The Bradford Family Saga Part 2

"We did a lot of talking after that. We told ourselves that we were adults, that incest didn't really apply to us because we weren't kids, and this was something we wanted to do." Carol shrugged again. "So we did it! First, just by ourselves, alone, I mean. Then we got daring and did it together and that was even a bigger kick. The rest is history."

Carol turned to her daughter. Marsha hadn't heard the last part of the story. She had fallen asleep, exhausted, a smile on her face and a finger inserted, deep, in her pussy.

Carol covered her with her robe. She hadn't told her about the other couples that they had fucked; orgies, really, but, she thought, that could wait. So could all the video's, the evidence of their combined pleasures. Yes, it all could wait. There had been enough excitement for one night in the Bradford house.

CHAPTER SIX

Carol paused outside of Peter's room. She listened at the door, but heard no sound. Did she dare try to talk to him, make him understand his sister's desires, prepare him for what she was sure would come? What would she say to him?

She hesitated, a trembling hand on the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob. The nightlight bathe the room in a soft, semi-darkness. The bed was turned down, but had not been slept in. Surprised, she looked at the clock. It was after midnight. Where could he be? Her mind started to race with concern before she finally realized that Peter wasn't a boy anymore. Wherever he was, he could take care of himself.

She sat on the bed, suddenly exhausted; her pluck dissolving, leaving her sleepy and forlorn. She would rest, just for a moment. Peter! You poor baby, she thought as she laid down, you're surrounded by people who have taken a different road than you. Please try to understand, her drifting mind asked the enfolding darkness.

Carol dozed, her mind flitting from memory to memory. The full wonders of sex and passion had come somewhat late to her, aided by an exciting accident. Her body had responded to dormant stimuli, and suddenly, yesterday's perversions became today's pleasures. Behind closed doors, her passion knew no bounds, everything was pleasure. There were no taboos. Only in the light of day did the dread of exposure clutch at her heart, but it was night, and she was safe to dream, to feel, and to want.

* * *

Peter didn't pay any attention to the light in the den as he slowly, and quietly, started to climb the stairs. His legs hurt like hell and his shoulders bore teeth and nail marks, vivid testimony to his aunt's passion. He shook his head, still not quite believing what had happened.

It had been insane! But it had also been, maddeningly exciting. He could still feel his cock pushing the walls of Mary's hot cunt apart; the slippery wetness sucking him deep into an unbelievable molten furnace. Her legs had gone around his waist and she had plunged her ass up and down his rigid cock as hard as she could, all the time digging her fingers into his shoulders and nipping at his chest. Her cunt was a gushing volcano, a vicious vise that clamped on his prick and refused to let go. And all the while, her hips churned, frantically turning one way then the other, trying their best to rip his cock off.

He had held her up by the asscheeks, trying to control her rhythm; match her passion, but she was so wild he had trouble just hanging on. Her cums had started almost immediately, building one on top of the other until he could no longer tell when or how many. She just kept cumming, and when he shot his load, the top of his head almost came off.

He had never fucked anyone so wild.

They had sunk to the bottom of the pool, the cooling water up to their chins. "Just what I like," she had said huskily, "good, hard cock! We're going to have lots of fun, sweet nephew."

"Aunt Mary . . ."

"Mary! Just, Mary," she said with a smile. "I'm not that much older than you."

"Haw! If I didn't, I sure know now. But what about uncle John?"

He was surprised when she threw back her head and laughed. She put her arms around him and held his face close. "If he's a good boy, I may let him make a movie of us fucking each other. He's like that."

It was a crazy statement, but Peter's hands had already encircled her waist and were drifting up to her full tits. Mary had a lovely set of tits, he thought, fondling them, making her moan with renewed passion, almost as nice as Marsha's. His cock twitched again as he remembered his sister standing in the bathroom, her beautiful tits proud and erect. Mary giggled. "Ooooo, goody," she said. "Round two."

This time they fucked on the pool stairs, with the water lapping at her pussy again; her legs up high on his shoulders. Afterwards, she had cleaned his sticky cock with her mouth, her tongue searching for every last, tacky, smear of cum-juice. Her mouth was warm and soft and moist. When she was finished he was squeaky clean and he had another hard-on.

"Oh, boy, am I tempted, but my pussy's been pounded like a rock today." Her hand circled his thick shaft, her fingers barely touching. "You keep this ready for another time. If I know my family, you're going to have a very busy weekend."

That was the second crazy thing she had said, he thought as he reached his room. She was a great piece of ass but he was convinced that she was a bit wacky. He opened his door.

His hand froze on the doorknob and his breath caught in his throat. He couldn't believe his eyes. Marsha lay coiled up on the bed, her back to him. The soft, semi-darkness created erotic shadings in the valleys of her body. He looked around hastily. It was no mistake. He was in his own room!

