about.

Just as she felt a pang of alarm that she'd violated a trust or crossed a forbidden boundary, he parted her lips with his own tongue and they sparred tenderly. She'd never felt a man kiss her eyelids or her ears, or fill her with a sense that she was treasured rather than wanted as an object.

Family relationships were important to both of them, yet neither felt as if they were violating these. It was a tender, emotion-laced hiatus built upon years of having known each other before this night. Their kiss lasted minutes and when they parted they stared into each other's eyes without regret.

"I meant that, Marlowe. Don't forget it or me."

"I was going to say the same, Jonathan, my precious mind reader."

They both laughed, hugged, strolled on...and hadn't spoken of that evening again.

3

Jonathan paid a visit to his mother-away-from-home, Pandora Brennan, with whom he shared a number of activities, most of them sensuous, some professional. This time she had him sit in her stylist's chair as she trimmed enough hair from his dense auburn mass to encourage its growth; it now reached above his waist but below the middle of his back.

"I'm the keeper of your mop, O Great Scourge among Women," she laughed as she worked, "and given the sorts of off-the-wall work you do, I think it'll be less of a hindrance, less of a risk to you, and this will cause the rest of it to thicken. As if it could possibly grow any thicker. Your hair weighs so much, Jon, I'm surprised you don't have neck muscles like riverboat hawsers."

"Whatever you say, lovely lady."

"Hah! As if you need anything to make you more desirable than you already are. Now, go look wonderful, tempt the world, and have a grand time with that terrific niece of yours. As if I didn't know...."

"Okay, Pandora...okay...I know where you're going," he laughed as he left her salon.

_ _ _ _ _

Jonathan drove to Fort Bliss, Texas, to get his niece at her home. He had just completed the unpleasant task of buying another truck to replace the one that had served him for 210,000 miles. This one would last longer and go farther; it was a one-year-old Ford F350 with a 6.7-liter PowerStroke diesel. This eight cylinder beast would pull an entire city block where it didn't want to go, and he figured that short of using it as a tank retriever in the Army, he'd have a tough time making it come close to sweating a job.

He intended to accomplish two things by making the trip: quietly communicate to his niece that she was truly special in his life, and break in the diesel.

Marlowe had to be the most attractive twenty-seven year-old professional Army officer in the military police that he'd seen. He had an inkling of how she intimidated others when he stopped at her home and she emerged hauling one small cosmetic bag and her mil-spec equipment belt that carried, among other things, her smaller model of the military's new SIG-SAUR 9-millimeter pistol; the rig was fastened in a circle; she carried it over her shoulder. She returned with a larger airline-style rolling case.

"Marlowe," he spoke to the set of dials and switches on the dashboard, "no wonder you scare the hell out of 'em! You're beautiful, you're a hard-charger, and you act like you have a plan for the whole day. Most guys I know outside the Rangers and spec ops crew haven't got a clue what they're doing for the next fifteen minutes."

For the first time she wore a soft green and very short sun-back dress. The pretty dress perfectly displayed his niece's strong body. It was a short skirt with two risers in front that actually were one and wrapped around her neck. They were loose enough so that when she moved her breast was exposed. Marlowe's back was completely bare to her waist and the short skirt. She had the muscles in her back and powerful legs of a floor gymnast, and she presented to him one of the most sensuous views of a short woman that he could remember.

'Honey,' he mused, 'if you wore that around this or any other Army post, you'd be detained by the MPs and your commander would have given you an ass-chewing you'd never get over. I didn't know you owned a beautiful skimpy dress like that.'

The dress, while covering her, was deliciously revealing as she walked toward him; except that when she got closer to him he was rattled to see that the dress was semi- see-through. When she turned back to lock up the house, he caught his breath as a playful breeze flipped up the back of her skirt to reveal her curvy bare bottom.

"Dear Lord, I'm supposed to be a good guy, a mature example for Marlowe, and remember the boundaries of a good family relationship. Yeah, I'm an oak tree, all right! Marlowe, I didn't think you had it in you, Princess. And I sure didn't think I'd see that on you!" Jonathan grinned wolfishly as he talked to himself.

With their gear in the back seat area of the cab, Marlowe climbed into the Ford and surprised him once more when she leaned over the shifter and kissed him softly.

"Hi!" she said brightly as she smiled. "What's up, O mysterious uncle of mine?" she asked as they drove away.

"Well, I've installed a fold-out platform in the bed of this thing. With you being military and all, I knew you don't expect any kind of comfortable, simple arrangement for sleeping. I've rigged a canopy that attaches to the roof of the cab and extends back long enough to provide a kind of back porch for us. Ah...sleeping quarters are going to be somewhat cramped, though."

"Jonathan, I'm not worried at all about any of our accommodations. This is a most unusual time for us; first time we've spent this much of it together ever. We both may have some unexpected plans and requests before it's all over. This is our time to have fun, be amazed, rattle our bars, and...well...who knows?"

She shot him a coy glance and was pleased to note that he was at the same time eying her right breast as the right hand riser on her dress shifted to reveal her curves. When she'd decided earlier on what to wear she'd had stirrings of doubt as to just how much leeway she had with her uncle. His admiring glances told her that she had no concerns at all in that department.

