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Message-ID: <50037asstr$1104358203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Russell Hoisington" <hoisingr@hushmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} G'Night, Pixie 01/06 {Hoisington} (MF Mf solo oral anal group inc cons M/reluc caution)
Lines: 562
Date: Wed, 29 Dec 2004 17:10:03 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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                          G'NIGHT, PIXIE
                        Russell Hoisington

   ************************************************************

This is an erotic fantasy.  The characters and the situation are
purely imaginary, and this story is NOT intended to be a guide
for actual behavior.  Any similarities between this story and
actual people, or actual events that you should be ashamed of,
are purely coincidental.  If it is illegal in your part of the
world to access and read erotic fiction, or if you are underage,
or if you don't like sex stories, then stop now.

This story is copyright 2004 by Russell Hoisington.  Please do
not remove the author information or make any changes to this
story.  You may post freely to non-commercial (free) sites, or in
the "free" area of commercial sites.  That does NOT mean that
they are in the public domain, nor does it mean that I give
permission for you to use them in spam advertising.  I reserve
the right to determine what is "spam advertising" by MY
definition, not yours or anyone else's.

Thank you for your consideration.

   ************************************************************


                               One
                              Storm

Doug Bryant waited in the humid, salty air of the boat's rocking
narrow passageway while Mary kissed their thirteen-year-old
daughter good night.  When Mary slipped out of the boat's tiny
cabin, he entered, brushed back Alyson's sun-bleached brunette
bangs, and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead.  "G'night,
Pixie," he said as he ran the side of his index finger down the
line of her square jaw.  He'd said good night that way since
she'd come home from the hospital eleven weeks after her
premature birth.
 
     Alyson grinned, causing her round apple cheeks to push her
narrow eyes into thin slits, then puckered her lips and made two
soft grunting noises.  He pressed his lips firmly to hers, and
for four seconds they softly hummed together, "Mmmmmmmm" and
broke apart with a loud, "MAH!"  She giggled, and he pointed at
her hair.  "Tomorrow," he said, shaking the finger at her, "you
have your mother trim your bangs.  It's too hot here, and you'll
get a heat rash on your forehead again."
 
     "Yes, Doctor Daddy," she said, and then giggled at his stern
face until he broke into a broad grin.  "I love you.  G'night."
 
     "I love you too, Pixie.  Good night."  His hand reached for
the light switch beside the door, and he took in one last sight
of her, turning to lie on her side atop the sheets in the warm,
heavy air.  She absently scratched below the conical swelling of
her tanned left breast, drawing Doug's attention to the fact that
his Pixie was growing up all too soon.  The heart-shaped brown
thatch around her deep young slit was further evidence.
 
     He closed the cabin door and turned to Mary.  She saw the
look in his eye.  "What's wrong?"
 
     "Hmmm?  Oh."  Doug seemed to return from somewhere else.  He
answered in a soft voice to keep Alyson from hearing.  "I was
just wondering how much longer I'd be telling her good night that
way.  She's growing up, Mare.  Growing up too damned fast. 
She'll be your height by next summer.  Any day now she'll decide
she's too old for 'G'night, Pixie,' and my world will change
forever."
 
     Mary wrapped her arms around him and squeezed her naked body
to his.  They had grown up in a California commune where their
parents never bothered with clothing unless it was necessary, and
the habit stuck.  Neither liked being clothed, and they undressed
at the first opportunity.  Alyson had inherited that habit from
them.
 
     "Such mortality in one so young," she said with mocking wide
eyes.  "But how many times has your life changed forever?"
 
