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From: kellis <kellis@dhp.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Sarah and the Stranger {Claire Kellis} (MF MFm Fm oral anal incest) [9/14]
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Date: Tue, 15 Jul 2008 13:10:05 -0400
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Sarah and the Stranger
a Novel by Claire Kellis

Fall, 2007



Chapter 9: _Practicing Old Habits_



Maggie awoke the next morning to find herself alone in Jack's bedroom.
Swiftly throwing on her robe, she hurried out to kitchen.  Her hostess 
was stirring something at the stove.  Joseph played on the floor with 
scattered blocks of wood.

"I sure did sleep!" Maggie declared.  "Hmm, that smells good!  What is 
it?"

"You missed breakfast.  This is yesterday's stew leftovers.  I added 
some more meat and sweet onions.  The men will get in for dinner before
long."

"Dinner?  They'd call this _lunch_ in Chicago."

Sarah's lip curled.  "Well, you ain't in Chicago."

"I guess not."  Maggie sighed.  "But what happened yesterday, starting 
in the morning, sure did remind me of it."

Sarah blushed above the heat of the stove.  "I'm sorry about that, 
Maggie.  You got me so hot I couldn't stand it."

Maggie flopped into a chair at the table.  "Good thing you didn't go to
Chicago with me."

"I reckon so!" Sarah agreed.  "If I had, who'd've taken us in this 
week?"

"I didn't mean that.  At Mama Belle's the johns just about ate alive any
girl who loved it as much as you do."

"'Ate alive?'"

"Word gets around.  They'd keep her so busy it ruined her health.  I saw
it happen more than once."

"Ooo!"  Sarah shivered involuntarily.  After a moment's reflection, she
regarded her cousin narrowly.  "Then how'd you make it?"

Maggie giggled.  "Sometimes I wonder.  I'd advise you to stay on the 
farm, honey.  Say, you got any cumin?"

"Koom-uhn?  Is that more Chicago talk?  Funny way to say it."

Maggie sniffed.  "I mean the spice.  It's good in stews."

"Spice?  Got some clove."

"Huh!  Throw in a few buds.  They won't hurt."

Sarah hesitated while reaching for the sealed jar.  "They won't hurt 
till Dad bites on 'em.  His back teeth ain't so good."

"Warn him to look out for them.  I know johns.  They love anything new."

Sarah spun around and stared at her cousin.  "You proved that, didn't 
you!"

"'Proved?'"  Maggie seemed not to understand.  "I just remembered: did 
you call the doctor about Bud?"

"Yesterday afternoon."  Sarah turned back to her stirring, ignoring the
jar of cloves.

"What did he say?"

"Wants Bud to take it easy another week."

Maggie giggled.  "Did he say take it easy with _what_?"

Sarah mumbled, "Lifting, mainly."  She took a breath.  "Maggie, you 
smell like ... like you just come from one of them _cribs_ you mentioned
at Mama Belle's place.  Why don't you go wash your privates before the 
men get here?"

Maggie's eyes widened.  "Sarah!  You _know_ the men don't mind that."

"Well, _I_ do!"

"Oh! ...  Okay.  It's your kitchen, after all."  Maggie rose and turned
to the door but shot an appraising glance at her hostess before 
disappearing up the hall.

Joseph looked up from his blocks.  "Maggie stinky," he announced.

"Look who's talking!  She's gonna wash.  Just so you know, I washed 
before I nursed you."

He blinked at the complexity of ideas.  "Wuv Mamma."  

"I love you too."  Sarah smiled at him.  "Dinnertime's coming soon."

"'Din-time,'" he repeated, returning her smile.  He sneezed and a gob of
phlegm shot from his nose.


* * *


"Sarah says you're late," Maggie declared as Jeff finally led the other
two males into the kitchen.  Bud, last of the three, carefully closed 
the screen door without letting it slam.

"Yeah," the eldest acknowledged.  "Seeder lost a wheel again.  Bud put 
it back so it'll stay and here we are, hungry as hell.  Hey, that smells
good!"

