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Subject: {ASSM} Sarah and the Stranger {Claire Kellis} (MF MFm Fm oral anal incest) [1/14]
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Date: Tue, 15 Jul 2008 10:10:01 -0400
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Sarah and the Stranger
a Novel by Claire Kellis

Summer, 2007



Chapter 1: _The Welcome Castaway_


"Go, Ben.  Go like the wind!"

Sarah rode deep in her saddle, giving the horse free rein.  When the 
unimproved track led in her desired direction, the Appaloosa galloped at
full speed in a three-beat cadence with neck extended, thick mane 
flying.  As if the woman's boots were glued in the stirrups, she and the
horse flowed as a single unit, her voice soothing and encouraging the 
animal to his best speed.  Hooves flew in a swift succession, all four 
feet intermittently off the ground.

When the track wandered off course, she unhesitatingly turned out onto 
fallow farmland and held Ben back to a canter.

Fifteen minutes of hard riding brought her to the outskirts of the open
town of Faresville.  It was May and the air smelled of summer's 
approach, hot and dry.  Wildflowers speckled the fields with color.

Though the track had again converged with her course, she shifted her 
weight backward and tightened the reigns for a slower stride.  Enjoying
his freedom, Ben defied her briefly, bobbing his head fretfully.  He 
came slowly to an acquiescent trot.

She dismounted at the Thompson home and began to remove Ben's saddle.  
Her uncle came out of his house, overalls covering a massive chest.  
"Little Missy, let me take care of Ben.  I'll give him water and wipe 
him down.  Maude is still napping.  She won't admit it, but she's taking
it hard."

Sarah stepped back from the horse.  "Oh, Uncle Ted, do you really have 
to leave?"

"You know we do, honey.  Times is too hard.  Gabriel Heater called it 
the 'Great Depression' last Sunday night on the radio."

"'Depression?'  What's that mean?"

Ted said dryly, "I'm not sure, except we ain't made a mortgage payment 
in three years."  He grinned teasingly.  "And Maude don't have no banker
in love with _her_."

Sarah gritted her teeth.  "She should be glad of that."

The man laughed, studying her fondly.

Feeling tears rise, she clasped his arm.  "I'll miss you, Uncle Ted."

He nodded, looking away.

She watched him walk Ben to the barn before she turned into the Thompson
house.  She cherished this place as the best home of her childhood.  It
always smelled of delicious food.  Today beef stew simmered on the back
burner of the wood stove in the kitchen.

She took a seat and looked around the so-familiar room, conscious that 
it was her last time.  Six chairs matched the maple table and the hutch
in the corner.  A calendar with the year, 1938, was pinned to green 
striped wallpaper.  She felt the counter top and recalled her father 
setting her atop it as a child.

Uncle Ted, smelling of horses, came quietly in through the back door.  
"Is Maude still napping?"

"I haven't seen her."  She stood up and hugged the man's pungent torso.
Their lips came together naturally.

He took her hand.  "One last time for your old uncle?"

"I'm going to miss this so much."

He led her toward the small adjacent sewing room.  A Singer sewing 
machine waited for the next stitch beside directions for a pattern that
remained to be packed.  She leaned back against the wall while he knelt
before her and lifted her riding skirt.  Beneath the layers of material,
now fallen over his head, he peeled back her cotton panties.  His tongue
found her familiar passion spot, flicking and tasting to torment the 
swollen nub.

Eyes closed, she spread her legs wide to admit the talented tongue 
further.  It stroked her to intense pleasure.  "Oh god, yes, don't 
stop," she murmured, adding an involuntary squeak as her sensations 
peaked.

Gasping for breath, she added, "Uncle Ted, what if she heard me then?"

"She'll think it was a mouse," he answered with a muffled laugh.  But he
withdrew from her clothing and stood up to squeeze her breasts.

She dipped hands into her blouse and freed the band that had restrained
them against the pain of the horse's bouncing.  He immediately popped 
them out of the cloth and pushed them together.  She felt his swollen 
manhood against her belly.  Both pairs of eyes glowed with lust.

"Jesus, you're lovely," he breathed.  Bending his head, he suckled a 
nipple.  His eyes widened.  "You're still fresh!"

"Is that a complaint?"

"For sure not!  But your kid's over a year old."

"I think it's cruel to wean a babe at only 18 months."

He chuckled.  "How about Jeff at 73 years?"

She giggled.  "I think Daddy is even gaining weight."

"I would.  Come on in the bathroom."

She sat on the sink.  He dropped his overalls, threw up her skirt and 
penetrated her sopping center without hesitation.  She compressed her 
full breasts against his hairy chest.

"God, Sarah, you feel so wonderful!"

"Don't Aunt Maude like this any more?" she asked curiously.

"Not much since the change."

"That's too bad.  Oh, uncle, you feel good too."  A moan followed her 
giggle.  "Guess what: I'm coming."

He clamped a hand over her mouth but thrust the harder.  She groaned 
nasally, nostrils flaring.

A voice in the doorway declared, "Do her good, Ted.  It's the last 
time."