     He looked deep into those eyes and smiled.  "Well, the
second time was when Alyson was born.  I was seven the first time
it happened."  That was when he first noticed the six-year-old
beauty who was to become his wife.  They were best friends in
less than a week and inseparable lifetime soulmates by the end of
the year.  They experimented with sexual touching when he was
nine and first tried oral sex at ten, but they didn't have
intercourse until he was almost thirteen, despite the fact that
none of the adults cared about what sexual contacts the children
had among themselves.  After that they had entertained numerous
partners.  Most of the other children in the commune who were
near their ages had been their sexual partners at least once, and
they now belonged to a small swinging club in their suburban
neighborhood.  But there was a difference between sport fucking
and loving.  Doug and Mary deeply, truly, eternally loved each
other.
 
     "Come on," he said, pushing her toward the steps up to the
boat's main deck.  "Let's do it under the stars again."
 
     She grabbed his dick and pulled him along.  "You talked me
into it, Mister Smoothie, even if the stars are hidden behind the
clouds."
 
                              *****
 
     Alyson understood the quiet words.  She couldn't imagine a
time she'd ever be too old for "G'night, Pixie," not even if she
were an ancient sixty and her father were an incomprehensible
ninety.  She swore right then and there that she would never be
the one to abandon the ritual.
 
     And then she heard that they were going to have sex--they
were going to "fuck"-- on the upper deck again.  She squirmed as
an ache of longing appeared right there in the front of her slit. 
Alyson slid her finger between her fuzzy outer lips and toyed
with her clit for a minute.  It swelled into a hard little knot
as she gently stroked it with her fingertip.
 
     She had masturbated for years, and her parents knew it.  She
never masturbated in their presence, but she knew they were aware
that she did it every night, and that it was why she sometimes
went to her room in the middle of the day and closed the door. 
They never disturbed her when she was "Tickling the Twat," as her
neighbor, Timmy Corel, once called it.  Timmy was the one who
showed her how boys "Pulled the Pole."  Alyson and Timmy had
subsequently watched each other masturbate on several occasions,
but she had never let him touch her, nor had she touched him. 
Touching was, regrettably, impossible for her.
 
     When she decided she'd waited long enough she slipped out of
her bunk, quietly opened the door, and eased down the hallway and
up the steps until she could just see along the surface of the
deck toward the stern.
 
     The moon and stars were hidden by a heavy, roiling overcast. 
To the west, distant flashes of lightning backlit the tropical
island looming nearby.  Her dad had pulled into this broad
sheltered cove when he heard the storm warning.  Even though the
storm would pass north of them the waves would be heavy, and he
didn't want them to be caught out in open water.
 
     Although there was no natural light, except for the tiny
amount the distant lightning provided, there was enough light
from the rest of the boat for Alyson to see Mom lying on an air
cushion, legs raised and wrapped around Daddy's waist.  He was
resting on his lower legs and hands.  This time it was too dark
for Alyson to see the hard spear of his cock slowly sliding in
and out of Mom's trimmed brown bush, but she could picture it
from the other times she had peeked at them.
 
     For a moment Alyson combed her own brown curls with her
fingers and wondered if she'd have a bush like Mom's when she was
older.  Mom's was a wide triangle, while hers was almost an
equilateral one.  But instead of being a straight line across the
top, like Mom's, hers dipped downward slightly in the middle. 
That dip, plus the line where the growth stopped just short of
the junction of her firm outer lips with her thighs, made her
bush look like a heart.  Some of the girls in her PE class last
year had accused her of shaving it to get the heart shape.  Two
had called it a "merkin," but wouldn't tell her what that meant. 
She'd had to ask Timmy, who wouldn't tell her until she first
masturbated for him.
 
     Alyson shoved a finger into her slit, back where her brown
curls thinned to nothing, and into the wetness at the mouth of
her virginal vagina.  She dragged the lubricating juices to her
hard, aching clit and began masturbating with serious
determination.  She watched her father's tanned butt lift and
drop, lift and drop, sending his sun-browned shaft up into her
mother's lower body over and over, his balls making wet slapping
sounds that Alyson knew were there, but couldn't hear tonight
because of the whistles and moans of wind and the slapping of
waves against the boat.
 
