Wicked's Metamorphosis

Exhausted, I lie panting with sweat dripping profusely down my face and onto Kitten's already drenched breasts. With the sun beating down, the inside of the car has become like a bread oven. She is gasping for air and I struggle to push up onto my elbows to give her room to breathe. My cock is still buried between her thighs as we struggle to recuperate. Slowly, I push myself up and sit back in the seat, still soaking wet with perspiration. Kitten remains sprawled out on the back seat with one leg hanging down. My cum is starting to seep from her cunt sliding between her legs and onto the leather seat.

"What was that?" I manage to huff out as we regain our senses. Slowly, our breathing levels out and Kitten finally speaks as she stares up into my eyes.

"You were asleep, Daddy," She explains sheepishly. "So, I took the opportunity to ... try sex while driving. I came so hard, Daddy, and couldn't stop cumming. I needed more! That's why I had to stop the car and pull into this spot. Sorry, Daddy. You okay?" She asked as she wipes the beads of perspiration from my forehead with the palm of her hand.

Nodding, in acknowledgement, as if that were a perfectly acceptable thing to do under the circumstances, I swallow hard and back out of the car to retrieve my clothes from the car top. Fucking in the back seat of a car, with the sun beating down on it in 85-degree weather, really saps your strength!

Kitten slides out of the seat behind me and wipes her brow with her top and slips back into it. Viewing her standing naked from the waist down in the middle of a cornfield creates a flashback memory of seeing a pinup at an old gas station's restroom when I was seventeen and traveling out to visit Grandma's farm. The blond-haired pixie wore an unbuttoned, red-checkered man's shirt tied under her tits forming a loose halter. While her tits were haltered, the view from the waist down of her naked body was turned just far enough sideways that her pussy was invisible to my watery eyes. It made a life-altering image of women for me from that day on.

Picking her soaked panties up, she giggles, "Can't drive with these on!" Then, she drops them onto the floorboard of the backseat. Retrieving her skirt, she waves it to get my attention, while looking at me, provocatively.

"Dad-dy?"

I look up slowly comprehending her provocative waving of her skirt and reply, "On. Definitely! Yes, put it on! If you couldn't 'keep it in your pants' before, what on earth makes you think you can drive around, half naked?" I cry out in exasperation.

"Party pooper." Comes her sardonic rejoinder as she slips back into her skirt, sans panties.

Climbing back into the driver's seat, she backs out onto the road and restarts our journey. I crank up the air conditioning. She puffs out a long breathe that moves a few long strands of hair out of her eyes and tries to refocus on driving. I begin to wonder if I shouldn't get an ice chest for emergency extinguishment purposes. Jesus, Kitten is acting as if getting laid in the middle of a cornfield is a normal routine while out driving.

'What is she turning into?' I think to myself at this new phase in our lives. God, this is becoming incredulous.

My mind drifts back into how we came to this point in our lives as we continue flying by field after field. I hope to find an answer, soon, before our lives unravel.

Only the braking of the car, as we approach a four-way stop, brings me back into the moment. Katrina checks for traffic and crosses over turning into the first hint of civilization. It is a mid-afternoon pit stop at a crossroads center with a gas station, feed supply store, local farmer's repair center, and a diner with a neon sign in the window advertising 'real homemade shakes.'

"You're too quiet, Daddy. Can't have you falling asleep on me, again. How about a strawberry shake to wake you up?" She asks with a grin. I smile and crawl out of my seat. The insufferable heat and high humidity swarms around us. I stretch my legs and back trying to limber up before picking up my pace to catch up with Katrina. She pushes through the front door as I get half way across the lot.

By the time I get to the door, Kitten is briskly striding up to the counter. I enter catching sight of a lanky, curly redheaded kid about a year older than Kitten sitting at a window table. Typical farmer, I thought, bib overalls, and wearing a sweat stained John Deere cap. He sits, slowly eating fries and staring out the window at a few Angus cows grazing nearby. He is oblivious to our entry, that is until he hears Kitten's lilting voice as she calls out to the lady behind the counter. "Hi! Can we get two large strawberry shakes, Mam?" She exudes teenage sensuality with every syllable.