He spun around nakedly, glistening manhood distended.  "Maude!"

The woman in the doorway, hair awry from her nap, shook her head.  "You
think I didn't know how you and Sarah been loving each other since she 
was little?  To tell you the truth, after I lost that last babe, I was 
grateful for it.  Now finish what you started.  I'll wait in the 
kitchen."

Ted's erection had already faded.  He tried to resume but it was 
impossible.  "God, Sarah, I'm sorry."

The young woman sighed.  "I am too.  Let me get to the toilet, will 
you?"

A minute later she entered the kitchen apprehensively.

Ted leaned against the wall.  Maude sat at the table brushing her hair.
She smiled up at Sarah.  "Sweets, I'm glad you came by."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course.  And I'm glad Ted's family is so loving.  He's a man who 
needs it."

The woman smiled fondly.  Sarah sensed an old-fashioned shining quality
about her.  This was a devoted person, a cut above the rest.

"You haven't called me 'Sweets' in years," said Sarah huskily.  She bent
down and took the older woman in a tight hug.

Kissing her niece, Maude said, "I'm going to miss you, darling girl, 
almost as much as Ted does."

Sarah's eyes brimmed with tears, both for love of her aunt and sorrow 
for the loss of her uncle.  "Before you leave, Daddy and Jack are coming
by.  He made up something for you both.  Jack wants to say good-bye 
too."

Ted nodded.  "I'm glad to hear it.  I heard Mercy-Percy stopped by to 
scare you," he added with a sneer, "That panty waist is afraid of his 
own shadow."

Maude said, "Ted and I both would love for you to come to Baltimore with
us.  Your father won't last ...  Well, he's getting on, you know.  And 
you're still nursing a baby.  None of you can stay on that farm much 
longer.  Your son will find a sweetheart and get married, leaving you 
alone.  Why don't you come with us?  There's plenty of room."

Sarah took a breath.  "It does sound likeable, but that was Tim's farm 
before he ... before he left it to me.  Daddy has lived around here most
of his life.  Four of our neighbors have already sold out and moved 
east.  Only two others are left, but they're good people.  We help one 
another."

The afternoon light was waning.  Sarah cocked her head at distant 
thunder.

Ted said, "I can take care of Ben.  You sit."

"No, thanks," she said brightly.  "I'm a big girl now, Uncle Ted."

"Oh, yeah, I'll say!"

Walking to the barn, she saw lightning in the southwestern sky.  The sun
had set, leaving the world twilit.  "Did you miss me?" she asked Ben.  
Opening her hand to his large lips, she gave him the expected apple.  
Slipping the bridle over his nose, she guided the bit into his mouth.  
She could do this in her sleep, she thought, as she slid the crown-piece
over his twitching ears and adjusted the nose- and brow band.  Would 
uncle have room to keep horses in the east?  She fastened the throat 
latch and curb chain and made sure the bridle lay flat.

Placing the saddle on a blanket, she hoisted both on his withers and 
slid them back into place.  She attached the girth evenly on both sides.
Walking Ben out of the barn, she waved to her aunt and uncle on the 
porch.  One foot in the stirrup, she pulled herself into the saddle with
her skirts between her legs, waived good-bye and rode out into the 
fields.  Her breasts, by now nearly full, bounced uncomfortably to the 
horse's trot.  She grimaced, realizing she had left the binding band in
her aunt's bathroom, but rode on.  The jouncing saddle alleviated 
somewhat the emptiness unsatisfied because of Maude's interruption.

Uncle Ted was leaving her!  This would close a wonderful chapter in her
life.  While building his livery stable in Faresville, he had come to 
live with her father for a few months when she was thirteen.  By that 
time, two years after her mother's death, her father had taught her all
about a man's needs.  When she spied her uncle masturbating behind a 
haystack, it seemed natural and wholly appropriate for her to slip 
around him and drop to her knees.

"God, Missy!" he had begun, stiffening upright from the hay.

She had pulled his not-very-resistant hands away from the turgid organ 
and slurped it into her mouth.  Ah, how like and unlike the taste of her
father's!  A little fatter than that one, it filled her mouth to even 
better satisfaction.

The man had trembled.  "Wh-what in god's name do you think you're doing,
Missy?"

She released him long enough to say, "Playing calf."

"Calf!"  He choked a giggle.  "Well, you 'bout to get a mouthful, I 
vow!"  His hard hands caught her around the head.  "Oh, god, Missy, 
that's good!"

Indeed it was a mouthful, squirt after squirt into the back of her 
throat.  Holding her breath, she had swallowed fast, releasing him only
as he collapsed backward into the hay.  She squatted before him, smiling
with accomplishment, licking a dollop of semen off her lower lip.

"God, Little Missy," he murmured in wonder.  "My own blood niece, a 
champion cocksucker!"  He studied her confident demeanor and said with 
conviction, "You played lots of calf with Brother Jeff, I vow."

"That ain't all I been doing," she retorted, pulling up her skirt to 
display a well-fledged groin.  She fell on her back, legs spread.  "Now
you play the bull."