The men settled at the table with much scraping of chairs and clearing 
of throats while Maggie dipped bowls of stew and set before them.

"Where's the coffee?" asked Jeff.

Maggie brought the kettle and poured full cups.  Jack liberally spooned
molasses into his.

"Where's Sarah?" asked Bud.

"Putting little Joe down for his nap," the woman replied.  "He's 
fretful.  I might've given him a head cold."

Jack's head rose from puffing the hot stew.  "How'd you do that?"

"I had one recently.  People pass them on, you know, just by breathing."

"No kidding?"

She giggled.  "You never had a cold?"

"Grandpa did last winter.  Laid him up bad."

Jeff sniffed.  "Ain't you heard of germs, boy?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Damn, this is good stuff!" Jeff asserted after several mouthfuls, 
looking at the woman.  "You cook it?"

"No.  Sarah did."

"This puts me in mind of a Mulligan I used to eat on the road."

Maggie giggled again.  "Uncle Jeff, you were a hobo?"

"Tried it after the war.  I mean the one with Spain.  Lots of empty 
boxcars on the rails then."

"Wow!" cried Jack, impressed.  "Where'd you go?"

"Back and forth.  Mustered out in Boston, made it down to New Orleans, 
finally ended up back here in Illinois."  He grinned.  "Had a pretty 
good time.  People was friendly, shared their food and beds.  Girls in 
Cleveland loved the troops.  But I don't recommend it now, sonny.  
People ain't got much left to share."

Maggie glanced at Bud but neither spoke up.  

Sarah came into the room.

"There you are!" exclaimed Jeff.

Her face showed worry.  Without acknowledging her father, she went 
directly to the wall-mounted telephone, took up the receiver and jiggled
the hook.  "Mabel ... Mabel, I hope you ain't out to lunch."

The receiver rattled.  "Oh, I'm sorry, Miz Randle.  I know I should've 
listened first, but my son's real sick.  I need to call the doctor."

She waited.  "Thank you both so much.  You're real good neighbors."  
After a moment she jiggled the hook again.

"Who's she talking to?" asked Maggie.

"It's a party line," Jeff explained and turned to regard his daughter.
"What's wrong with little Joe?"

"He scares me, Daddy."

Jeff pushed back his chair.  "Well, what is it?"

Her attention returned to the telephone.  "Mabel, my baby's sick.  Would
you ring Doc Spencer?"  After listening she added, "Yeah, I think it's 
urgent."

While waiting she turned stricken eyes on the old man.  "He won't wake 
up, Daddy, even to nurse."

Maggie exclaimed in alarm, "He was playing on the floor half an hour 
ago!"

"I know it.  I don't understand it."  Again her attention reverted to 
the instrument.  "Bertha, is the doctor in? ...  Can I speak to him, 
please?  It's urgent."

"Bertha?"  Maggie chortled.  "Is Bertha Crowley still the doctor's 
receptionist?"

Jeff grinned.  "With the same bird's nest hairdo and black-rimmed specs.
Where else is she gonna go?"

Maggie matched his grin.  "Maybe she hoped to marry the doctor."

Jeff responded dryly, "He don't need to marry her."

"He don't?" repeated Jack in wonder.

"I'm sure he gets what he wants from her, like from every other woman 
around here."

Maggie's eyes brightened.  "I heard about that before I left home."

"It's only got worse," said Jeff darkly.

"Wow!  Is he still so cute?"

"How would I know about that?"

She giggled.  "Sounds like he is."

At the telephone Sarah said, "No, no, Doc.  Bud's okay.  It's little 
Joe.  When I took him up to change him, he was hot as fire and just laid
there.  His nose is running and he won't nurse...  This morning I fed 
him scrambled egg at the table.  He ate good and nursed plenty.  He was
took sudden...  Less than an hour ago.  He acts like he don't want to 
wake up."