     They were talking in low voices.  She was amazed about the
number of different things they talked about while doing it.  The
subjects ranged from menus to Alyson's school grades to paying
bills to what they were doing, the latter occasionally using
exotic words or phrases Alyson hadn't yet heard and that left her
wanting to know what her mother was feeling more than ever.
 
     She stopped rubbing long enough to join her middle and ring
fingers and slip them into her hot, tight, wet tunnel.  For
almost a minute she slammed them into and out of herself in time
with her father's rhythm, then withdrew them to attack her clit
with renewed ferocity.  It must feel like that, only better.  She
couldn't imagine how good it must feel to have that long, hard
pole of her father's sliding through her young pussy.  She'd had
several objects in it that were similar in general size and
shape.  Her favorite was an empty toothpaste cylinder that she
kept in her room.  But it just didn't feel like Daddy's cock.
 
     Alyson knew what that big, hard, wonderful thing felt like. 
Well, she knew what it felt like to touch, but not what it felt
like in her cunny, where it really counted.  When he was really,
really tired he snored.  Not very loud, but he snored.  When he
was snoring, you almost needed firecrackers to wake him up.  A
few of those times she'd been alone with him, and his cock had
grown hard in his sleep.  Softly, gently, she'd touched it,
amazed that it was as firm as the toothpaste cylinder, but on the
outside it was soft and velvety and oh-so-nicely warm.
 
     The third time it happened, she wrapped her hand around it
and stroked it a couple of times, trying to imagine the sensation
it would produce inside her pussy instead of her hand.  She
became hornier than she had ever been before in her life, and her
other hand shot between her legs, as unstoppable as an erupting
volcano.  A volcano was what that hand found when she pushed her
lips apart with her index and ring finger, dipped the middle one
into her hole to wet it, and found hot lava.  She dragged the
liquid forward to her clit and came on the third rub.  She didn't
wake her father, but she disturbed him enough that he turned
over.  She went back to her room and masturbated for three hours,
cumming over and over again as each release left her wanting
more.
 
     The last time she'd held it was a couple of months ago.  Mom
had gone with Uncle Peter to settle things after Grandpa had gone
to sleep while driving Grandma down the Big Sur coast.  After Mom
had been gone a week, Daddy spent all day working in the yard,
putting in landscaping timbers and big rocks and making a really
nice flower garden in the back corner to surprise Mom when she
returned.  He had worn himself out that day.  It was the first
time Alyson had ever seen her father exhausted.  She had heard
Mom talking about Daddy's endurance with other women.  Of course,
Mom was talking about endurance while they were doing it, but
Alyson also knew that while her father wasn't stronger than most
men his size, he could outwork everyone she knew.
 
     But this one evening he was so tired that he fell asleep on
the couch with his back to her, and she couldn't wake him for
supper.  When she shook his shoulder, he turned onto his back,
kept on snoring, and grew a boner.  Just like that, right in
front of her eyes!  She'd seen it happen before, when Mom played
with it, but always at a distance.  This time it was at
arm's-length when it began growing wider and longer than its
normal couple of inches, then moved from lying on his leg to atop
his tummy, where it pointed toward his head.  It kept growing
wider and longer still until it was over six inches long, and the
head poked out of the skin covering it, the way she was used to
seeing his boner.
 
     She just stood there and fingered herself for a couple of
minutes, letting him get back to deep sleep.  When she could
stand it no longer, she gently picked it up and stroked it. 
Unable to control herself, she finally kissed it and then licked
it just below the head, the way she'd seen Mom do it.  It
swelled, and she grew hornier.  Still stroking his stick, she was
trying to decide whether to risk trying to get her mouth around
it when he suddenly came in his sleep.  It was the most amazing
thing she'd ever seen.  Somehow she kept from finger-banging
herself to orgasm on the spot and, instead, scooped up his hot,
thick cum in her left hand and ran to her room with her pearly
white treasure.
 