Uncle Ted had readily agreed.  His cock, long-lasting after the recent 
relief, had filled her up and sent her to heaven that day and on many 
others in the next seventeen years.

She rode automatically, no longer so anxious to reach her destination, 
although the jostling reminded her of fast-filling breasts that would 
soon feed her son's thirst.  The darkness in the sky to the southwest 
rode higher, but she judged she could make it home in time.

At one point, where her path through the field angled back toward the 
track, she approached a shoulder-high boulder and despite the growing 
dimness, noticed a man-sized object, lighter in color atop it.  Drawing
near, she realized that indeed it was a human body, lying face down, 
clothed in peculiar vertical stripes of black and white.  Dark 
splotches, possible of blood, stained its back.

She called, "Whoa, Ben," and tightened the reins.  With the horse 
stopped and warned to stand, she was able to step off the saddle onto 
the sharp-edged rock.

She knelt beside the figure.  It had a man's short hair and the coppery
odor of blood.  A streak of drying blood showed where he had crawled 
atop the rock from the gentler slope to the west. With effort she rolled
him over on his back, away from the edge of the boulder.  A thumb at his
neck detected a pulse.  He was breathing shallowly.  Blood on his 
forehead had soaked his hair.  The face was handsome, with flat-planed 
cheeks, thin lips and a dimple in his chin.

He moaned.  His tongue protruded and licked his bottom lip.

"Thirsty, are you?" she asked.  He made no response.  She grunted.  On a
mere five mile journey she had brought no canteen.  Her uncomfortable 
chest suggested an alternate solution.  Obviously he needed help.

Kneeling and raising his head into her lap, she released her breasts.  
Droplets of milk covered his mouth until his tongue discovered the 
taste.  In a natural instinct a man never forgets he sucked a nipple 
between his lips.

He worked up a powerful suction that soon emptied the breast.  His teeth
never closed.  She wondered if his mother had slapped him to stop his 
biting, as she had found necessary with her own babe.  When she offered
the other breast, he drained it as well.  She was glad she left a bottle
of milk with her father to feed the baby.  Studying the unconscious man,
she touched his face.  His eyes opened then closed, too soon for her to
discover their color in the dim light.

"Now what do I do with you?" she wondered aloud.  When she tried to move
him, he was dead weight.  "How in the world did you get on this rock?"

The full moon was rising brightly, improving the fading twilight.  She 
stood up and looked around.  The lightning in the south was closer.  The
Springfield highway, a paved road, curved nearby to the west.  On that 
side the land rose within 30 yards to the top edge of rock.  The weeds 
were disturbed.  "I can see where you came from," she muttered, "but 
where do you go from here?"

She thought of flagging down the next car, but she was unarmed and the 
road very lightly traveled, especially at night.  Her eyes dropped 
lower.  Ben remained beside the boulder.  Was it possible ...

"Stay, Ben, stay!" she ordered, reaching out to stroke the furry croup.
Ben looked around at her as if to say, "Where would I go without you?"

She tugged the man's arms and feet to align him with the edge of the 
boulder.  Using all her strength, she lifted his shoulders, rolling him
forward and sideways until he pitched across the horse's loin, just 
behind the saddle.  Ben shuddered and heaved, watching her closely, but
to her intense gratitude remained approximately in place.  She stepped 
immediately onto the saddle and this time pulling her skirts forward, 
slid down to the stirrups.  Twisting around, she bunched the man's loose
waistband in both fists and managed barely to hoist him more evenly over
the loin.

She drew a deep breath.  Taking a firm grip on the man's pants and 
squeezing her knees, she ordered, "Okay, Ben.  Giddy-up just a little 
bit."

Apparently he understood.  He actually sidled away from the rock.  The 
man's feet slid off it and fell to the horse's flanks, but his body 
remained securely perched over the loin.

She breathed easier.  With one hand caught in the waistband, she took up
the reins in the other and snapped them lightly.  "Let's go home, Ben."

The horse began an easy walk.  Fifteen minutes later she could see the 
distant house lights, but the thunder had moved closer.  Droplets at 
first, then a downpour sent her for a poncho in the saddlebag.  Leaning
behind her, she stretched the tail of the poncho over her charge as far
as possible.  It might protect his torso but not his arms and legs 
dangling at the horse's flanks.  She wondered if the cool rain might 
arouse him.

A sad spring moon wept through the rain.  The night was redolent with 
the smell of spring earth drinking the ozone-scented rainfall.  One hand
remained twisted in the man's waistband as she rode slowly toward the 
tiny cluster of lights.  Enough moonlight remained beneath the edge of 
the cloud to show her the track.

She wondered how Jeff would react, doubting that her father would feel
sympathy for a man in prison uniform.  But this one needed medical 
attention.  Her nipples still tingled from the touch of his lips and she
felt a rising responsibility.  Her intent to nurse him back to health 
congealed at that moment.