She waited.  "Just my cousin Maggie."  The receiver rattled for several
seconds.  "I don't know, but could you fit him in, Doc?  I can get him 
there in an hour...  Yes, sir.  Daddy'll drive me in the buggy.  We're 
on the way."

She hung up the receiver and turned to look anxiously at her father.  He
stood up.  "Give me a hand, Jack.  Maggie, help Sarah get the baby 
ready."

Four people left the room hurriedly.  Now alone, Bud started to rise, 
listened intently to the sounds in the bedroom, sighed, dropped back 
into his seat and resumed eating the tasty stew.


* * *


Maggie stood beside Bud on the front porch with both her hands on the 
rail.  "Hope he makes it," she said as they watched the buggy disappear
up the long drive.

Bud asked, "How could he get so sick?"

"Doesn't take much to kill a baby.  Believe me, I _know_!"

"I'll leave it to you and the doctor.  Excuse me."

She had raised a hand toward him tentatively but he turned and went 
inside the house.  After a moment's reflection she followed him and 
entered the kitchen just as Jack banged through the back door.

The lad announced, "Now's a good time to get me a goose."

Having taken a seat at the table with his pad and pencil, Bud looked up.
"Aren't they best in the fall?"

"Fattest, you mean, but they're good eating anytime."

Bud asked, "Is it legal to hunt geese in the spring?"

The boy frowned.  "Legal?  Who gives a shit about that?"  He whirled 
away up the hall.

Bud shook his head.  "Clearly not him."

Maggie sagged into a chair and asked incredulously, "Is hunting against
the law?"

"It's regulated.  You're supposed to get a license and do it at the 
prescribed times."

Her eyes sharpened.  "You sure do remember a lot, don't you, Bud, not to
know your own name."

He glanced at her.  "Yes, I do -- everything that isn't personal."

"But you really don't have any idea how you got here, is that right?  
Just like Nerfle."

"Who?"

"The floozy I mentioned at supper: got thumped and couldn't remember her
name."

He took a breath.  "I don't know how I came to be on that rock where 
Sarah found me.  Everything after I awoke in the barn is clear as a 
bell."  He gestured at his paper.  "That's what I'm writing about."

"So you won't forget it when you get your memory back?"

"That's right.  Now, if you'll excuse me ..."

Jack reappeared with an oily shotgun under his arm.  He paused at the 
backdoor to grin at the two adults.  "Bet you two're gonna have fun!  
I'll be back in a couple hours."

"Well ... good luck!" said Bud hesitantly.

When the screen door slammed, Maggie asked wryly, "Are we going to have
fun, Bud?"

"If a game warden catches Jack with a dead goose, _he_ won't."

"Why didn't you stop him then?"

Bud sighed.  "You know, that didn't occur to me.  Guess I don't feel 
responsible."

"Well, you aren't."  She stood up.  "I'm glad he's gone.  Want some 
coffee?"

"No, thanks."  Bud regarded her slyly.  "Glad he's gone?  Isn't he one 
of your playmates?"

She grinned slowly.  "I've been noticing johns for years.  A few of them
do like for their friends to help.  We had three brothers who always 
took the same woman together.  But the big majority are loners.  And you
and Jack don't get along so sweet.  That's why I'm glad he took off."

At the conclusion of her speech, she undid the belt, shrugged out of her
borrowed robe, laid it over the back of another chair and sidled far 
enough around the table to expose herself entirely.  She was a thin but
shapely woman, barefooted, hair straggling, aromatic and totally naked.

Briefly he studied her body.  After her quick bath she had drawn a comb
through her hair but not replenished her makeup.  "How long have you 
been here, Maggie, not even a week?  Your bruises have almost cleared up
and you've started to put on some padding.  Good for you!"

She laughed incredulously.  "Is that all you've got to say?"

He tilted his head appraisingly.  "Your breasts are more rounded and 
less wrinkled."  He chuckled.  "I see from your nipples you like showing
them off."