     Lying on her bed she deposited her cooling liquid treasure
on her chest, between and below the rise of her tender young
breasts.  The aroma was--different.  But it was making her little
clit demand attention in no uncertain terms.  But first she was
going to answer a question that had been haunting her since the
first time she saw Mom give Daddy head:  what did it taste like? 
Using her left hand to keep it from flowing away, she scooped
some up with her right index finger and brought it to her mouth. 
She opened her mouth, planning to first taste it with just the
tip of her tongue.  Instead, she suddenly plunged her finger into
her mouth and stripped it clean with her lips, fantasizing
sucking it off of her father's cock.
 
     Two things happened:  first she decided she liked it, and
second her clit exploded with demands that could no longer be
ignored.  She wet her fingertip in the cum and used it for
lubrication, massaging it into her clit.  She came immediately,
her body jerking with such intensity that she almost lost her
pool.  She began alternating between a tiny taste of cum and a
tiny drop rubbed into her clit.  When she ran out of her liquid
treasure it was almost midnight and she was so exhausted she
thought she couldn't cum again for a month.
 
     Satisfied as she was, she was still nagged by one burning
question:  _What does it really feel like to have that thing
sliding in and out of you?_  Timmy would be more than eager to
show her what it felt like, but she couldn't let him.  Both
Crystal Ross and Harmony Sturm had told her how excruciatingly
painful first intercourse was, and as everybody knew, Alyson
couldn't stand pain.  Oh, sure, they'd told her that it was
_wonderful_ and _dreamy_ from the second time on.  But Alyson
couldn't bring herself to voluntarily submit to that first time
agony.  That was why she wouldn't even let Timmy touch her.  He
would want more, but she could never go all the way with him. 
She didn't want to give him false hopes.  Denying him everything
was the decent thing to do, for his sake.
 
     _But what DOES it feel like?_
 
                              *****
 
     "The air's getting colder," Mary said, her words broken into
a staccato cadence by the slamming of Doug's pelvis into hers. 
"The storm's moving closer."
 
     "We'll be safe here," he said.  He moaned and added, "Do
that again."  She had clamped her cunt muscles tight on his dick
as he started to withdraw.  Mary had to teach the wife or
girlfriend of every man in their swing club how to do Kegel
exercises.  Newcomers would fuck her once and then say, "You need
to talk to my wife right now."  Melinda Peck was the undisputed
Queen of the Blowjob, but Mary was the Queen of Quims.  She was
the one member who consistently was fucked until he came by every
man present.
 
     Melinda had grown up in the same commune and had
automatically become bisexual, the same as Mary.  Melinda loved
eating cum, which was fortunate because of her specialty, and
she'd stop blowing long enough to eat the cum from Mary's pussy
between studs.  Melinda and Mary were always located near each
other, usually in the center of the main room at the club
fuckfests.
 
     Doug rewarded her by dipping his head to suck on her nipples
while he thrust into her gripping gash.  She came seconds later. 
Eyes closed, her head lolled to the side.  When she opened her
eyes, she was looking toward the companionway.  "Our audience is
back," she murmured.
 
     "Perhaps she's looking for new things to try with Timmy. 
Got any ideas?" Doug whispered as he switched nipples.  "Ooooh,"
he added as she again squeezed his dick.
 
     Mary gave one of her postorgasmic giggles that he found so
appealing.  "Poor little thing.  Maybe you should invite her over
and show her first-hand so Timmy will...."  Her words died as she
looked at his face.
 
     He had stopped thrusting and was frowning at her.  "She's my
daughter, Mare.  Why would you say such a thing?"
 
     The afterglow faded from her face and she focused on his
eyes, which were almost glaring down at her.  This was something
new.
 