Her freshness had surprised Uncle Ted.  Indeed she was fresh!  She 
produced more milk than all three of her males would consume.  Of late 
she had found herself squeezing it into the sink drain, what remained 
from refilling the baby bottles.  She recalled a grandfather kept alive
by the milk of his daughter, her aunt.  Breast milk was certainly 
sustaining.  The thought of nourishing her new man filled her with 
satisfaction.

More than a maternal instinct, she found it sexually stimulating.

She released his waistband long enough to sweep her hand over his torso,
noticing clothing covered with burrs.  Meaning to check for lice, she 
found she could neither reach his head nor recall his thickness of hair.
Surely a prisoner would have a shaved head!  She remembered his smooth 
cheeks around her breasts.  When he grew a beard, she would shave him 
with her husband's razor.  He could wear her husband's saved clothing.

But now he wore a striped prison suit.  An unspeakable darkness chilled
her.  Had he murdered someone?  Caring for a man who might be evil was 
frightening.

With Jeff and Jack's attention -- and Ted's -- she had endured the 
tragic loss of her husband, but the image of his death remained in her 
thoughts.  Somehow she had never discarded his clothing from the box in
the closet: things she retained for their odor, for the memories, for 
herself.

The one behind her, obviously a stranger, was nevertheless a man.  She 
was absolutely confident of her appeal to men.  From the odor of his 
clothing it had been days since he bathed.  Images of washing his penis,
making sure he was clean all over, caused her to lick her lips.  She 
squeezed the muscle of his buttock, relishing its firmness.  Tomorrow 
she would give him a sponge bath out in the barn in the old yellow tub.
She would enjoy seeing all of him.  The muscles of his back felt 
stronger than Uncle Ted's older body.  How could she convince her father
to keep this one on the farm?  They needed a farm hand with a strong 
back.

A moment of sadness touched her.  They would not share Thanksgiving 
again with Uncle Ted and Aunt Maude, nor celebrate Christmas and the 
Fourth of July with them.  

She thought of her dear neighbors Elsie and Jim Jensen.  Their only 
daughter had just died in childbirth.  She would take them some bread 
this week.  A couple miles down the road, their farm was still a going 
concern.  Jim was in his forties and had more energy than her father.

They were nice people who helped her two years before when a defective 
threshing machine had killed Tim, her husband.  They had taken her in, 
along with young Jack, comforted them both and handled all the 
arrangements.  She owed them a lot.

The horse stumbled over an obstruction and brought her back to the 
present.  What made her think of Tim -- the prospect of another virile 
man in the house?  She had married Tim at 16 when she was four months 
pregnant.  Jack had been a good baby.  Now he resembled his father.  
Tall, dark and handsome, he was growing up so fast.  Since last year, 
he'd enjoyed watching her feed little Joe.  He always seemed to be 
hovering about her when she nursed the baby.  Of course, she never used
a blanket nor hid her enlarged breasts, knowing that a boy going through
puberty would be curious and enjoying his avid interest.  Again it 
seemed appropriate and only natural to give him first a taste then his 
fill.  When she had too much milk, Jack was only too willing to drink 
the excess.

Perhaps his wide eyes had made her itch.  It came to a head a year ago 
in the barn when she wore a halter-top and thought she was alone.  Joe 
was tiny.  The barn was cool.  The men, Jack and Jeff, were working in 
the fields, she thought.  Turning, she had realized Jack was standing in
the doorway of the barn, staring at his mother's enormous bare breasts.
The front of his jeans bulged.  She stood and arched her back 
shamelessly.  Unable to move, he had riveted his eyes on the big brown 
nipples, leaking milk.

She could recall that day as if it happened yesterday.  She had placed 
the baby in his carriage and said invitingly, "Come here, Baby, and help
your mother.  Joe can't finish all my milk and Mama's tits are hurting."

She recalled he came near but stood still as a grave marker.  

Her nipples ached.  "Jack, it's okay, you can touch them."

He looked into her eyes thirstily, licking his lips.

She was a trollop.  Hands on her hips, she swayed her torso, waltzing 
the large breasts all over her chest, deliberately teasing him.  Jack's
hand rubbed his swollen manhood through his jeans.

"Touch me, Jack."

He had blushed like a ripe tomato when she placed his hands on her 
beautiful breasts, but he retained enough wit to ask, "Mom, should we be
doing this stuff?" 

"What stuff?"  With a sniff she smiled.  "You're not shy of your loving
mama, are you?"  She touched his face, "Jack, I loved your daddy very 
much, but he's gone.  Sometimes I need you to help me.  Do you 
understand why I need you, Jack?"

He looked down at her breasts.  Sweat was visible inside the collar of 
his shirt.

"No," he said with a drawn-out sigh.  "But I guess I don't need to."

His hands lifted the heavy flesh.  His thumbs rubbed her nipples and 
milk escaped.

She closed her eyes.  The feeling was delicious.  "That's right.  Now 
suck on me, honey.  You're my son.  Ain't no reason you can't enjoy my 
milk again like you used to.  I've got too much of it for one baby.  
They hurt when they get too full."  She took his hand.  "Over here.  We
can sit while you help me."