She stepped closer, raised her foot to an adjacent chair, thrust her 
pelvis forward and parted her pubes with both hands.  "What do you think
of that?"

He nodded.  "A very prominent clitoris!  Jeff was admiring it the other
day."

"You may taste it if you wish."

He looked up at her face and said in a tone of feigned regret, "Maggie,
you should've guessed I have no money."

"Think of it as a free sample."

"And none in the future.  From here my financial prospects all look 
dismal."

She lowered her foot and set fists on her hips.  "Who said anything 
about money?  Are you trying to get my goat?"

"Not at all, madam."  He gestured with his pencil.  "What I'm trying to
do is tidy up my notes."

"Your notes."  Her buttocks plopped into the chair vacated by her foot.
"May I read them?"

He studied her for a moment, grinned disparagingly and passed the few 
sheets across.  "Give them a grammatical criticism."

She scanned them hurriedly and returned them to the table top.  "You're
in love with Sarah?"

"Yes.  She's the finest woman I've ever known."

Maggie snapped, "That you can remember."

"I suppose that's true."

"But you have no use for me.  Because I was a whore?"

He grinned crookedly.  "Let him who is without sin cast the first 
stone."

"Huh?  What's that?"

"The punch line from one of my favorite stories."

"Who wrote it?"

"Good question.  It's credited to a certain John."

"John?"  She giggled.  "Isn't everything?"

He cocked his head at her.  "Interesting point.  To you we're all 
johns."

"You've never gone to whores?"

He grunted.  "Who told you that?  I like whores, even the coarse ones.
They sacrifice themselves to any man's pleasure.  In a perverse way 
nothing could be more loving."

Her eyes widened.  "Love means nothing to whores!"

He nodded.  "At least they don't mention it."

"And men don't love them."

"Only what they _do_."

"Well ...  I do it too.  But not as a whore.  I don't get paid."

"Did you ever collect money for it, really?"

She sighed.  "No, I didn't.  Mama Belle went broke, which is why she had
to close the house.  I didn't think to ask for my savings till it was 
too late.  After that ... I got paid my support."

He leaned back in his chair.  "By a succession of keepers."

"Not many.  I stayed the longest with that guy in Decatur, about 45 
miles from here."

"You said he operated a hotel, I believe."

"Yes, he did.  He went broke too."

Bud asked slyly, "Changed linens for him, did you?"

"He used old women for that.  Mainly fucked him and a favorite guest now
and then.  I and another girl."

"Parties?"

"Sometimes.  But it was dull in comparison to Mama Belle's."

"Or even the Martin farm?"

She laughed sourly.  "Until just now."

"Forty-five miles.  Why didn't you ever come home?"

"Maybe I would've if I'd known how much fun the Martins were having.  If
you like what whores do, Bud, why are you holding back?"

"You know the reason."

"Sarah?  What do you know about Sarah?  She always fucked everything in
britches she could get --"

He held up his hand and said in a sharp tone, "I don't want to hear it."

Maggie stared at him momentarily before smiling winningly.  She said, 
"Jack will tell everyone we rolled in the hay, you know.  We might as 
well have the trick as the tale."  As she spoke her hand snaked between
them and grasped the handful of jeans in his groin.

Immediately he caught her arm and forced it back.  "Not today, Maggie."

She protested, "We'll never have a better chance."

"No, Maggie."

"You don't know what you're missing."

He smiled grimly.  "You're the one who doesn't know."

She blinked.  "So you've got a big cock."

"I'm referring to love and trust between a man and woman."

"Trust!  I tell you, Sarah is just as --"

Eyes narrowing, he said, "Must I make you shut up?"

Her face brightened.  "You can hurt me a little if that's what gets you
going."  She turned a buttocks cheek toward him.  "Slap me."

Snatching up his papers, he scraped his chair backwards and leaped to 
his feet.  "Christ, Maggie!"

"Or this ..."  She jumped on the table top and fell on her back with her
head bent off the edge.  The upside-down face glared at him.  "Stick it
past my goozle."  Her mouth opened wide.