     "What's the matter?  We've never had any off-limit topics
when we were making love or sport fucking.  Remember when you
said you wondered what I'd look like with a python's head shoved
up my cunt?  Or what I'd look like after you'd loaned me to a
couple of fraternities for the party entertainment?  I thought we
agreed any fantasy goes and nobody would be offended."
 
     Doug rose and shifted his legs until his weight rested on
his shins, but left his shaft buried in her tunnel.  "That was
before we had a daughter, Mare.  It's my responsibility to see
that nothing bad happens to her.  I don't like kidding about it."
 
     Mary blinked at him, trying to comprehend what she'd just
heard.  She understood the words, but she didn't fathom his
meaning.  Was this because he was a pediatrician or was this
something new that she couldn't grasp?
 
     "What was 'bad' in what I said?"
 
     Doug stared at her.  "_What?_  You.... What kind of question
is that?"
 
     Her hips stilled and her arms slid to rest on the deck.  "I
guess we do have limits after all."
 
     Doug sat back on his heels, his half-hard erection popping
out of his wife.  "I want to protect my daughter, and you
ridicule me?  What the fuck is wrong with you, Mare?"
 
                              *****
 
     Alyson's finger stilled as she realized her parents were
arguing.  Their voices grew stronger, but were still being
muffled by the weather.  She thought she heard her father say her
name once, but she couldn't be sure.  Had she done something to
cause the fight?  Unlike some parents who apparently argued all
the time, hers rarely did.  Hearing anger in their voices caused
her stomach to knot in fear.  Desire left her immediately, and
she withdrew her finger from her slit.
 
     This was something she could not stand to watch.  She rose
slightly from a seated position to a low crouch and began to back
down the steps.  As she did the wind suddenly whipped, and a drop
of rain hit between her shoulder blades, as cold as the tear
running down her cheek was hot.
 
     She closed the door of her cabin and threw herself on the
bunk.  She was dying to know if she had somehow caused their
fight, and if so, how, but she didn't want to listen to their
quarreling even to learn that.  Her parents would be coming down
out of the weather any minute now.  She turned to face the wall
and pulled her pillow over her head, covering her ears.  That
muffled everything except the rumbling thunder which grew louder
by the minute.
 
                              *****
 
     The sudden arrival of the storm ended the argument.  Mary
clearly wanted to continue the fight below deck, but dropped it
immediately when she realized Doug was afraid.  "What's wrong?"
 
     His wide eyes scanned the northern and western skies.  "This
shit isn't passing us, Mare.  It's coming right down on top of
us.  I'd better go radio in our position, just in case."
 
     Mary's voice caught in her throat.  "Just in case?"
 
     Lightning struck a tree atop one of the small peaks on the
island, momentarily illuminating the boat in high-contrast black
and white.  Six seconds later thunder shook the boat.  As if that
were a signal the winds immediately exploded in fury, driving
cold raindrops sideways from the direction of the island and
rocking the boat.
 
     Doug slapped his forehead with the heel of his right hand, a
gesture that told Mary he had just realized he'd made a huge
error.  "We're facing the wrong way.  I need to turn us into the
wind.  Get on the radio and send our location to Search and
Rescue.  Tell them if they don't hear from us after the storm
passes to come looking for us."
 
     The pit of Mary's stomach went colder than the wind-driven
rain.  "Doug?  If they don't hear from us?  Do you really
think...."
 
     "Do it!  The location is on the pad next to the chart. 
Hurry!  I'll turn the boat."  He gave her a quick kiss, a gentle
slap on her bare butt, and a shove toward the steps to the lower
deck while he climbed the short ladder to the wheelhouse.
 
     Lightning flared again as Mary started down the steps.  The
thunder seemed to arrive more swiftly.  She forced herself not to
panic as she entered their cabin, wondering why the boat wouldn't
just pivot about the bow anchor, and switched the radio to the
Search and Rescue frequency.  She felt and heard the engine start
as she picked up the pad and looked at the numbers.
 