She found a small area with two milking stools.  How ironic!  She 
smiled, trying not to laugh.    

He drank like a starved child, milk dribbling onto his shirt, looking up
into her narrow lusty eyes.  His young face was upholstered with dust 
from the fields.  Upon her breasts he left the tell tale sign of dirt.
While sucking them again, he used his swirling tongue to tease her.

"Jack, honey, do that tongue part again.  It feels _good_."

As her son made love to the delicious breasts, her eyes fixed on the 
bulge in his trousers.  Carefully she tried to undo them, but small 
buttons around the manly bulge defeated her.  

Lord, how much he was like his father!  He was huge.  She recalled their
nights and her thrill of fear at Tim's enormous prong.  She had thought
her daddy big, but her husband made her moan.  He would smile into her 
face as she cried for more, knowing he could bring her to any level of 
enjoyment she wanted.

Horse hooves thudding on the rickety bridge over the last gully restored
her again to reality.  She could see the farmhouse lights before her.

The rain had let up.  Crickets and katydids were making their romantic 
music, calling out one to the other.  Ben wanted to run; the second 
person upon his back was no hardship.  Sarah held him in with the reins.
Now the man behind her smelled of damp burlap.

The house was brightly lit.  It was a rambling ranch house with long 
windows in each room.  A small enclosed porch attached to the back 
entrance, serving as a place to keep boots, shopping bags and salt for 
the winter months.  On its right side hooks supported coats and jackets.
The opposite front porch lay across the full width of the house.  They 
used it during warm weather whenever the mosquitoes allowed.  It held 
several rocking chairs, placed to support conversation.

Tired and weary, she dismounted and hitched the horse to a porch post.

Jack ran out of the house, slamming the front door screen.  "Mom, are 
you okay?  Grandpa's out looking for you."

"Jack, go out back and shoot your rifle twice.  That's the signal I'm 
safe."

"What you got here?"  He came around the horse and lifted the stranger's
head by the hair.  Light from the open door lit the scene.  "Mom, who's
this?  And how come you brung him home?"

"I found him on the trail.  You heard of the good Samaritan."

"But look at his clothes!  Mom, this is foolishness.  He might've killed
somebody or raped a woman."

"I don't think so.  His clothing don't fit him and he's too muscular 
to've spent much time in jail.  Jack, if he turns out to be trustworthy,
he can help you and your grandfather on the farm."

A scowl set on the boyish face.  "I don't like this one bit.  It's 
foolish and you should've left him for the sheriff.  Granddad will never
agree to this."  He sighed and turned away.  "I'll get my rifle."

The stranger never moved at the sound of gunfire.  She thought he must 
have a concussion.

Sarah considered her son's words, fury growing.  When Jack returned, she
cried vehemently, "John Adam Martin, we've always been fair to people.
Now I've got three men who'll call me a foolish woman."  Tears wet her 
cheeks.  She did not mean to cry, but all the emotions of the day 
suddenly piled upon her.

He put a hand on her shoulder.  His voice was gentle. "I'm worried for 
you.  Mom, you always show kindness to our neighbors and family.  It's 
outstanding."  Carefully choosing his words, he added, "But, mom, he's 
an escaped criminal, not a puppy."

"Jack, don't you think I realize that?  I don't know who this man is, 
but I do know one thing: my father needs help on this farm or it will 
kill him.  Moreover, if I have to house a criminal in order to keep 
daddy alive, by God I will.  Just remember the house is in my name, 
Jack.  _I_ will make this decision."

"Well, then, think about this: what if he decides to kill us all in the
middle of the night?"  Jack was angry.  Damn woman with her feelings!  
"Geeze, mom, we all know you're a great fuck.  So are you going to add 
him to your list?"

Without thought her hand slapped his face, leaving an imprint.  She 
snarled, "Don't ever say that again."

Jack flinched away and walked into the house.

With the sound of hoofbeats her father rode into the yard.  He threw a 
leg over the saddle horn, slid down, ran to her and took her in his 
arms.  "Honey, what happened?  When you didn't get home before the storm
we were worried sick about you."

Jack came out of the house and stood on the porch.

She pointed to her horse.  "That's the reason.  Daddy, you and Jack take
him to the barn for the night."

Jeff approached the horse and stretched out the cloth on one of the 
man's legs.  "Jesus, he's a convict!  Sarah, what were you thinking?"

"I found him on the trail.  He needed my attention.  He's still 
unconscious."  

Jeff took the time to examine the stranger thoroughly before turning to
study his daughter.  She hated the look of disapproval on his face.

"You can be accused of harboring a criminal, Sarah."

"But he needed my attention.  He might've died.  He might yet."

"Honey, that word _harbor_ means to lodge or care for one who's hiding.
What you want to do is against the law."

Her chin rose.  "Well, it won't be the first time I've broke the law, 
would it?"

He blinked.  "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."  She took a deep breath.  "Dad, think about 
this.  'Less he stays and helps us run this place, we're going to follow
Uncle Ted and Aunt Maude.  I refuse to watch you kill yourself over this
damn farm."