He took a deep breath and chuckled.  "I did that to a girl on the Cote 
d'Azur.  She puked all over me."

"And you loved it."

"To my surprise she said, '_Remets-le dans_.'"

"What's that?"

"'Put it back in.'"

"You can't make me puke."

"You do tempt me, Maggie."  He shook his head and turned away.  "Think 
I'll get some fresh air."

She bounced off the table and paused to stare at his back retreating up
the hall.  When the front screen door slammed, she scooped up her robe,
threw it on and fell into the chair she had vacated.

"Shit!"


* * *


After tying the horse to the hitching rail, still maintained before Dr.
Spencer's home-office on Faresville's one cross-street, Jeff left the 
buggy and followed Sarah and Joseph into the building at a more 
leisurely pace.  During the almost hour-long ride to town the baby had 
awakened and taken the breast thirstily, made fretful only by the need 
to breathe through his mouth.  Jeff's concern was already ameliorated.

As Sarah had done, he ignored the sign, _Closed Till 3:00_.  Inside the
office he found Sarah explaining a miraculous recovery to the doctor and
his receptionist, Bertha Crowley.

The doctor's eyes sparkled on Sarah's voluptuous chest, still partly 
exposed from the anxious nursing.  He said solemnly, "Sounds like the 
onset of a mean summer cold to me, but let's take him into the back and
do a thorough examination.  Hello, Jeff.  How're the old joints these 
days?"

"Complaining when the sky clouds up."

"Or maybe a little before?"  The doctor chuckled.  "You ought to keep a
record of what happens next.  Might be able to sell your joints to the 
Breeze-Courier as a weather forecaster."

"It's an idea," said Jeff.  The tone of voice conveyed his estimate of 
it.

The doctor's chuckle became a bark of laughter.  "Come on," he said to 
Sarah, tilting his head toward the rear door.

Alone with Bertha, Jeff stood in the middle of room, studying the woman
where she sat demurely behind her desk.  Her eyes flicked up and met his
then dropped to the desktop.  A faint red tinge colored her forehead, 
invisible behind the makeup on her cheeks.

He grinned.  "I'm tickled, Bertha.  You ain't forgot even after ten 
years."

Her mouth worked and she sighed but kept her eyes firmly low.

He continued, "I don't think you've changed much either, though you 
never would show me everything I wanted to see.  What happened to ... 
what was his name?  Harrison?"

Her forehead grew brighter under the round of plaits.  She took a breath
and looked up.  Her voice was almost inaudible, even in the quiet room.
"He went west with his family."

"That was a while ago."

"Eight years."

Jeff thought about that.  "Does he write?"

She sighed again.  "We quarreled.  He wouldn't."

"Poor girl."  Jeff shook his head.  "And a good looking one, when you 
let your hair down."

"Don't start on ..."

"On what?"  He moved against the front of the desk, leaned forward and 
gently caressed her cheek.

"Jeff ...  please."  But her eyes met his at last.

"That can't be fear I see on your face."

"Yes, it can."  Her bountiful chest heaved.  "I know what you want.  The
afternoon patients will start coming in soon.  Dear old Mrs. Potter has
a 3:15 appointment."

"With that sign out there you could lock the door."

"Doctor made me unlock it after Sarah called."

"Well, then."  He spun around and turned the key in the huge 
old-fashioned lock.  Returning around the desk, he caught her hand and 
tugged her to her feet.  "To the couch, sweetie."

"Oh, god, Jeffrey!  What if the doctor comes in?"

He chuckled.  "You're repeating yourself."

"I'm what?"

"That was the last thing you asked me ten years ago."

"Good god, Jeffrey.  This is so, so ..."  Her free hand covered her 
mouth.  Her blush descended into her high neckline, but she allowed him
to lead her to the couch, leaning briefly to deposit her black-rimmed 
spectacles on the desk.