Marlowe turned in her seat toward Jon as much as her seat belt allowed. She was rewarded by the skirt drawing upward to completely reveal her pussy. The slight move nonetheless sent tiny electric chills through her as she felt the coolness of air conditioning on her flesh. She glanced down to see that she was fully exposed, and she saw Jon staring pointedly at her there.

A sweet, tickling little rivulet of sexual fire wound its way lazily through her, leaving in its wake a delicately scorched longing she'd not enjoyed before. On one hand Marlowe felt uneasy at the sensation and its implication, yet she was aroused at the pleasure it brought.

Jonathan at times didn't talk a lot, something that had always endeared him to her. The cab was silent as the diesel happily growled away with that 'diesel' growl he enjoyed so much. Its automatic transmission shifted effortlessly as they wound their way across Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi and into the foothills of the Appalachians just north of Attalla, Alabama, and on toward the mountainous terrain of the Smokies beyond.

Marlowe closed her eyes but remained wide awake as she sized up the man beside her for the umpteenth time. His past and current military and 'other' activities seemed in direct contrast to the overly-long and thick fall of auburn hair and its waves and curls about his face. She'd been in the saddle long enough to know that appearance goes only so far in describing a person; Jonathan was one of a kind in her mind.

He knew things that she knew about classified events to which only a select few are privy. He didn't get that by being weak and squishy. And then there was that body she'd always admired just a bit more than she should...no, far too much more than she should.

When their family gathered for holidays, she tried to casually note the outlines of his breasts, the way they quivered as he moved and when they hugged in greetings, and his powerful legs. And that other attraction that was delightfully prominent... that he didn't seem to mind at all.

She realized just how much of a sensuous grip he had on her as she recalled the day he'd come to her home to help her change an out-of-balance and troublesome ceiling fan for a Hunter. He arrived smiling as always and hugged her with an intensity that left her breathless. He opened the packing box and, as she arranged the parts in the order he'd need them, he set up a ten-foot ladder to do the task.

Only when she watched him mount the steps did she realize how he was dressed, so concerned had she been with getting the job done. As usual, his hair was unbound, and this time he wore one of those midriff or cropped top sweatshirts above a pair of well-worn, light blue denim jeans.

He began disassembly of the ceiling attachment and installation of the new holding rod for the Hunter. As he reached for the cover plate on the ceiling, his top rode completely up and over his breasts. It was the first time she'd seen him virtually topless, and she gaped with erotic surprise.

He was considerably larger than she. Never had she seen a man with such full, well-defined breasts and pointed nipples. Marlowe felt a bolt of sexual lightning sizzle through her as she watched them quiver with his movements. He looked down and saw her staring, yet he made no move to alter his position or his exposure.

To complicate matters and her confusion, when she looked down to hide her interest, she was staring at his legs in the tight denims at eye level, and his shaft was clearly outlined down his left thigh. Obviously, he was wearing no underwear; when she thought, 'My God, he's really big, and he's got nothing else on,' she felt the talons of what she knew was coming.

She was having an orgasm, one of those creeping, delicious small ones that she could bring on as she sat at her desk or in the office of a partner at work. It was happening right here with her uncle, just because of him, and he apparently was not only aware of his exposure but satisfied with it.

Marlowe, red-faced with embarrassment at herself and twisting on the inside with sexual desire for Jonathan, hurriedly excused herself for a bathroom trip. Her uncle nodded without concern as she hurried off. When she returned after cleaning up and striving mightily to get a grip on herself, she found him working away, breasts frequently bare and jiggling, hair half covering his face, and his shaft as firm as before.

Out of desperation she decided on another tack: she'd photograph this mentally...the whole damn thing...like a movie and use it to arouse herself in the future. She'd never forgotten the slightest part of that experience.

Today, he wore a gray denim shirt left unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, black jeans, a well-worn pair of Dan Post boots and an ordinary military-style watch. Because of the coolness in the air at cruising speed, they traveled with the windows up. His hair fell about his face and back in an auburn mass that women she knew would kill for. She could see inside his open shirt the outlines of his breasts with their erect nipples, and the odyssey of Jonathan and her ceiling fan washed over her again.

'Good Lord,' she thought. 'Men simply don't have a rack like his. Boy, Marlowe, way to go for sheer maturity at your age!' Then she compounded her desire saying, 'Baby, I sure would love to get my hands on yours, my tasty uncle.'

Again, she experienced a bolt of excitement that unnerved her with its sexual intensity. He really was larger than she was, considerably so, something that rather than prompting envy or dislike, brought a twisting sensation between her thighs and throughout her hips.

Time for a different tack. "Jon, what are our plans for when we get there?"

"You are the best planner of situations I've seen," he laughed. "I know a back road and an area where there simply aren't any people, because nobody wants to work that hard to get there. We'll set up the way you think best, and then...we'll just fool around a lot. Neither of us has had a lot of that recently, anyhow. Maybe we'll just wander around in the woods...like a modern day Adam and Marlowe."