Jeff's mouth worked but he said nothing.  His eyes narrowed with an 
idea.  He went around the horse and felt the stranger's dangling arms 
and hands.  

"You know, maybe he ain't a criminal.  Look here."  When the other two 
joined him, he continued, "This man is too muscular.  And his hands -- 
feel of these calluses.  If you look close you can see where blisters 
popped in the last month or so.  He's a working man.  If he's a convict
he's been at hard labor."  He caught the uniform collar and pulled it 
several inches down the man's back.  "Ha!  Look at that!  He's been 
going shirtless.  They don't allow that on prison work gangs.  I don't 
know how he came to be lying on the trail, but I'm in favor of giving 
him a chance.  Let's get him off his belly and into the barn so he can 
stretch out."  As he spoke he unwound the reins from the post and turned
away, leading the horse.

Sarah ran into the house.  After assuring herself that little Joey was 
sleeping soundly, she found a washcloth and raced to the barn, where her
men were laying the stranger on a cot.  

"Someone beat the crap out of him," said Jack with wide eyes.

Jeff stood up.  "It's a wonder he's still alive."

Sitting by the stranger, she gently washed away the dried blood.  His 
forehead had a gash, but while turning his head side to side, her hand 
found a swelling in back of his skull.  "Here's why he's out cold."

"Big lump?" asked her father.

"Worse'n yours when you fell off the tractor."

Bending down, Jeff opened the filthy shirt, exposing dark bruises on his
side.  "Some bastard kicked him pretty bad.  A doctor should see him."

Sarah asked, "Is the phone still out?"

"Yeah," answered Jack.  "I tried to call Uncle Ted.  It's deader'n a 
door nail."

"We'll send you for Doc Spencer tomorrow.  I'll give this one a sponge 
bath and wash his hair.  He can wear Tim's clothes for the doc.  We'll 
say he's my cousin."

Jeff had a twisted smile.  "It looks like we got a house guest for a 
while."

She stood and hugged her father.  "Thanks Daddy.  I hope it works out."
She took a deep breath.  "The sooner we get him out of these clothes the
better.  He reeks.  We need to burn them for more reasons than one."

Jack tugged off the shoes.

"Let me see that," said his grandfather.  He held one up.  "This shore 
ain't no prisoner's low quarter.  So new you can read the brand.  
'Silvano, made in Italy!'  I'll bet they cost twenty bucks."

"Silk socks!" exclaimed the lad, removing them.  "Do convicts wear low 
quarters?"

"Not this quality," declared the old man positively.

They peeled away the rest of his soiled clothing.  The pants legs were 
soaked with rain water and urine.  Bruises decorated much of the 
muscular torso, blue under curly brown chest hair.  He wore no 
underwear.  All three paused, regarding the genitals lolling in their 
thick hairy surround.

"How old you think he is?" asked Sarah.

"No warts and moles," said her father; "not like me."

"Like Jack."

"Older'n Jack, for sure.  Too much hair."

"What's wrong with his dick?" asked Jack.

"Probably his religion," said Jeff with a shrug.

"His what?"

"Sarah, you need to send this boy to Sunday school."

Sarah said, "That dick ain't hard, so why ain't the tip covered?"

"That's what Jack's talking about.  He's been circumcised.  It's what 
you call snipping off the front skin.  Some people do it to babies 
because their religion says so.  Huh!  I reckon they's some sons in 
Germany real sorry about it now."

"Does it ... keep him from liking women?"

"Hell, no.  Sure ain't no lack of skinned dicks in the world."

Sarah said in the same inquiring tone, "Let me see yours, son."

Jack glanced at his grandfather, who was studying the stranger.  With a
shrug the lad pushed down jeans and ragged briefs together.

Bending slightly, his mother lifted both flaccid organs reflectively.  
"His is heavier'n yours.  Bigger too."

"It won't be in a minute," said Jack tightly.

Her father sniffed and licked his lips.

She peeled back her son's foreskin.  "This is how a tip's supposed to 
look, all shiny and purplish.  This naked tip would take some getting 
used to."  She added without looking up, "Before we go to bed we should
feed him again, don't you think?"

"'Again?'" Jack repeated.

She opened her blouse and bent far over the cot, nipples dripping.  Her
men's eyes popped.  The guest's mouth searched exactly like a thirsty 
babe's.  Within seconds he was suckling avidly.  "Fetch one of them 
stools," she told Jack, "and a blanket too."

Her father let out his breath.  "My god, a stranger!  Jesus, that's the
hottest thing I've seen since Daisy Belle resurrected the corpse."

"Did what?" asked Jack, sliding the stool under Sarah's skirt.

"Daisy who?" demanded Sarah.

Her father's hand slipped into his overalls, jiggling.  "Daisy Belle was
a loose woman in Cleveland.  She said she'd fuck any man, living or 
dead."

Sarah tilted her head meaningfully toward the youth.  "Dad, please!"