* * *


"Clearly an upper respiratory infection, Sarah, otherwise known as a 
head cold.  I'm a little surprised, though.  As isolated as you are ...
He could've caught it from Bud, though I'd have expected it to show a 
week ago."

Sarah cleared her throat.  "Uh, Doc ..."

"Ah, yes.  You mentioned your cousin Maggie.  Has she visited?"

"She's been there about a week."

"That's long enough.  Is she sick?"

"She was all bruised up when she got there.  Said she fell out of a hay
loft in the dark.  But no, she ain't got no sniffles."

"Perhaps she recently recovered from them.  Well, you needn't worry with
Joseph.  As you demonstrated with Jack, you're brave enough to suck out
Joe's phlegm when he can't breath.  He's still nursing, isn't he?"

"You know he is, Doc."

"You're an old-time mother, Sarah, which I admire: especially as it 
keeps this pair so fine."  He stepped up beside her, over the baby 
sleeping in a crib, and reached around her back with one arm.  His hands
brushed her blouse down, freeing the large breasts, setting the nipples
ajiggle.  A drop of milk appeared on one.

"Do you mind, my dear?"  Without awaiting her answer, his head bent to 
suckle.

She thought of Bud.  What should she do, ask the doc for credit?  Did 
Bud know about her arrangement with the doctor?  Would he forgive her?
She felt the sweet tightening in her vagina that a man's mouth on her 
wet breast invariably produced.  Thoughts of protest subsided.

Automatically she bent over the crib when he threw her skirt up.  As he
slipped into her from behind, he declaimed with pleasure, "Ah, sweet 
Sarah, you are always ready.  I'd ask you hopefully if it's just for me,
but we both know better."

Gasping a little, she said, "Doc, I shouldn't've bothered you with such
a trifle."  The thrills were rising despite her uncertainty.

"Always bother me, my dear.  I vow you are the finest figure of 
womanhood in this county.  That you welcome my embrace is my greatest 
delight.  Tell me about your cousin.  Is she the one whom they say ran 
off to Chicago in the Twenties?"

"Yeah," she managed, almost a squeak.  This man knew how to angle his 
cock -- maybe he was the perfect height for stand-up fucking -- to hit the
right spot inside her, the one that brought her to an instant boil.  
Even Bud didn't find it reliably, though in all other ways ...

"They say she became a prostitute."

"Yeah.  Oh god, Doc!"

"Are you coming, dear?  I'll not be far behind you."


* * *


Bertha stood before the couch, muttering, "Oh, my god, this is so awful.
It's broad daylight!"

Jeff went to his knees, ducked under her skirt and lowered her panties 
over the stocking straps.  His hands encircled her lush buttocks cheeks
and his tongue thrust through the nest of wiry hair.

She shuddered at the intimate touch but retained presence of mind to 
demand, "What if the doctor _does_ come?  Sarah's not the one sick 
today."

His voice was muffled under her skirt.  "You know the doc.  He's as busy
with Sarah as I am with you.  Bertha, you taste sweet as ever!"

With a warbling little cry she sank slowly backward onto the couch.  He
followed her down, tongue never missing a stroke.

"Oh, my god, my god, _Jeff_-rey!"  She was barely conscious of him 
chuckling before the rising tide took her whole attention.  "Oh, _god_!"
she cried half a minute later, almost a scream, fighting to withdraw 
from the delicious punishment.

He rose from her, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, shrugged out of his 
overalls, forced her skirt up, stripped her panties off one foot and 
slipped between her legs, all while she writhed from the lingering 
pleasure.

"Oh-ho!" she uttered when he penetrated her slickness.  Her hips began 
the immemorial roll, matching his thrusts.  The pleasure remained high 
and growing again, but not so far that she forgot the essential point.
"Don't you come in me!" she ordered, eyes flashing for emphasis before 
they clamped as tight as her pelvic muscles.