Despite the time spent with his aunt, Peter got a hard- on as he eyed her shapely buttocks and watched her chest rise and fall, rhythmically. His mind filled with images of her loveliness, flaming his frustration and his passion. Slowly, he approached the bed, aware that he should turn and leave before she woke, but just once, he wanted to get close to her - just once, put his arms around her.

Carol knew she was dreaming and she smiled in the twilight world of half-sleep. She felt her dream lover's approach and the bed sag under his weight. She curled her body to fit his contours, feeling the prodding stiffness of his heavy cock, warm, against her back. She pushed back with her ass. The stiff prick twitched as it touched her back and asscheeks and a low moan escaped her lips.

She knew he was young and strong. All her dream lovers were. His arm came across her body and cupped her sensitive tit. An electric shock tingled her cunt and she began to juice up. Lewdly, she rubbed her ass up against his rigid fuckpole. It felt wonderful, and thrilling and her breathing became ragged.

His hand kneaded her full tit, and toyed with the nipple, making it stand hard and erect. Turning to him, she moaned in real passion, her face still hidden by the darkness. She sighed as her hands encircled his cock, the thing she craved. It was thick, and meaty, and long, and the head was moist with passion. Dreamily, she cooed. It would fill her wonderfully.

She heard her dream lover mumble, but couldn't catch the words. It didn't matter. He slid down her trembling body, opening her robe, exposing her pleasure pit. She ran her hands over his hard body as he went by, feeling his strength, his vitality. Her body jumped and arched upward as his mouth clamped on her cunt. She wailed in loud surprise. Shooting bolts of lightening surged through her body as his tongue rammed through the blonde thatch, into her dewy cunt. Her eyes snapped open and a cold sliver of reality stabbed her mind.

This was no dream! This was real! Someone was eating her pussy! Her mind fought against the enormity of it all while her body begged her to surrender to the wonderful pleasures that were charging upward to her brain. Her eyes were blurring. She dug her fingers into his hair and tried to pull his head, to recognize him, but he couldn't be budged. His face, buried in her mound, remained hidden in the darkness.

"No!" she hissed. "No! Stop! . . . please! Oh, God, that feels so good." She gasped and her mind whirled and she felt the fight go out of her body as his tongue swirled around her puffy cuntlips, leaving a trail of wet, tingling pleasures behind. Her juice flowed like a river as another sharp bolt of pleasure coursed through her steaming pussy. She grabbed his hair, this time twisting his face into her pleasure-raw pussy, smearing her tart, musky, love-juice all over him.

"Oh, yessss!" she panted. "Suck my cunt! Lick my juice! Oh, God! Make me cum! Ohhhhhh . . . I love it so much! . . . Whoever you are . . . please make me cum!" she moaned in a small, desperate voice.

Peter was in another world. Years of fantasy, of frustration, of suppressed desire had sent his mind to a place where convention and morality, even words could not enter. Morality be dammed, he thought. He was sucking Marsha's cunt and nothing else mattered; nothing except the tangy juices that flowed over his twisting, stabbing tongue.

He felt the fight in her body, heard her demands for release, felt the painful tugging of his hair, but he refused to let go. Not until he had exorcised this demon from his body. Not until he had stuffed her full of his engorged cock!

Carol felt the stranger reach over her squirming thighs and pull her cuntlips apart with his fingers. She knew her naked clitoris was staring at him, pink and vulnerable. He sucked it into his hot mouth and she jumped and cried out in passion. Her toes clutched with each smack of his lips and the last long suck sent a tidal wave of pleasure through her body and triggered her orgasm. She wailed, hardly aware of where she was, or who she was with. It didn't matter! Only the pleasure mattered! She was drowning in pleasure, her body racked with tic-like spasms, and yet, she wanted more.

Carol's body heaved, and she panted with sudden exhaustion; perspiration trickled down her brow but a small smile played at the corners of her lips and she sighed. Never had she been sucked with such intensity; never with such passion. Her body shivered and tingled and her cunt drooled at the thought of being filled. Her eyes opened slowly and she saw the shadowy shape of her real life dream lover rear up in front of her, his beautiful cock bobbing in front. It was magnificent! Automatically, she opened her legs to receive him - this stranger - this pleasure giver.

The moon cast a small silvery light across the room; across his face. Her brain registered recognition, but didn't believe, and before she could react it was too late to save herself.

"Noooooooooo!" she wailed in desperation as Peter drove his rock-hard cock into her sizzling, dripping, wide-open cunt. His rod parted the waiting pussylips and sunk easily into the hot depths of her body. She writhed against the mattress, legs spread; her body involuntarily undulating. She moaned and gibbered incoherently, but her rational mind screamed at her. You're fucking your own step-son!

