Magnus and His Family Ch. 13

Magnus and His Family (Chapter 13)

Kathryn M. Burke

David was, as can be imagined, like a kid in a candy store.

It was, of course, ecstatic to be reunited with Jenna, and he already envisioned a second wedding that would confirm their devotion to each other. But he was well aware that there were three other females in the house, and he held out the hope that he would be allowed to enjoy them just as Jenna was enjoying the three other males. And sure enough, that happened. His first encounter with Imogen was an overwhelming experience, as this woman—exhibiting the same ripe femininity as his ex-wife, but in subtly different ways—brought out a kind of protective instinct that Jenna had somehow never elicited. The upshot was another multi-orgasmic session that ended only when he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

And getting reaquainted with the winsome Kristen, who was more than happy to welcome him into her arms (and other parts of her body) during a long, leisurely evening of coitus, was so rejuvenating that it evoked memories of his first love during freshman year of college.

But the next evening, there was some trouble.

Throughout dinner, Jenna had seemed unusually subdued, and when the meal was over and some of the others were trying to find places in the living room to watch a movie, she gave a sharp look in the direction of her ex-husband and her daughter as they cuddled up on a loveseat.

"Exactly what are you two doing?" she said.

"Mom," Adele said, "we're just sitting here!"

Well, there was more to it than that. David had wrapped his arm around his daughter with something more than fatherly affection, and Jenna could tell that the hand of that arm, at first encircling the middle of her back, was sliding inexorably up in the direction of her left breast.

Jenna rushed toward them and, bending down next to the loveseat, whispered frantically: "You two are not going to—!"

"Oh, Mom," Adele said, like a teenager wearying of a stick-in-the-mud parent, "what's the big deal? I mean, take a look over there."

She was indicating how Paul and Imogen had found a spot together on the couch, and Kristen was actually sitting on Magnus's lap on a big easy chair.

"That—that's them!" Jenna exclaimed. "We don't have to behave like them!"

"I think," David said quietly, "it's a little too late for scruples of this sort."

"Ooooh!" Jenna exploded, rising to her feet. "Fine! You do whatever you like!"

And she marched off, seeking solace in Curt, who was otherwise unoccupied.

After the movie, Adele got up, took her father by the hand, and led him upstairs. Jenna watched them every step of the way, then buried her head in Curt's chest.

Each of the four bedrooms of the house was now suitable for a pair of lovers, and Adele and David found an unoccupied one and began to get comfortable. It will be recalled that David had something of a partiality toward slender, curvy girls like Kristen; and yet, as he watched his daughter calmly disrobe, he began to develop a renewed appreciation for "big girls." Unhurriedly, she unzipped the dress she had been wearing, letting it fall off her shoulders and into the floor. With a deft maneuver she lifted it up with a motion of her foot and placed it on a chair. Then, keeping her back turned to her father, she reached behind her back to unclasp her bra, shimmying out of it. Then, after only the slightest hesitation, she peeled off her underwear. She was now naked, and could hear from David's agitated breathing that her backside was proving to be pleasing to his gaze. Then, with a stately gesture, she turned around and locked eyes with him.

David was devouring her gorgeous daughter's form, licking his lips as if parched from thirst. But it wasn't a cool glass of water that would satisfy him now. Those large breasts, the wide, flaring hips, the strong thighs, and that thick tuft at her delta were so hypnotizing that he thought he could stare at them forever. But he also knew that in a very short time he would want to do more than stare.

He had been so transfixed at Adele's striptease that he remained standing with all his clothes on. So Adele walked quietly toward him, gave him a little peck on the mouth (the first time he had ever felt those fleshy lips on his own), and proceeded to undress him. Shirt, pants, and socks were doffed quickly; and as she peered with an amused smirk at the severe distortion of his underwear as a result of his erection, she fell to her knees and removed it in a single motion.

The cock bobbed up and down and almost hit her in the face, causing her to laugh a little. Then, as her mother had done a few days before, she gulped down well over half his member right off the bat. David watched fixedly as those red lips encircled his organ and, little by little, swallowed it up to the root. He reached out to take hold of her head with both hands and thrust gently into her mouth, seeing her saliva coat it all along the shaft. Every once in a while she slipped it out of her mouth and reached down to engulf his balls in her mouth, her face gaining a kind of contemplative expression as if she were gauging the similarities and differences between his sac and those of the other men in the house.

