tagIncest/TabooIn Every Port

In Every Port


Her fluid movement, the way her skirt billowed and her heavy breasts swayed arrested my attention. She was moving along the bank of three-story windows in the office corridor two flights below where my assistant and I were standing on the catwalk. I drew in my breath and started removing her skirt and blouse in my mind, squeezing those luscious breasts in my hands as I pushed her against the window hard and thrust brutally up into her. Listening to her moans as her long blonde hair came tumbling down and those icy blue eyes fired up for me.

"Excuse me, Sir. What . . .?" Roderick had kept on walking when I'd stopped in midsentence and turned to the railing at the glimpse of her. Now, he had turned, though, his eyes searching the corridor below, seeing now what I'd seen—but without the same eyes I had for women.

"Who is that?" I asked simply.

"That's Jennifer, Mr. Talbot."

And then when I didn't react, "Jennifer Hancock. Recently signed on in Marketing and doing very well, too, sir, from what I've heard. You must be very proud."

I tore my eyes from that luscious body and turned my gaze toward Roderick. The remark seemed a strange one to make, and there wasn't anything about Roderick that wasn't straightforward, down to his swishy clothes and limp wrists. Of course there wasn't anything about Roderick that wasn't highly competent organization and total loyalty either. Why would I be proud? Or did he just assume this already was one of my women. I did have a bit of a reputation—well, to be true, a honking big reputation—for skirt chasing. But she wasn't one of my women. She would be, of course. But wasn't yet.

"Jennifer Hancock," Roderick repeated, showing a bit of exasperation perhaps. "Jennifer Hancock . . . your daughter." And then from the look of my reaction. "You didn't know?"

What was he asking, I wondered. I didn't know she was working here, or I didn't know she was my daughter. The truth of that was both, actually. But no one accused me of being a slow thinker, so I worked it out quickly.

"Umm, sorry, Rod. Her appearance is completely out of context. She's from my least successful marriage. Her mother has kept our daughters away from me so long that their mere existence sank into the ether of my wild past, I'm afraid. And, no, no, I didn't know she was working here. So, any success she's having in Marketing has nothing to do with me—and do feel free to let that be known around the company. I'll not have the employees tittering about any of her successes because she's my flesh and blood."

My flesh and blood, I thought, as we continued toward my office with its big windows overlooking whatever cruise ship of mine was in port at the time. I felt guilty, of course, thinking of all the ways I wanted to fuck a woman who turned out to be my own daughter. A taboo I'd never had occasion to think about before. Somehow I had assumed that there would be some mental connection between a father and daughter that would just shut down his sex drive in that direction. But no, I guess not, the papers were full of fathers fucking their daughters. I just never assumed that I . . . But even now, visions of the billowing skirt and pendulous breasts intruded on my thoughts, and I had to concentrate very hard on the problems of running a cruise tour line empire to try to get that young woman out of my mind.

But my mind continued to drift rather than to focus on where the on-board entertainment was coming from for our next South Seas Adventure tour. What was that I'd said to him? Calling my marriage to Gayle Hancock one of my least-successful marriages? That certainly was a sin I'd never live down. It was that first marriage, the one where two worked as one to establish a family and a business, the one that should have worked—and perhaps could have if I'd been able to keep my now-famous dick in my pants.

Marriage. That had been my downfall. I couldn't just fuck 'em and leave 'em. Like the actress, Liz Taylor, so publicly did, I had to marry them if I fucked them—at least in those early years. In the 80s, new exotic places were opening up for American tourism, especially in the Pacific: China, and Australia, New Zealand, and Thailand, and even Vietnam, slowly. My brilliant idea had been to capture this opening and to serve it up by taking the hotels to the attractions, in the form of cruise ships, rather than wait for the infrastructure of resorts and first-rate hotels there to come up to American expectations.

I went off for five years to make my professional mark and to get what eventually became a solid shipping empire established. And I was young and virile in those days—well, I'm still virile, just not that young. I had a woman in every port in those days. I fucked them and then, if I really enjoyed that, I married them and settled down with them as I established my offices in their port—always by local custom—despite the fact that I had a wife, Gayle, and daughters at home in the States already. It was a chore, but I could remember most of them now that I was putting my mind to it. Years and years of not thinking about it, though. There was the delicate but steely in the throes of sex Nguyen Duc Thanh in Ho Chi Minh City (which I still preferred to think of in more exotic terms as Saigon), straightforward lusty fuck Cecelia Honeycut in Sydney, master of the massage Chao Ching Ling in Hong Kong, and the always intriguing Pasharee what-ever-her-unpronounceable-last-name-was in Bangkok.