     _Not again!_  Was that a "6", an "8", or a "0"?  For what
seemed the ten-thousandth time she wondered if Doug's handwritten
prescriptions were as sloppy and, if not for the computer
printouts, whether the pharmacies would have to call for a
translation of every one.  She decided it was a zero.  As she
reached for the microphone she heard a distant roaring sound,
like a diesel locomotive pulling a long train steadily closer.
 
                              *****
 
     The rocking of the boat was no longer gentle.  Alyson
wrapped her arm tighter around the pillow, squeezing it to her
ear while also using it to keep the flashes outside the porthole
from being visible through her eyelids.  She didn't like thunder,
and it was getting so loud she could feel it through her body. 
Then she felt a different vibration, that of the engine starting. 
And now she felt the electric winch drawing up the anchor chain
at the front of the boat.
 
     She sat up, wrapping both arms around the pillow and
squeezing it to her chest.  Claws of something cold squeezed her
heart, making it pound harder against the icy grip.  Surely Daddy
wasn't going to try to drive the boat somewhere in this storm? 
Another boom of thunder made her jump, and then the boat started
moving, swinging around in a tight turn.  Through an increasing
loud roaring from outside she heard the radio in her parents'
cabin.  It had to be Mom.  Maybe Mom could tell her what Daddy
was doing.
 
                              *****
 
     Doug hit the starter button.  The engine responded
immediately, and he hit the switch to raise the anchor.  Another
bright flash was followed three seconds later by a crash of
thunder.  He had to get in closer to the island.  It might
provide more shelter if they were closer to it, and if the boat
went down, he wanted to be as close as possible.  He would rather
risk washing the boat into the shallows and stranding it than
have it go down.  He was an idiot to have anchored out here.
 
     Shortly after graduating from medical school he'd gone
fishing with six other guys.  They'd been caught on the open
ocean in a surprise storm.  He never wanted to repeat the
occasion, especially not with his daughter and wife present.  But
here he was, with a storm headed at them.  He should have skipped
their annual cruise this year.  Normally Mary's two-week summer
research expedition was earlier in the summer and there was
little storm risk during the subsequent cruise.  This year she'd
swapped field sessions with another botanist, one who should be
ending the last day of her honeymoon now.  As usual, he and
Alyson had flown to meet Mare in the islands at the end and then,
disregarding the time of year, rented a boat for two weeks of
cruising.  _Stupid!  Stupid!  Stupid!_
 
     "_Damn!_" He had forgotten to tell Mary to get Alyson and
herself into life vests.  Mare was always the more level-headed. 
Maybe she'd think of it without his reminder.  He opened the
compartment under a bench seat and grabbed one for himself.
 
     The roaring from the direction of the island was growing
louder.  He engaged the propeller and shoved the throttle open,
spinning the wheel to turn them toward the island.  He was
straightening their course when another flash of lightning
illuminated it:  a waterspout  It had moved onto the island,
becoming a tornado that cut a path across the wide, flat expanse
between the shore and the high hills at the island's center.  It
was just moving back to the water again, and he realized it would
move past them to the north.  "We're safe," he murmured to
himself with a small sigh of relief.  In the next flash of
lightning his blood ran cold.
 
     The whirling fury had snapped off trees as it crossed the
island.  A palm tree, some of its fronds still intact, was arcing
toward them.  It was immediately lost in the darkness, but he had
understood that it was on an intercept course.  He spun the wheel
hard to starboard, turning them toward the waterspout
temporarily.  Another flash and he realized his error.  Before he
could react the broken end of the tree slammed through the side
of the boat and lodged, its weight pulling the boat onto its port
side.  With horror he realized that it had penetrated where
Alyson's cabin was.
 
     Her scream overwhelmed the roar of the waterspout.
 
                      Continued in Chapter 2
 
Copyright Russell Hoisington 2004
 
     ************************************************************
 
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Russell Hoisington
State of Confusion

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