But this was only the prelude to the main event. After some minutes David brought his daughter to her feet, led her to the bed, and had her sit on the edge of it. Then, with a significant look, he parted her legs, fell to his knees, and examined her moistening sex. From his relatively limited experience, he concluded that it was just about the prettiest pussy he'd ever seen—nicer than Kristen's, Imogen's, or his own ex-wife's. There was a tender fleshiness to it, a rosy tint, and an aromatic scent that sent him into transports. He felt a surge of pride that he had been partially responsible for it, and he pasted his lips to it and began licking and sucking diligently, as Adele gasped delightedly and held her father's head to the spot.

It became obvious to her that this was no mere foreplay, and she gave way to the sensation in every way—staring fixedly at the head bobbing up and down as it worked, relishing the feel of his lips as he teased the labia and clitoris and, every so often, stuck his tongue deep into her vagina, and enjoying the feel of his hands as he alternately seized her hips and bottom. After a time her father's ministrations became so thrilling that she threw her head back and cried out as an orgasm suddenly came over her; her feet pounded David's back as she squeezed her own breasts to augment her experience.

Afterwards, she flopped onto her back on the bed, gazing up at him dazedly. He slid into bed next to her, then carefully got on top of her. He was on the verge of inserting his cock into her crevice when he stopped abruptly. The acts that father and daughter had engaged in up to this point were intense and stimulating, but it didn't constitute the full and inextricable union both had been envisioning—and perhaps fearing. So he paused.

"Adele, dearest," he whispered, "are you really ready for this?"

"Oh, yes, Daddy!" she breathed. "Please go in me."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely sure?"

"God, yes, Daddy! Do it now!"

And so he went into her.

Both of them were aware of the momentousness of the act. As his cock slid deeper and deeper into her, Adele's eyes widened as she realized that the author of her existence was fusing his body with hers in the most intimate possible way (well, with one exception)—and David too was overwhelmed by the enormous significance of what they were doing. As she wrapped her arms around him, stroking his back and bottom, he thrust repeatedly into her, plastering kisses all over her face and neck and shoulders, kneading her breasts and bottom. Gradually they both settled into a rhythm, hoping this coupling could go on forever; but, in a surprisingly short time, as David's lips were glued to Adele's, he began to feel that all too familiar feeling that would lead to the culmination of his desires.

And so he deposited his seed into his daughter.

He didn't want to pull out for quite some time, and she was content to have him keep his body draped over hers; but at last he felt it was time to withdraw, and he flopped over to the other side of the bed onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Well, we've done it, he thought. There's no going back now.

For Adele, it was a dream come true. Ever since she had heard how Kristen had enjoyed bedding down with her father, she had fantasized about doing the same thing with her dad. And the fact that he had been largely out of her life for the last several years had somehow made him feel something of a stranger, so that this reunion of body and mind was doubly satisfying. It was simply taking their profound and multifaceted relationship to a new and different level, and the potent symbol of that was the thick fluid that was now slowly dripping out of her pussy and onto the bedsheet.

David too was moved beyond words, contemplating how he had nurtured his daughter from childhood and then been cruelly separated from her by divorce (for which, he admitted, he was more than half responsible); and so he was eager to seize the chance to reacqaint himself with every aspect of his adult daughter's being. He had a sense that this would be only the first of many such chances he would have.

After a time they embraced again, cuddling gently—Adele kissing her father's neck and cheek while he stroked her back and bottom. In due course of time she became aware that something was happening in the direction of his groin, so she gave him a little smirk and said: "I guess you'd like to go into my bottom?"

She knew that David had indulged in that act with the other women in the house, and she knew that he might be too shy to propose the thing himself. So she went ahead and asked.

"Yes, very much," he said with a pathetic look of gratitude on his face.