For five years I was well fucked and frequently married. But when I returned to the States, all set up in business and ready to enjoy the fruits of my hard work with my loving wife and daughters there, I found I had become a bit too famous. The National Enquirer licked its lips in delighted fashion in a layout on my failure just to love and leave them during my East Asia experience, and Gayle dumped me in a very bitter divorce. I don't know what I had resented more—her taking half of the result of all that hard work I'd done or that she was the type to read the National Enquirer.

Not knowing my own daughter just now started me thinking. What if there had been children from the other marriages? Would I not recognize or acknowledge them if there were? And surely there were. I had had a few other marriages with issue here in the States after Gayle divorced me—and I had two by-blow sons as well, both of whom I acknowledged. There was nothing wrong with my sperm count or my sex drive—or, God knows, the frequency of my fuckings; I had become legendary in the corporate world for my womanizing.

I couldn't help but feel the guilt. I thought of the daughter I'd just seen downstairs. And then I thought, separately, of the woman I'd seen downstairs and of her moaning on the bed under me and my tongue in her cunt. And then I broke that off in the guilt of such thoughts again.

I could be a man of impulsive decision. And to assuage the guilt of my thoughts of fucking my own daughter, I called Roderick in and we spent a couple of hours building up a favorable response to a proposal I'd received to help sponsor an agency to help place war orphans of foreign soldiers who just had their way with local women and walked away from them.

I stopped torturing myself at that point and went back to the work of the cruise line. But for the rest of that day and right up until Roderick reminded me that I had a company party to attend that evening on board the Sea Voyager at dock, I couldn't help my mind from drifting to that billowing skirt and swaying bodice and to what might lay underneath them, how creamy the skin would feel to me, how yielding the center of her as I slid my manhood inside her and she moaned for me and I searched deep inside her with my magic tool for her sensitive and vulnerable hiding places.


The party on the Sea Voyager was going full blast and I was effectively erasing the images of bedding my own daughter in my mind by gathering new images of screwing the never-ending procession of luscious women throwing themselves at me in the ship's lounge. My worth was public knowledge—as was my insatiable taste for young busty women—and there was no end to woman employees in a business that attracted very attractive and ambitious woman employees who wanted to fuck their way to the top with the top boss. I often indulged them in this effort, and I fully intended to do so this evening. The images I had tried to suppress of doing it with my own daughter had weighed heavily on me throughout the work day and that needed release.

By the tail end of the time set for the party, I had zeroed in on a straightforward and lusty downunderer by the name of Cici. She had those blonde, blue-eyed looks that had attracted me to my daughter earlier in the day, not to mention a similar fluidity of movement and pendulous breasts.

I left the party and took up station in the captain's cabin, where the delicious Cici was delivered to me within minutes. She was swinging a champagne bottle and two glasses. She no sooner had set those down on a table, however, than I was behind her, very close behind her, letting her feel what I was interested in doing, letting her discover for herself why I was a legendary cocksman. I encased her body in my arms and placed the palms of my hands on her young, firm belly and pushed the well-rounded orbs of her buttocks back into my package. She turned her face up to me and we went into a deep kiss, while my hands moved up to and cupped her breasts where they were barely encased in the plunging neckline gown she was wearing. She kept her buttocks plastered to my groin, however, and even began a circular motion with them there, bringing my cock to full attention.

I reached around to the back of her neck with one hand and untied the straps there, and her gown just slipped down to her flared hips. She was wearing nothing else underneath. We continued kissing, and her moans and sighed told me of her enjoyment of me while I cupped her breasts in both hands and kneaded them and worked the nipples taut. Then I was gliding one hand down her belly and mound, and she gave a little gasp and almost bit my lips as I entered her with one finger and then two and then three and started to search and spread her.

