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Message-ID: <41450asstr$1048489807@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: <hoisingr@hushmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Jack Pack 01/09 {Hoisington} (Mg rom cons ped inc)
Date: Mon, 24 Mar 2003 02:10:07 -0500
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This work is copyrighted to the author 2003.  Please
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                            JACK PACK
                      by Russell Hoisington

                           One of Nine
                           Help Needed

     Jack Martin wiped his forehead and pushed the button.  As
the garage door rumbled down he stepped into the mud room, shed
his yard shoes and socks, and washed the dirt and grass clippings
from his hands and forearms.  He opened the door into the kitchen
and shivered with delight as the cool air washed over him.  It
was like an Arctic blast after the Georgia heat and humidity.
<If this is May, what will August be like?>  He had asked that
question so many times that it was becoming his mantra.

     His left hand filled a glass with ice from the freezer door
dispenser.  His right opened the refrigerator door and grabbed
the tea pitcher.  "Cyn, do you want something to drink?" he
called in the direction of the den.

     "I got it," she replied over some unrecognizable song coming
from the television.

     Jack surveyed the kitchen as he poured the tea, replaced the
pitcher, and dropped in a slice of lemon.  She had cleaned the
kitchen to her usual state of perfection.

     "Hey, I need some help in here!"

     He glanced at the clock.  Normally she was finished with
cleaning long before now.  <Didn't we dust the tops of the
bookcases last week?>  He mentally shrugged and said, "Coming."
He didn't understand her reply, but he turned toward the den
instead of the stairs.

     He stopped in the doorway.  Cyndi was on the very edge of
the couch, reclining against the seat back.  Her arms were up and
her hands grasped the back of the couch behind her head of
shoulder-length, light brown hair.  Her feet were on the edge of
the couch to either side of her body, making a large,
lightly-tanned "M" that made his heart skip like a flat stone on
still water.  She was, as usual, nude.

     Her brow was wrinkled in frustration.  "Daddy, I've cum FIVE
times and I'm STILL not relieved.  I CAN'T satisfy myself.  Would
you help me?  Please?"

     His eyes swept over the two small, tanned domes beginning to
rise from her chest, each capped with a small, pink cone, and
came to rest at the middle point of the "M."  The single,
thickening, darker hair to her right of her clitoris sat on a
mound engorged with desire.  He winced at the deep red of her
slit.  When she had trouble climaxing, Cyndi sometimes
masturbated with such force and intensity that he feared she
would hurt herself.

     Jack's eyes rose to hers.  Whoever said that brown eyes
couldn't be sexy had never seen Cyndi's.  He especially loved the
way they narrowed to sparkling slits when she smiled.  "Of course
I can, sweetie.  But," he indicated his armpit with a glance,
"I'm all hot and sweaty."

     "Oh, Daddy," she said, her sudden smile popping her dimples
inward, "you know I don't care.  It's not like you haven't had a
bath in a week, you know.  It's just fresh, honest sweat."

     "Well, at least let me take the shirt off," he replied as he
reached for the buttons.

     Her eyes and her mouth made exaggerated circles.  "Ooooh,"
she purred, dropping one hand to stroke her small, hard clit.
"Just you doing that might make me cum again!"

     Jack laughed and tossed his shirt onto the recliner, sinking
to the floor before her.  She returned her arm to the top of the
couch back and grabbed it again, holding on as if he might suck
her off couch by her little tan, pink, and red twat.  He,
meanwhile, recognized the singing from the television behind him:
it was her favorite porno movie, "Alice in Wonderland."

     She shuddered three times, violently, as he planted a soft
kiss first on her puckered little anus, then on her mouth of her
vagina, and finally on her stiff little clit.  <She really is
worked up,> he realized.  Jack leaned back, inhaling deeply, as
if he were about to go diving for pearls, which, if he had
thought about it, was an apt analogy.  With a grin he threw
himself face-first into her reddened little cunt.

     At the last instant his head twisted sideways and he grasped
the thickening hair with his lips.  He made loud sucking noises
until she lightly popped his head with an open palm.  "Men!
Always lost!  You missed the target, silly," she said.  "It's to
your right.  No, your OTHER right!"

     He pulled his face back and teased, "Maybe you need another
father with a better sense of direction."  The words were out
before he could stop himself.  He silently groaned as he saw the
forehead wrinkle, the dimples vanish, and her head tilt slightly
to the right, the way it did when she was deadly serious.  One
eye started to glisten.

     "I don't WANT another Daddy.  I want to keep the one I
HAVE."

     <Just ONCE before I die>, he thought to himself, <I'd like
to think BEFORE I open my goddamned mouth.>  Jack knew only one
person in the entire world who he really, truly, passionately,
hated:  that bitch-brained, tight-assed, dried up old cunt of a
social worker who'd terrified a four-year-old Cyndi.  Anyone with
even a shred of common sense knew you never told a child who had
just lost her mother that she would have to be taken away to live
with strangers because it wasn't proper for a single father to
raise a child, especially a daughter.  But old lady Preen had
ZERO common sense.

     <I tell you now, this ain't no joke;
     Up your ass with poison oak,
      Miss Preen.>

     "Miss" Preen.  What made people who had no children such
experts on how others should raise their own?  And then his eyes
refocused on Cyndi's.  He slid his hands under the peaks of the
leggy "M" to cup gentle hands over her barely budding breasts.

     "And you will have this one for a good, long time,
sweetheart.  You have to keep me because my trade-in warranty
expired."  He placed quick kisses on her inner lips, protruding
slightly with her desire, and her hot little clit.  "Now:  what
was it I was supposed to do?"

     With a stern expression, but an irrepressible twinkle in her
slitted eyes, she grabbed his ears and pulled his head into
position.  Then she flipped her hands overhead to again grasp the
back of the couch.  "Eat me," she cooed.

     Jack knew his daughter ached with frustrated arousal.
Despite his wish to tease her more, he loved her far too much to
make her wait any longer for relief.  With a nod, and with a
smile she couldn't see on his lips but could see in his eyes, he
pushed his face inward and licked from her brown rosebud to her
stiff, pink clit.

     His heart skipped again at the sound of the contented sigh
coming from the daughter he loved more than he loved life itself.
He noted yet again the difficulty of applying a horizontal smile
to a vertical one and had to force the former from his lips.  As
his hands began a suction-like massage -- "Titties are like
dicks," he had once told her.  "If you play with them, they will
grow!" -- his tongue slid between the wet folds of her nether
lips to begin what he called "dancing in the valley."  Her slick
little pussy was so wet with her juices that he would have to
rename it, "swimming in the river."

     He shoved his tongue as far as he could up her burning love
hole, savoring the taste of clean, young girl, then withdrew it
to begin pummelling the hard little button of her clitoris.

     Cyndi's eyes closed and her back arched.  She inhaled
quickly with a soft little gasp.  Jack remembered the first time
he had heard that sound, just under twelve years earlier....
- --
Continued in Chapter Two.


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