Jeff chuckled.  "You think I could teach him anything else about women?"

"Everything he don't need to know!"

Their subject threw his blanket over the stranger and knelt down beside
his mother's bent body.  "Mom, could I have a taste from the other one?"


* * *


After she cleaned supper's residue from the kitchen, fed, changed and 
burped the baby and tucked his somnolent form into his crib, Sarah 
stepped out of the rest of her clothing and crossed the hall to her 
father's bedroom.  He sat at his rickety desk, wearing only a T-shirt, 
writing with pencil on a yellow pad.

She looked over his shoulder.  "Something happened for your journal, did
it?"

"It sure did.  My daughter took in a convict and fed him from her tits.
My dick's still about half-hard."

"You writing about _that_?"

He chuckled.  "Maybe not the dick.  I want to note down all the 
particulars, just in case."

"In case what?"

"In case you should've let him lie."

After a moment she said, "About the tit part ... Joey don't empty them 
anymore."

"I told you not to feed him from a cup."

"He sees you and Jack using a cup and wants to be like you."

"It's about time you was feeding him from your mouth."

She chuckled softly.

He looked up.  "What's funny?"

"Elsie Jensen says it's disgusting for a woman to prechew her baby's 
table food."

"'Disgusting,' she says?  She probably thinks tit-feeding is bad too.  
Was going to feed her baby from a bottle, was she?"

"Oh, I don't think so, Daddy."

Jeff sniffed.  "What's more natural than getting food from your mother?
Baby ain't got the teeth to eat stew and corn kernels.  Ha!  She'd want
to use a sausage grinder, I bet."

"I've already prechewed his corn some."

"Good for you.  And Joseph too."  He shoved the notepad in a drawer and
turned to smile at her.  His eyes widened.  Without another word he 
caught her around the waist and pulled her between his legs.  His mouth
settled hungrily on a dripping nipple.

Her hands caressed the thinning hair on his head.  "God, Daddy, I love 
the way you drink me.  You make it sing."  Indeed with each powerful 
intake the milk ducts emitted a distinct whine.

She mused.  "It just runs out of me now, even without any help.  Doc 
Spencer says I'm unusual, being fresh with every one of my babies, even
the ones that didn't make it all the way.  I'm so glad of that.  It 
feels so good to feed my men.  I think four of them is going to be just
right."

Jeff transferred to the full breast.  After a minute or two he raised 
his head, licked his lips, sighed and pulled her up to straddle his lap.
She settled with a wiggle and his manhood slipped unguided within her.
She began to slide forward and back.

Head lowered to his, she murmured in his ear, "I'm glad you liked me 
giving suck to my stranger."

"It's your big tits, honey.  I can just imagine what they'd do to 
another guy's dick."

"His dick?"

"If you let him suck 'em."

She said dryly, "I guess you won't have to imagine it when our new man 
wakes up."

"At least till you put britches on him."

They both chuckled.  He kissed her neck.  "I do love you to pieces, you
hot little milk cow."

"I'm going to give him a bath in the morning.  You plan to stick 
around?"

He sighed.  "Honey, you know I got to get that seed in the ground while
the sun is low."

"Okay."  She grinned, her breath warm on his ear.  "I'll tell you about
his dick."

"I can guess how you'll clean it!"  His voice softened.  "You recollect
the first bath I gave you?"

"When I was eleven?  That wa'n't the first."

"Well, no, though your Mamma said I ought to quit washing you when you 
was five."

"I can remember you playing with my pussy."

"You can?  I guess you can.  She said you told her about it.  But I mean
the first bath I _took_ with you."

"I'll never forget that one, Daddy.  Mamma helped you."  She sighed.  "I
never did ask her why."

"Partly because she lost so many babies she was afraid of getting more."
He chuckled.  "I think the main reason was you gave her the idea."

"_I_ did?"

"Yeah, you hot little sweetie.  God, it's making me come to think of 
it."


* * *


Later, lying beside the snoring man, she thought of it too.

In the bathtub with a man!  It was not a common experience, not for a 
grown woman with body too large for comfort in the same tub.  But as a 
child ...  The memory of her first bath with a man was sharp as 
yesterday's dinner menu.

Mama had dabbed just a bit of Daddy's choice perfume behind Sarah's 
eleven-year-old ears.  When Jeff entered the steaming bathroom, the 
scent was bewitching.  His cock rose as they all undressed.

Sarah could never get enough attention from this loving man.  She 
relished the feel of his furry torso as he lifted her into the warm tub
of water.  The hairy body excited her.  Feeling a delicious warmth 
between her legs, she exclaimed, "Daddy, my pussy itches."

"Jeff, did you hear that?" Mama whispered excitedly.

Jeff's eyes narrowed.  "Let me bathe you, girl."  He entered the tub 
behind her, raised her into his lap and began to scrub her with face 
cloth and bar of homemade soap, soon discarded in favor of his own hard
hands that stroked her sides, belly and buttocks.  "God, what silky 
skin!"