It was her last coherent statement.  For the next minute she moaned and
whimpered, growing gradually louder, enough to worry Jeff if his own 
pleasure had not been rising.  She screamed softly, on and on, which 
brought him to the peak.  Swiftly he withdrew and worked forward over 
her thrashing torso.  She felt the touch on her lips, opened wide and 
engulfed him, swallowing heartily while he groaned and ejaculated the 
copious accumulation since Hazlett's roofing party.

He backed away from her, stooped for his overalls and stepped into them.
Bertha lay on the couch breathing heavily while licking her lips, skirts
around her middle, one shapely stocking-clad foot to the floor, the 
other, panties dangling from the ankle, up on the couch back.  He paused
in appreciation of the pale flesh spread wide to either side of the lush
dark bush with its crimson divide.

"God, Jeffrey!" she declared.  "Thanks for not coming in me."

"Ah, but I did!"

"Not where it can hurt.  Help me up, will you?  My legs are weak."  As 
he lent her a hand, she groused, "Oh, my vagina's going to be sore.  Did
I spill any?"

He pulled her face to his and kissed her solidly, tongue probing, before
answering, "Not a drop."

"Oh, Jeff."  For a moment she laid her head on his shoulder, then bent 
to step into her panties with the other leg and raise the garment under
her skirt.  As she straightened, her nose wrinkled.  "The back of my 
dress is wet.  I'll stink all afternoon."

"Like stirred-up pussy: the best perfume."

"Don't be crude."  She went around the desk and resumed her seat.

He laughed outright.  "You don't think it's crude to suck out a full 
load of come?"

She managed a smile.  "Not if you don't talk about it.  Oh, Jeff!  I 
wish you weren't old enough to be my father."  She fetched her purse off
the floor, dug out a compact to touch up her makeup, donned her 
spectacles and glanced at the clock on the wall.  "It's two till three.
Go unlock the door and bring that sign in."

Having complied, he took a seat on the couch.  "How many times have we 
done it on this couch, Bertha?"

"You think I counted?"

"When was the first time?  You're about what, 38?"

"Don't ask."

"Sarah was 13.  That would've made you 21.  You're such a hot number, 
and nobody guesses it.  Why wouldn't you marry me, Bertha?"

She sighed.  "I told you why.  I wanted a younger man."

He shook his head.  "You know what they say about a bird in the hand."

"Oh, Jeff!  I thought Dan was my bird in the hand."

He chuckled ruefully.  "Both your birds flew away.  Dan ran and I lost 
my farm.  I don't know how we could make it now, but my offer is still 
on the table."

Her eyes were thoughtful.  "Why did you quit coming to the doctor with 
Sarah?"

"She got married."

The woman heaved another sigh.  "Things just don't work out for us, 
Jeffrey."  A tiny smile appeared.  "Though it's heaven when they do."

The front door opened to admit two elderly women.

"Won't you have a seat, ladies?" asked Bertha brightly.  "The doctor has
an emergency, but he'll be with you shortly."


* * *


Sarah's vagina was the cause of Dr. Spencer's emergency.  It gripped him
so winsomely that transferring his about-to-spew organ from woman's 
bottom to top hazarded either womb or linoleum floor.  Having already 
passed her own peak, she understood his abrupt withdrawal and whirled, 
bending to take the straining penis orally.  The first spurt painted her
forehead and hair but she caught the following ones and dutifully 
swallowed the nearly tasteless soup, careful not to apply suction until
the stream had finished.

"Ah, Sarah!" he said with a groan.  "You do that wonderfully well.  Even
a girl so experienced as your professional cousin could do no better.

"Here," he added, handing her a towel as she rose, "wipe your face and 
tell me about her.  Are you sure she isn't sick?  Why did she give up 
whoring?"  He rebuttoned his fly and found another towel to wipe the 
front of his britches, where they had briefly pressed against the 
woman's forehead.

"Mama Belle's went broke," Sarah answered, not meeting his eyes.

"Ah, yes, the plague of our time.  I assume Mama Belle was the name of 
her madam.  It's good that Maggie had the Martins in reserve.  So many 
of those poor girls live horribly and die too soon."