He carefully lubricated her and entered her, urging her to lie on her stomach while he placed his entire body on hers. He didn't hesitate to seize her breasts with both hands as he ground his hips into her, glorying in the feel of her cushiony bottom on his groin. Here too he came a little sooner than he had expected, but remained firmly embedded in her until at last he slipped out, his seed dripping out of her anus at the same time.

They collapsed into a drugged sleep as they professed themselves thoroughly satisfied.

*

Thanksgiving was an incredibly festive occasion, as all the couples—new and reunited—participated in preparing the feast and in devouring it. But after the long weekend, work beckoned for all the members of the household, especially for the young people. Final exams were impending, and they had to hit the books and turn in papers and do all the other work that college students need to do to remain in good standing.

As Curt and Adele were snuggling one night after a hard day's studying, she noticed that he was unusually pensive. He had been quite ardent in his lovemaking, although somehow Adele sensed that that was mostly a kind of safety valve he was letting off because, like Paul, he had to work hard not only on his classwork but on the football field. But even beyond this, Adele detected something else preoccupying him.

"Something the matter, dear?" she said, tracing a circular pattern on his hairless chest with her finger.

Curt gave her an inscrutable look but said nothing.

That wasn't like him. Adele had given her heart to Curt chiefly because, even though he was a man of few words, he was very much in touch with his feelings and was usually prepared to talk about them when the need arose. So his silence at this moment was troubling.

"Curt," she said, shifting her body so that she lay directly on top of him, "what's the matter?"

"Nothing's the matter," he said evasively. "It's just . . ."

"Just what?" Then, in a softer tone, "You can tell me." You love me, don't you?

He screwed up his face as if expecting a rejection of some kind.

"Um, can I ask a big favor of you?" he whispered.

"Of course! Anything."

But again he fell silent. Now Adele was getting annoyed.

"Are you going to ask me or not?"

He winced at her tone, then sighed.

"I was just wondering . . . if you'd like to go back home with me for the Christmas break."

A wave of relief flooded her. "Is that all?" she cried. "Of course I will! I'd be delighted." Then a more troubling thought came into her mind. It's only your dad, isn't it? Your mom's—not there anymore.

He had gotten good at reading her mind. "My dad . . ." he began. "He's real lonely, and Christmas is a pretty bad time for him now." Now that my mother is dead. "So I hate to leave him alone then. He doesn't have anyone but me."

"Curt," Adele said, "I'd be thrilled to meet him. Anyone who could produce a son like you must be a special person."

"He is," Curt said, choking up suddenly. "A great guy."

Suddenly another worrisome thought occurred to her—one she was hugely embarrassed even to mention. "Um, have you told your dad about me?"

"Well, not really," Curt admitted.

"Is he going to be upset?"

"Why should he be upset?"

"Oh, Curt," she said, losing patience, "it's pretty obvious, isn't it?"

At first Curt thought she was referring to the unorthodox unions in this household, although why his father would need to know anything about those was beyond his understanding. Then suddenly Curt saw the light.

"Oh, you mean because you're a white girl?" And at that Curt began to laugh his head off.

"It's not funny!" she cried. "Some people have real problems with a relationship like ours."

"Well," Curt said, still chuckling, "my dad's not one of them."

Yet another thought flashed into Adele's mind. "Your—your mom wasn't white, was she?" You are kind of a light-skinned black man.

"No, she wasn't—but I do recall Dad saying he'd done more than his share of cuddling with white women before he met her."

"Is that a fact?"

"Yeah. I don't know if he was ever close to marrying any of them—maybe he wasn't. But there was no reason why he couldn't have. We have," he added sardonically, "become reasonably civilized in Virginia these days."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"So you'll come?" He sounded pathetically eager.

"Of course. I can't imagine a better way to spend the holidays."

"It'll be for nearly a month, you know."

"I know that. I'm sure the people here can hold down the fort while we're away."

Curt let out a huge sigh. "Thanks, Adele. You're such a great girl!"

She looked at him with affectionate exasperation. "We are a couple, you know. We're lovers and more than lovers. So"—and she emphasized the point by tapping his chest firmly with her finger—"you'd just better tell your dad you're bringing a really cute white girl with you for Christmas!"