John Deere's head snaps around at the sound of her sweet melodious voice. His eyes widen as he focuses on her long bare legs and, then travel upward to take in a great view of her ass, as she faces the counter. The short skirt gives him a lot to look at as his jaw drops slightly. Guess he doesn't get much to look at this far out in the country. As the shake machine begins it whirling, Kitten turns intent on getting some straws from an adjacent counter. She spots John Deere's dropped jaw and gives him that 'I'm hot and I know it!' smile and begins her teen model walk to the counter. Pure provocation on the prowl is how anyone with a smidgeon of sense would see her.

Picking up a couple of straws, she veers closer to his table and, looking in my direction, exclaims, "Oh look, Daddy! Buffalo!"

Then, drawing a bead on her farm boy target asks, "Do they belong to you?"

Pretending ignorance about the Angus and attempting a southern drawl, she asks John Deere as innocently as she can. I know full well, with John Deere now just a two-foot distance from her, he cannot help seeing the wonderful view of her braless tits. Katrina is tugging her tee downward making the most of them for his delight. Before John Deere can answer, she loosens her grip on the straws and they slip from her fingers as she leans closer for a better look at the buffalo.

"Oh!" She twitters and smiles at him. John Deere is slow to respond, so she crooks her head and nods at the floor.

John Deere's fixation on her breasts breaks away as he finally gets her drift and leans down, with one hand on the corner of the table, to retrieve the straws. Glancing up, his table-hand jerks with a start, and he tumbles onto the floor spilling his fries over him. I just shake my head with pity as Kitten slowly spreads her legs and provides him a wonderful view of her shaved peach.

"Are you okay?" She exclaims with mock concern allowing him a full spread-eagle view directly up her skirt.

"Jack Fletcher!" The curly redheaded waitress yells as she scurries out to investigate the commotion. Astutely, she takes in the situation, "Get your ass up off the floor!" Although she couldn't have known about my daughter's bare peach view, she knew full well that Jack's eyes were looking directly up her skirt.

"Yes, Mama." John Deere answers, hiding his grin from her. "Don't worry, Mama, I'll clean it up." With another shy smile, he turns to Kitten and whispers, "Thank you!"

"Thank me, for what?" Kitten whispers back while trying not to let on that she deliberately dropped the straws in order to give him some eye candy.

"For, for asking if I was alright. Thank you! You have a mighty - nice outfit." Jack responds appreciatively as he hands her the straws while replacing his dirt encrusted John Deere Tractor hat onto his head with his other hand.

He stood watching us as I paid for the shakes. Then Jack Fletcher walked behind us out the door as Kitten did her best, brazen, teen model runway walk across the parking lot to the car.

Getting back behind the wheel and bucking up, Kitten glances over catching me staring at her with amazement. "What?" She grins as that teen inflection drawls between pursed lips.

"Daddy, he just looked so forlorn sitting there staring at those Angus. God knows he must not have any excitement out here in all this corn. I just thought I would add a little spice to his day. Was that so wrong?"

Glancing back toward John Deere, she waves a curt goodbye and starts the car. Jack's return banner wave and giant smile should be on a billboard advertisement for this place.

"So ... wicked," I sigh, "so wicked."

"At least, he'll have something to think about while he's stroking his cock tonight, Daddy!" Kitten chortles thinking about what her fiendish actions may be setting into motion.

"So wicked, girl!" I find myself repeating the phrase and laughing at her response as we cruise down the road toward the Johnson farmstead. Surely, Jack Fletcher may well be thinking about Kitten tonight and perhaps many more nights unless he gets fucked soon. I just knew if that happened to me at his age -- well I would be blowing through a new box of tissues that night for sure.

After a few more minutes of quite driving, Kitten's reflective voice muses, "Daddy, I'm thinking about getting a tattoo, just a little one. Maybe words only ..."

"When it rains, it pours," I mutter under my breath. "What words and where would you put this tattoo?"

"I'm liking what you said back at the diner, Daddy."

"Keep the change?" I say trying to act light hearted. Those are the only words I said while inside and that's when I paid John Deere's mother for the shakes.

Giggling she responds, "Daddy! No, when you said, "So ... wicked." She pauses for a few seconds, as though she were tossing around the words in her head to see the images appearing on her body.

"Centered right over my pussy lips ... just below my bikini line." She continues and breathes out the words, slowly. I can just see her mind typing the tattoo keystrokes as she imagines how it might look. "I'd make it with a capital W and a capital K for emphasis. 'So ... WicKed.' Maybe, get it all in italic handwriting?" Kitten's mind is on a roll as the images play through her mind of what the script would look like.