Fighting against her traitorous body, her fists pounded his humping body. Her nails raked his heaving back. Still he drove into her, making her cunt contract, sending fiery thrills throughout her demanding flesh. She bit her lip, desperately hoping the pain would make her body heed the small, rational voice. Her charged sensory system erupted as another surge of his powerful cock filled her up. The small voice faded into the darkness and Carol surrendered to the most exquisite ecstasy imaginable.

"Uhggggggg! Aaaaaaah! Oh, Peter! Peter!" she gushed as the pleasure of his prick filled every pore of her body, sweeping her away, into an abyss. She wrapped her legs around Peter's loins, digging her heels into his asscheeks, forcing his cock deeper into the surging volcano of her cunt. His cock felt huge! Mammoth! It filled her up and pounded her sweaty body down into the mattress again and again. She twisted her hips lewdly, matching him, stroke for plunging stroke. Her lips showered him with hot, passionate kisses.

It was deja vu! A beginning and a continuation. It was the supreme taboo! And the supreme pleasure!

A blinding explosion of primary colors filled her brain and she was swept up in an excitement that defied descrip- tion. Her only, truly conscious, thought: Marsha is going to be so very jealous.

Then the tidal wave rolled over her.

"Ohhhhhh! Fuck me!" she whispered, "Fuck meeeee!

"I can't hold it!" Peter groaned. "Marsha! Baby! I'm cumming! . . . cummmmmmmmmmm!"

"Yesssssssss!"

Carol's eyes rolled back and her body shuddered as Peter's cock flexed violently in the deep well of her cunt and his cum spurted, hotly, against her pussy-walls. She dug her fingers into his flesh.

"Eeeeiiiii! Awwwwwwwww! . . . Ohhhhhhh!" Peter gasped through clenched teeth; his eyes glazing as his erupting cock sent explosions of cum into his fantasy, his "Marsha."

Carol clung to his rigid body as his prick still pulsed in her cunt. She jerked and shuttered like a rag doll; her pleasure so intense, tears ran down her cheeks.

Peter slumped on her, exhausted, his body dead weight on her yielding flesh. She held him in tight desperation, trying to forestall the reality that slowly threatened to shatter this one moment in time.

"Marsha," Peter mumbled, ". . . forgive me . . . waited so long . . . wanted you."

Carol heard his plea for forgiveness and realized what had happened. He thought she was Marsha! He thought he was fucking her! Oh, my God, she thought, these poor kids.

Peter propped himself up and pushed the matted hair away from her face. His hand froze and his face became a mask of disbelief. No! No! This had to be a bad dream. His tortured mind screamed at him. He couldn't have fucked his own mother, he just couldn't have. His brain was stabbed with the ice cold spear of his enormous sin. He had fucked his father's wife! His laugh became hysterical.

Carol gathered him to her and began to make soothing sounds in his ear. She had to make him understand. There was no sin in pleasure. His feelings for Marsha were no different than the hidden feeling she had for her brother, or Mike, for his sister. She felt no remorse. Fucking her stepson was no more a sin than fucking her brother. She would make him understand. She had to.

She held him at arms length and shook him. "Stop, Peter, stop that!" she commanded.

"Mom . . . I didn't know . . . I thought . . . I'm sorry," he said and his voice trailed away.

"You thought I was Marsha. I wish it had been, for both your sakes; she would have loved to be fucked like that, with so much pleasure. But if it couldn't be Marsha, I'm glad it was me."

He stared at her, uncomprehending. "Wha . . . you enjoyed? . . . Marsha? . . . Being fucked by me? That's incest!"

Carol smiled and shook his head. "We committed no sin, Peter. Do you understand? No sin! The only thing we've done is share ourselves. Did you enjoy fucking me?"

Suddenly aware of Carol's lovely nakedness, Peter blushed and shrugged his shoulders. Then he laughed. "I did enjoy it! I can't lie about that. You're a great fuck . . . I mean . . . " He shrugged again, eying her body and remembering the wanton response of her grasping pussy. "That was supposed to be a compliment."

Carol hugged him tightly and giggled. "I took it as one. You know, you have a great cock! I hate to admit it but it's bigger than your father's."

Peter blanched at the mention of his father, but Carol patted his cheek. "I'm going to tell you a secret, Peter. It's really a family secret because we're all involved, even you and Marsha.

"And after I do that," - she reached for his sticky, cock and began to finger it back to life - "I think you'll want to stick that lovely fuckpole back inside me and really give me a ride."

Carol could tell Peter didn't understand what she was talking about, but her loving arms were open, beckoning him to her, and when they folded around his strong body she knew that his understanding would come.