She was trembling and mewing for me. And my mind went to that vision of my daughter in the corridor below where I had been standing on the catwalk earlier and my actions were being transferred. It was all heat at first. This was the same woman and I would do what I wanted to do. When I had her moist and flowing for me in this position, I would just unzip and release myself and lift her up and set her slit down, swallowing my cock, and fuck her. Pump her up and down on my cock. Breed her. Breed her. Breed . . . my daughter. The heat turned to ice in an instance, and I released the young woman I had in my grasp in real life. This Cici. Not Jennifer, Cici.

I covered having broken off the foreplay with the lame excuse that I wanted to prolong the experience, that we should have a little champagne first. I poured two glasses of champagne and went over to the bed and sat down on the end of it. Cici left her glass sitting on the table and came over and started to undress me. She took my shoes and socks off and then unbuckled my pants and drew them off. She then went for the buttons on my shirt. She was kneeling there, between my open legs, her pendulous breasts swaying against my thighs, making me all tingly in the groin. She had my shirt open and was kissing and nipping at my nipples with her teeth.

She hummed as she worked her mouth down my torso, and then she had pulled my cock out of my briefs and I heard a lusty laugh as she saw the thickness and length of me. Such a nice lusty laugh. A familiar laugh really. I could imagine Jennifer with such a laugh. No, better not go there. I'm trying to get the image of fucking my own daughter out of my mind now. I need to separate the thought of Cici who was here with me from Jennifer who was forbidden to me. It had been a mistake to pick Cici this evening; I should have picked her friend, that Vietnamese girl Lan. I should have picked someone as different from Jennifer as she could be.

But it was Cici who was here now. And she was making love to my cock with her soft mouth. Kissing it and stroking it with her hands, and, oh my Gawd, deep throating it. She was good. Very, very good. Few could deep throat a cock like mine.

That throaty, lusty laugh again. So familiar. Had Jennifer's mother laughed like that during sex? No, that was someone else. That was . . . it was Cecelia Honeycut, the Australian one, wasn't it?

I was lost in the blow job now, stroking up into Cici's mouth, lost in ecstasy. She felt me tighten up and knew what that was leading to and pulled her mouth off my cock and let me shoot off all over her face, with her laughing lustily the whole time and cleaning me with her tongue. I was still hard then and she rose up and straddled my hips and was about to swallow me with her cunt.

Another laugh. The lustiness of it. "Cecelia!"

I had no idea I had cried that out loud until a startled Cici responded, "Yes, that's what Cici stands for. But, how . . .?"

The horrid possibility flooded into me. Was I trying to avoid the thought of fucking one daughter by fucking another one? Australian, similar lusty laugh, same straightforward approach to fucking, familiarity of appearance. There were just too many coincidences to the Cecelia Honeycut I had screwed and then married.

But if this girl weren't my daughter, I very much wanted to fuck her. Again the excuses, saying I wanted to savor this new relationship, that we wouldn't go farther tonight, but it wasn't because she wasn't good. She was terrific. I just wanted to take each new level separately. That I'd see her again soon.

She pouted a bit, of course. But she was on a mission. To fuck the boss royally, so he would remember it and reward it. If I didn't want to screw her now, she just needed to try harder.

Time. What I needed was a bit of time. I'd have a check run on her background. I had to be completely sure she wasn't my daughter to take this any farther. Although even as far as it went . . . But then, with Cici I was innocent. I hadn't had any idea, and the first moment it had occurred to me, I stepped back. It wasn't my fault that I had already face fucked her at that point, that she had swallowed my seed. But Jennifer, on the other hand . . . My inability to stop fantasizing getting my throbbing cock up her was a sin that just wasn't going away.

Three nights later, and still hampered by a thus-far-inconclusive judgment on Cici's parentage, I was waylaid and virtually kidnapped by Cici and her friend Lan in a bar near the office. They were all giggles and jiggling tits and long, long legs and barely covered twats, as they folded themselves in the banquette at either side of me and were all hands looking for and finding openings in my suit. I'd had too much to drink and I was horny as hell, so I let them carry me off.

We were all entangled legs and tongues and grinding hips in the back of my limo as we drove across town, and I barely had the presence of mind to ask where we were going. I was told we were going far, far away from my world, from ships and things that I controlled and owned. That Cici and Lan were going to show me a good time on their own turf. The short answer was that Lan's family had gone up to Connecticut for the weekend, and we were going to their apartment.