Squeaks and squeals sounded through the walls from the front office, 
followed by a suppressed scream.  The doctor raised his head and 
grinned.  "Well, well!  I see that Jeff and Bertha are renewing their 
acquaintance.  That is, I _hear_ it.  Let's give them a minute, shall 
we, dear?"

Sarah blinked.  "Wha'd'you mean?"

"I hired Bertha 18 years ago, shortly before your menstrual problems 
began.  Just about every time your father brought you here, he and 
Bertha enjoyed each other somewhere in this building.  He and I soon 
developed a tacit arrangement for you to arrive while we were closed for
lunch.  You mean you didn't know?"

"Good heavens!"

The man laughed.  "Does it shock you?  Ah, Sarah, your innocence is 
charming."

"My ..."  Adjusting her blouse, she grinned up at him at last.  
"Innocent I sure ain't, Doc."

"Oh, innocence comes in several forms, like not wanting to believe ill 
of someone.  Not that you would perhaps think ill of that behavior."

"If Daddy didn't do it, I wouldn't be here."

"Well said!  Your cousin may need medical attention sometime.  You might
hint to her of our little arrangement."

Her eyes widened.  She grinned slowly.  "Good god, Doc, do you want to 
fuck every woman in the county?"

"I nearly have already, this side of Taylorville."  He stood beside her,
fondling her breasts, bending to sip from both.  She had no thought of 
withdrawing, though Bud hovered near in her guilty conscience.  At last
a thud from the front raised his head.  "Ah, that door slam means we 
have a patient.  Shall we go out, sweet Sarah?"


* * *


A light morning rain had laid the dust and the buggy rode easily on the
dirt road.  Jeff glanced at his two passengers.  The baby slept fitfully
in Sarah's arms, occasionally sniffing.

"You got come in your hair," he said off-handedly.

"What?"  Her drowsy eyes popped open and one hand went to her head.  
"Where?"

"It's probably dry.  You can find it with your comb."

"Dry?  How'd you know of it, then?"

He snickered.  "It stinks even in this little breeze.  Does he only like
to be sucked off?"

"Daddy!"

"Shit, yes, _Daddy_: the man you used to suck every night."

She made a face.  "The doc likes to end up that way.  How about Bertha?
Does she suck you?"

"She likes to end that way too."

"You old ... womanizer."

"Don't tell me you're jealous!"

She sighed.  "Stupid, ain't it.  I thought old men had to quit fucking 
around."

"Not me.  Not yet.  Reckon I'll give it in when that happens.  Won't be
nothing left but getting fat."

"_You'll_ never be fat.  You work too hard.  How come you ain't jealous
of me and the doctor?"

"Ha!  You save us a bunch of money, honey."

"Kind of like a whore."

"Kind of.  But most wives -- hell, most people! -- are like whores that 
way, even the doc: they get paid for their services."

They rode for a while in silence, listening to the hoofbeats.  At last 
Sarah began hesitantly, "Dad, I'm ..."

"You're what?"

"I'm falling in love with Bud."

He chuckled and shook his head.  "And you're still fucking the doctor?"

"I know."  She turned her face away.  "I thought I'd ask Doc for credit,
but he just ... slipped it in."

"That's my girl: always ready!"

"It ain't funny, Dad.  What'll I tell Bud?"

"Tell him nothing.  You think Bud has a future?"

"I don't care.  If he helps us and the corn sells this year, we'll save
the farm.  After that ..."

"After that he gets his memory back.  He still could be that fifth 
escapee, you know.  I admit he's a good worker and treats you and little
Joe pretty good --  Ah, how's he do in bed?"

"Wonderful!"

"But you don't have any idea what he's gonna remember.  I'll tell you 
this: it'll be about as different from Illinois hick farming as you can
imagine."

She sighed.  "Yeah, Daddy, I know."  With effort her face brightened.  
"I hear you've been fucking Bertha since I was twelve.  How'd you get 
that started?"

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