Plans were made quickly, and just a few days before Christmas Curt and Adele boarded a plane from Logan Airport to Richmond, Virginia. From there they had to rent a car to drive to the small town where Curt's father Walter lived. The house, although small, was in a charming suburban area that evoked images of an older and saner way of life, and Curt regaled Adele with stories of how he had grown up here, played on the high school football team, and horsed around with his cadre of (exclusively male) friends. In some ways Adele learned more about Curt in that one afternoon of travel than she had in the weeks since she had known him.

Walter greeted them cordially as they stepped through the door, although it was obvious to Adele that there was a dark cloud hanging over him. He was a big man, just under six feet tall, and could have been a football player himself in his earlier days; but his sloping shoulders and general air of crestfallen misery created the impression that he was just a shadow of his former self.

And yet, when he first laid eyes on Adele, a strange look came over his face. His eyes widened, and he seemed almost—frightened.

"H-h-hello," he stammered, awkwardly extending a hand. "You must be Adele."

"Yes, I am," she said. She was mightily inclined to throw her arms around him and give him a big hug, but she restrained herself and took his hand in both of hers and held it tightly for some moments.

The awkwardness continued, as it became clear that Walter was hugely uncomfortable having Adele in the house. He treated her alternately with exaggerated deference and studied avoidance, as if she were a ghost whom he could pretend wasn't there by simply ignoring her. Adele realized that Walter had a lot of things to say to his son that didn't concern her, but his overall attitude toward her baffled and frustrated her.

Still, the dinner that Walter had prepared in anticipation of their arrival was impressive and succulent: roasted chicken, homemade hominy grits, collared greens, and other toothsome dishes right out of an old-time Southern cookbook. Adele had never had such fare, and pronounced it delicious after only a few bites.

That seemed to lessen the atmosphere of tension a bit, as Walter seemed pathetically grateful that his culinary efforts had met with approval from a stranger. The white wine that Walter served also helped, and the fine (store-bought) chocolate cake made a perfect dessert.

Adele professed to be tired after the long trip and retired soon after the meal was over. In reality, she wanted to allow Curt and his father to have a talk without her intrusive presence, and it seemed both men seemed grateful for that.

Curt did come up to the guest bedroom—in reality, the bedroom he himself had occupied when he was growing up—about an hour and a half later. Adele was already in her nightgown, reading. Curt stripped quickly down to his underwear and slipped into bed with her.

"Dad really liked you," Curt said, nestling his head in Adele's lap.

"Did he? I'm glad," she said. "He's a sweetheart."

"Yeah, he is."

"It just seemed that he was kind of spooked when I first showed up. You did tell him I was coming, didn't you?"

"Of course I did. But I think you're probably the first female to set foot in this house in about five years."

"Oh, come on, Curt! That's crazy. You mean to say that your dad hasn't—you know . . .?"

"I doubt if he's gone on a date with a woman since Mom died," Curt said lugubriously.

"That's so sad."

"His heart just isn't in it. I can't even imagine what he's gone through."

"Well, he can't mourn forever! I mean, I'm sure your mom was a wonderful person, but she wouldn't have wanted him to sit here alone for the rest of his life."

"I've told him that lots of times—but it doesn't seem to make any difference."

Adele had nothing to say to that; but she was thinking hard. Maybe we'll have to do something about that.

Meanwhile, Curt, perhaps enticed by the heady aroma emerging from Adele's groin, was slowly pulling up the hem of her nightgown. He had already exposed her thighs, but as Adele suddenly realized what he was doing, she put a stop to it.

"Hey, none of that!" she cried, tugging the hem out of Curt's grasp and back down over her legs. "I'm beat, for one thing, and anyway I feel awfully funny doing anything like that with your dad just down the hall in his room!"

"Okay," Curt said reluctantly. "Maybe later."

But, as the days passed, it wasn't clear when that "later" would be. The three of them did do some sightseeing—looking up old Civil War battlefields, taking a peek at the Edgar Allan Poe house in Richmond, and other things of that sort—and Christmas day was a reasonably festive affair, all things considered. But celibacy continued to reign in Curt's bedroom. Both of them did feel self-conscious engaging in intimacy with Walter around, even if they could have managed it quietly.