There were no preliminaries when we got to apartment; we went straight to a bedroom luxuriously appointed in East Asian style. There was a big, platform king-sized bed with Jim Thompson silk pillows and bedspread, and this is where we immediately landed. The three of us wrestling to buck nakedness. A creamy, curvy, voluptuous body writhing against me contrasted with a delicate, thin, but exquisite light brown body. Luxurious curly blonde hair tickling my thighs as Cici deep throated me again—which, I reasoned, she could do even if she was my daughter, because he had already gone that far with me—and my hands brushing through long, heavy, straight black hair as my lips parted Lan's nether lips, charmingly hidden in the silky blackness of her pubic bush and my tongue tasted the tangy delights of the Orient. Lan's laughter was lilting, her passion fiery.

All the time my mind was racing. Cannot fuck Cici, it was saying. Cannot fuck Cici until I know for sure. Let her blow you, but not farther yet.

I pulled out of Cici's mouth. Playing for time. What to do to play for time, knowing that I'd never know soon enough now, at least in this situation, if it was safe for me to fuck Cici. Fucking my daughter. Could I do that? Could I ever do that? I had to reject the idea, even though I had mentally fucked my daughter, Jennifer, repeatedly now. I had to somehow hold off on going the full way with Cici until I knew for sure.

But there was the delectable Lan now. And she wanted me. She even said so. "Fuck me," she was telling me dreamily. "Fuck me in every port," she then said playfully, playing on jokes we'd been telling in the bar of the cruise line business—of the sailor with a willing cunt in every port; so close to the truth with me. And she turned onto her stomach and raised her pert buttocks, offering me her rear door. I watched as Cici prepared Lan's ass opening with her tongue. While Cici was doing this, I came around and settled my hips under Lan's head and worked her mouth port with my cock. She was sucking my dick like it was a favorite-flavor Popsicle. When I'd felt big and throbbing enough, I gently pushed Cici aside, saddled up above and behind Lan, and laboriously worked my cock inside her tight ass and rode her for several minutes while she whimpered and moaned for me. I rode her until I felt I couldn't control myself any longer and then I pulled out of her with some difficulty, fell beside her, trying to regain control and regularize my breathing, and watched as Cici dipped her head between Lan's thighs and worked her cunt with a searching tongue.

Then Lan was on her back, stretched out above me, her cunt flowing nicely now. Mewing for me. Wanting me in every port still, with the main harbor still not explored. And I had to fuck someone. I knelt above her, my knees pushing her thighs wide now. Cici plopped down beside us, contented now that I had shown what direction this was to take, at least for now, stretched beside us and playing both of us like musical instruments, first one and then the other, with her gliding hand. Sliding along surfaces, dipping into crevices, tweaking nipples of one and then the other, guiding my butt with her hand after I had gotten into the rhythm of screwing Lan.

I worked Lan's pert little breasts with my hands as I knelt between her legs. I looked into her face. She was licking her lips in anticipation and staring at me intensely, her eyes already filled with my semen in her thoughts, her startlingly blue eyes.

I moved my hand down to her hips and raised them, and set the mushroom cap of my cock against her opening. Cici gave out a guttural, lusty laugh as we both watched the cap slowly disappear between the lips of Lan's cunt, the sensuous sound of slurping suction. Lan gave a little cry of acceptance and arched her back. She took one of my hands away from her breast and moved it to her face. She opened her lips and sucked in three fingers of the hand and gave me a sensuous "Take me, ravish me" look with her blue eyes.

My cock explored at first, looking for and finding all of Lan's sensitive spots, guided by her moaning and little lurches of pleasure and by the increasing of her lubricating flow. I dove deep inside her, and she cried out for me and flexed her torso up and down and sucked hard on my fingers. Cici gave a lusty laugh and inserted two fingers inside Lan's cunt, sharing in the fuck. I started pumping the Vietnamese honey then, both delicate and steely at the same time. Small and diminutive, seeming to be too delicate to take what I was plowing inside her. But at the same time strong passage muscles grabbing my cock and undulating around it and pulling it deeper and deeper. Making it hard for me to pull it back. But pull it back I did. And then plowed it down, bottomed it out, again. And then out and in, out and in. I lost all control as Cici, while leaving two fingers inside Lan and driving my cock crazy there with extra attention, started to finger inside my ass with her other hand.

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