"So ..." comes her impatient query after I remain unresponsive.

"Kitten, you're eighteen and ..." I stammer looking for a way to end this conversation.

"You said you would make your own decisions. You're an adult. It's up to you."

I was not about to let her know that tattoo image has burned its lurid self into my brain forever, and also sent a tingle to my groin as well. I could see the image emblazoned on her tan tummy beckoning wantonly as her vagina called out the phrase to me, "So ... WicKed wants you, Daddy. Come fuck me!"

My dick stirs and I try not to let the vagina's conversation give rise to it. Where is that ice chest with the cold water when I need it?

Where It All Began

"Next left." I motion to Kitten as we approach a newly paved road. Civilization seems to be coming to the rural roads of corn country. Gone was the old dusty roadway where I remembered hearing the crunch of Marie's bike tires as she rode up to the farmstead. Four more miles to go before facing the music, I thought to myself.

Kitten rolls slowly up the driveway and parks. Shutting off the engine allows the silence of the country to seep into the car and permeate our bones. We sit without speaking, basking in the quietness. Slowly, I step out and survey the place. At first glance, little of how I remember it remains. The barn is now clad in metal and metal doors have replaced the old heavy wooden sliders. The new metal roof shines brightly against the sky. Gone is the old wooden toolshed and in its place is a new, larger steel structure. A new two-car garage sits just to the back and left of the farmhouse. Glancing behind me, I take in the farmhouse itself and I'm relieved to see that nothing seems to have changed it, except for new paint. It looks exactly the way it has always stood for over a century.

Kitten skirts the driver's side and comes to nestle against me as I let the memories of this place refresh the dim gaps in my recollections. I swear I could almost see two familiar girls standing in the barn door, but they disappear as I blink.

The screen door bangs, shattering my thoughts. That familiar somewhat softened eighteen-year-old voice from long ago calls out, "Hello Ray. It's nice to see you again, Katrina. Come up on the porch and sit awhile. I have some fresh lemonade and blackberry pie."

The Cry for Help

Marie shows Kitten to the porch swing and sits next to her as I take the corner rocker. This is an old familiar scene that has played out for decades on this porch as generations have sat, eaten pie, and drank lemonade, as children scurried about the yard chasing chickens or playing baseball. No one is in a hurry to speak. Time seems to wind down like the last few ticks of an old clock. It is only the movements of forks, and glasses of lemonade rising to our lips that indicates time is actually advancing.

"So ... "I start as a means of breaking the ice. Immediately, it brings laughter lines to Marie's face. All this time and she still remembers the opening line she and her grandmother were fond of using to extract information out of a victim. It's amazing how just a few words can queue memories in one's mind of long-gone circumstances.

"So," Marie smiles and responds with a sense of contrition, "it has been way too long and I'm sorry that I have been so out of touch with you, with all y'all. I had long talks with my Grandma about us, you know, Ray." Pausing, Marie stops to tell Kitten about Grandma's background as a doctor.

"Your mom and I were joined at the hip for a few years before your dad came along. It took me a couple of years of getting used to him, but your mom and I finally reeled him in forming our gang of three. Your mom found him very attractive, so much so, that our gang became the two of them plus me as a tag-a-long, so to speak. Then they went off and got married and had you, forming a new gang of three!"

"So, you, mom, and dad were a 'thing' when you were young?" Katrina asks arching her eyebrows. Marie looks at me for clues and I nod acknowledging that Katrina knew.

"Yes." Comes Marie's softly spoken response, as she takes measured observances of Katrina's appearance.

"Looking at you reminds me of your mom and myself at your age. Rebellious, braless, and short on panties was how we behaved and dressed in those days. We let our inhibitions run wild, your mother and I. We were fearless and gave no credence to our societal norms. We thought we knew everything and felt we could bend the world to the shape we wanted it to be."

Marie, pauses to let what she is telling Katrina sink in before continuing, "In fact, we initiated your dad right on this farm, over there in the barn," she motions with her hand, "and down by the lake. I thought, then, that I was helping your mom see if she liked men - as much as she loved me. I chose your dad for her, without thinking about the impact that it would have on him or others. It took Dr. Grandma a long time to untangle our messed-up precepts. I thought we had overcome the Pandora's box I opened, but here we are now, once again."