A woman's desires hid inside the child's body.  Her eyes darkened and 
she opened her knees to admit the fingers that slowly and gently bathed
her little lips, where a swollen pearl became the source of delight.

Mama was stroking the man's shoulder.  "Jeff, look how she wiggles!  
She's ready for our bed."  Sarah felt Mama's breath on her ear.  "Let 
him touch you deeper.  You'll love it."

Daddy's middle finger worked around her bump of delight.  He said with a
pleased chuckle, "For sure she knows what this lump is for."

Mama retorted, "Well, you taught her when she was five years old."

"Earlier than that.  She knew it before she was two."

"I've wondered if that was why she seemed such a happy child."

They talked on but Sarah concentrated on the manly aroma that surrounded
her.  She turned up to smile into Daddy's loving face.  Using little 
pressure, he found her tiny hole.  His fingertip gently penetrated and 
stretched her.  She gasped when it found her special place.

"Mama, if feels so good.  Oh Daddy, don't stop!"  

The woman nodded with conviction.  "This child will be a hot number.  
She'll be everything a man wants.  Some children develop earlier than 
others.  Just look at these beauties, Jeff.  Our little girl is going to
have big tits like your mother."

Jeff chuckled, reached out of the tub and cupped a wifely breast.  
"These is big enough for me, thank you."

"That's sweet, Jeff.  But I won't be jealous of you and Sarah.  Get out
now; I'll help you dry off."

Daddy carried the little girl to his bed.  Mama joined them on the other
side of the man.

"Sarah, touch daddy.  He'd love to feel your soft fingers around his big
cock."  Taking her daughter's hand, she placed it there.  "Feel how big
he is, Sarah.  What do you think of it?"

Sarah looked up into Jeff's lustful eyes.  "It's soft and hard at the 
same time!"

"You don't act very surprised.  Where've you seen it before?"

"Uh, uh ..."

The woman rose on an elbow to study the girl then her husband.  "Where'd
you show her, Jeff?"

"Show her?  Why, Janice, I nev--"

Secure in Daddy's arm, Sarah said, "I saw it going into you lots of 
times."

The woman blinked.  "Into _me_?  Where did you ...  Oh."

Sarah grinned.  "You don't even close the door."

Mama took a deep breath.  "Sarah, why don't you ride daddy's horsey."

"You mean ..."  The girl seemed to shrink.  "It's too big!"

Mama said, "You've seen where it goes.  It's never _too_ big."

Indeed she had seen on nights when her parents' bed began to thump.  She
had studied her own private parts with a hand mirror and knew with 
certainty that this huge thing would never fit into her as it did the 
woman.

Jeff bit his lip.  "Janice, she's right.  She's too young.  I'd kill 
her."

"_My_ mamma did it with a hairbrush handle.  I've always hated that 
memory.  I want Sarah's to be natural."

"With a hairbrush?  I thought you slept with your father!"

"I mean the first time.  And it won't kill her, even if you do think so.
Wait a moment."

The woman's mouth worked side to side.  She leaned over and took half 
the manhood into it but shortly arose to leave it glistening with 
saliva.  "Sarah, get on top of your father."

The girl took a deep breath.  When Mama used that tone of voice, 
obedience was not an option.  Sarah clambered atop the hard paternal 
hips.  Guessing what was next, she lowered her most sensitive spot atop
the upthrust organ and like a professional woman in a brothel, wiggled 
to find the padded tip.  It spread her small lips wetly and thrilled her
sweet spot with its pressure.

Mama's head was behind daughter's buttocks.  "Jeff, my God, she knows 
what to do."

Daddy's face was flushed.  "This is just too hot!  Janice, I'm going to
come, damn it!"  Grasping the slim hips, he forced the penetration.

As he ejaculated, groaning, into her tightness, Sarah screeched with 
pain.  "Daddy, it hurts so bad!"

Though still spurting, he retained the sense to lift her off him.  

Her hands went between her legs and rose, stained red and white.  She 
screamed, "I'm bleeding, I'm dying!"

The woman comforted her.  "Sarah, you're supposed to bleed the first 
time."  Mama pulled daughter off the man into her arms.

"The first time?" Sarah asked tremulously.

"But you won't the next time.  Women don't bleed when they make love.  
Your daddy has made you a woman instead of a girl."  With a soft cloth 
Mama wiped away blood and semen.

Sarah searched her father for signs of his reaction.  "Oh!  I made a 
mess on Daddy."

"You sweetheart," declared Jeff, "_I_ made the mess."  He reached past 
the girl and caught the woman's arm.  "God, this is even hotter!  
C'mere, wife."

He enthroned Janice in Sarah's place.  Sarah leaned near and watched in
fascination as Daddy's shaft disappeared effortlessly into Mama.  The 
woman's hips began to slide forward and back.  She moaned jerkily, face
contorted with ecstasy evident even to a child.  "You're right, Jeff, it
is! ...  For god's sake ... I'm coming too!"

Love of them both consumed Sarah.  Risen on her elbow, arm flung over 
them, she kissed both sweating faces.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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