I could feel the angst setting in as it crawls upon Marie's and my shoulders biting into our marrow; hanging around our necks like an albatross. It had taken twenty-four-years to come full circle and find ourselves facing the same uncertainties that began our sojourn with each other all those years ago. Silence seeps between the three of us as the swing glides back and forth, allowing Kitten time to absorb Marie's revelations.

"So ... Ray Schumacher," leaning back in the swing, Marie quietly asks, "are you here to see me as cousin Marie, or as Dr. Marie Johnson?"

Hesitantly, quietly I respond, "As Dr. Johnson." A moribund silence fell between us as I let out a deep sigh.

Kitten's face takes on a puzzled look as I respond with the words: Doctor Johnson. Then, I see panic setting in as she sits bolt upright.

"Daddy! You're not sick! Sick like Mommy, are you Daddy?" Her voice raises several octaves as panic grabs her petit frame with a shudder. I jump forward in my chair taking her hand.

"No, Kitten! I'm fine. Really, I'm not sick like Mom." I answer attempting to calm the fear flooding through her.

"People seek help from doctors for other reasons than being physically ill, sometimes its emotional concerns, Kitten. Marie is a specialist in these things, a psychiatrist, ... the things we are experiencing."

I turn to face Marie again. Inhaling, I just spat it out.

"I've fucked up, Marie!"

A lump swells up in my throat and my eyes blur as tears well up. My trembling voice bares my soul to her. Details about Kitten's pact with Katelyn come pouring out, along with my relationship with Kitten. I divulge our incest acts and how wrong I felt, and how good I felt as I fucked Katrina through all of them. Kitten sits quietly and somberly takes in what I have to say. I can detect its effect as her shoulders slump and her facial expression turns blank seeming to hang like a millstone on her as well.

Marie's eyes are wet. I can see how it is pulling at her heartstrings, dredging up past recollections of Katelyn. It's also reviving things that Katelyn filled me in on that occurred between them. About how their relationship nearly turned tragic; although Kate would never give me any details of what transpired between them. It was Dr. Grandma Johnson that was able to bridge that relationship and re-set the dark path both girls were pursuing.

This tumultuous day has been brewing for the last four weeks. I've come today asking for Marie's help in staving off that path between my daughter and I before we journeyed deeper down this dark trail. I am hoping that Marie's experience and her conquering of her fears, with the help of her grandmother's psychiatric background, would prevail in our situation, as well. Marie became a psychiatrist precisely because of her past and the help provided by Dr. Grandma. I want that help for Kitten and myself as well. I know Marie has come to grips with her lifestyle. I also know that it was more of struggle for Katelyn, who never actually managed to make the adjustments that Marie has made.

"Please, Marie. Help Katrina. Help me. I can't live this over again!" I plead for her help.

Despite her attempt to remain dispassionate, Marie's watery eyes brim over and the tears roll down her cheeks as well. Both of us sit blubbering in front of Kitten while she sits as if frozen in a block of ice beside us. Marie takes my hands into hers and speaking softly replies, "Stay with me for a few days and we will, all, talk this through and find a resolution, together."

Turning to Kitten, Marie asks, "Talk to me, Katrina. Tell me how you are feeling about what your Dad is telling us?"

Kitten is mute and her stone-like posture speaks volumes about how she feels. Then, I can see her shaken demeanor beginning to melt away. She seems immersed in studying the gray painted, wooden deck beneath the swing. Slowly, her inclined head tips upward to gaze at Marie. Her shoulders square. A look of self-assurance seemingly transforms Kitten.

"Daddy, I think I know why Mom made me wait until my eighteenth birthday." Her soft-spoken words flow across the porch toward me and jab me in the heart.

"You and Marie were eighteen and Mom was nineteen when you guys made your decisions. I think Mom knew I needed to make my choice as an adult as well. If I had made my choice before then, both of you would be thinking right now that I did so as a child. A child unable to discern right from wrong." Kitten pauses, formulating her next thoughts before continuing.

"Marie, I'm certainly not as experienced as you and Dad, but I made my choice without pressure from Dad, or even from Mom. I truly wanted this. All through school no one ever prepared me for this sexual metamorphosis. With Dad, I feel completely safe to explore my sexuality. I know that fucking is an intense intimate act. It opens me up to another person with all my insecurities exposed. But, being with Daddy is so secure! Daddy protects me and he accepts me as I am. I don't think I'm ready to fuck someone that could crush me and take advantage of my vulnerabilities."