The Forbidden Family Game

by Ward Fulton

  Ward FultonIntroduction

  Chapter 1 Fay: Who Loathed Her Real and Famous Name

  * * *

  Ward Fulton

  The Forbidden Family Game

  Introduction

  Jill W-was caught at customs with three cakes of "hash" stuffed in a shoe in her luggage. She said of it:

  "… In Marrakech you send out a boy with ten dir-hams and he brings you back three cakes of hash. Or maybe only two, and keeps one for himself. Do you know how much ten dirhams is? Two dollars. One ninety-eight, if you want to be accurate. Do you think that for two dollars I'd risk going to jail?"

  Convinced that her drug-addict brother secreted the hash in her luggage, she tells her story of their sordid relationship.

  "… If I was smuggling, I'd smuggle it in in my bra. Even customs guys would think twice about looking in a girl's bra. When she's wearing it, that is. Oh, they might look at my bra, because of what I've got in there-and they're pretty nice, if I do say so myself. No, I wasn't smuggling any hash… I don't use the stuff. I get my kicks in a different way.

  "I know who did stuff that junk in my shoe. Or I can give a pretty shrewd guess. My ever-loving bastard of a brother, Stan. No, I don't mean he's a bastard in that sense. Or is he? You know, could be. And maybe that's why my mother and father had to get married. Legally, I mean. They're swingers. Real swingers. Always have been as far as I know. So maybe they could have had a little accident-my brother Stan. And gotten married. Why my mother ever let me happen I'll never know. Probably drunk as a skunk. Alcohol's their hang-up, not grass or hash or keef or any of the drugs. So far as I know, anyway. And I would. We've romped around the world enough together, following 'the season.'

  "When you had a couple of grandfathers who were real squares and spent all their time piling up a few millions, what's to do but spend it? Father's father made his in plumbing fixtures and mother's made his in whiskey-distilling it. And they have been working at keeping the distillery going by drinking up the product Or anybody else's. Mother's partial to French champagnes; father likes bourbon but will drink anything with a high enough alcoholic content. Even retain that tastes like cough medicine with resin in it. Oh, sure. I've tasted it. In Athens. And ouzo. That tastes like they dissolved licorice in it, but it's got a kick like six mules. I sampled that, too. On the Rialto in Venice. I've tasted most of the stuff they swig down, but just a taste. I never liked any of it. Except maybe very good Pol Roget. That tastes like cider with sparkling water. But better. The 'natural'-I never did like the pink, which is for tourists.

  "When mother and father started taking me on their trips-I was thirteen or so, then-they thought it was 'cute' to give me sips of their drinks. And see me get tiddley. It never took much more than a sip to do it, then. And I didn't like it. I mean, I felt like a performing bear or something, getting tight for their amusement Maybe that's why I never really learned to like the stuff. Oh, I can drink now. And hold it But I still don't care much for it. Like I said, I get my kicks in another way-sex.

  "Stan gets his from junk. Keef, hash, grass, speed, LSD. I don't think he's on the hard stuff-H-yet. And I know he doesn't think much of pop-opium- even though he owns a pipe. From Morocco. The stuff is real easy to get there. Right in the market. The Jamaa el F'na in Marrakech. The Club is just across the square from it.

  "The Club? That's the Transit Club, one of a string, all around the world. For real swingers. They have them every place where there's real fun to be had: Paris, Marseilles, Toulon, Athens, Istanbul, Venice, Hong Kong, Macao, Singapore-which is otherwise pretty staid, even stuffed-shirtish, despite Boogi Street. Oh, just about everywhere, I guess.

  "They're very private and very, very expensive. To keep out the hoi polloi. And just about anything goes, starting with nude bathing. And ending up with a very competent doctor to straighten you out afterwards, up to and including abortions if you happen to forget your Pill. The paraldehyde consumption must be very high-for sobering up those who get the DT's, But mostly they're just for swingers, people who like their fun easy, such as wife-swapping and buggering, with maybe a little daisy-chaining along the way.

  "The boys at the Club are very accommodating- for a price, of course. And I understand they have girls-some very young ones, I heard-that take care of anything the men happen to require. Or the women. I never went in for the lesbian stuff, so I wouldn't know. I take my sex straight-more or less.

  "I was fourteen, pretty near fifteen, before I knew anything about the clubs. Maybe my parents just joined up about then. Or maybe the clubs were just being formed. I know they're rather new. Anyway, we stopped off at the one in Marseilles, the year I was fourteen. And probably a little stick-in-the-mud. I certainly wasn't a swinger, then.

  "Can you imagine anything duller for a kid then a club for swingers? The other times I'd been abroad we'd stopped at the George V in Paris or the Ming Court in Singapore or the Carlton in London. At least from those places you could always get a tour going somewhere-mostly to museums and cathedrals. Or tombs and temples. I'd gotten awfully fed up on museums and cathedrals and temples but they're better than sitting around reading old magazines or chewing your nails down to the elbow.

  "Even Stan was bored with the club. He was seventeen, then, and just beginning to get horny but a little backward about asking for a girl. They'd have probably sent one up for him if he had. I know we had just had a session in the pool-nude bathing. Which did nothing for me, really, seeing old men with bellies flopping around in the water and women who had lost their figures making like they were gay young things. Of course there were a few of The Beautiful People-my father and mother among them-but they generally stuck together and didn't pay much attention to us kids.

  "Except for one man who kept eyeing me and speculating. You could almost hear his computer working. So maybe I did show off a little, thrusting out my tits-I had fairly nice ones by then-and floating on the surface with my legs open, to show my cunt.

  "It got me sort of excited, having a man notice me, even though that was what all the nude bathing was about-showing off skin. I don't know why this guy didn't make a play for me. There was plenty of it going on. Some of it downright embarrassing. Maybe he was just a peeper or maybe he liked girls with more experience. And bigger tits. Or it could be my father had put up some sort of warn-off signals, though I doubt if he ever thought of it-or of me that way. I was just an inexperienced kid, to him.

  "Some of the tingles from having the guy look at me lasted until I got back to my room, making me think more about this sex stuff than I ever had before. You know, like what would it be like to get laid. And figuring there was maybe something to it after all. I knew my parents got a big bang out of it -or seemed to. With each other and with different partners. Not that I had actually seen it happening, but a kid gets to know. I even knew how it was done. I mean, how a boy could throw his dong into a girl's cunt. But as to what happened after that, I wasn't sure. But I still had those tingles.

  "I was looking at my body in the big mirror, puzzling it all out and maybe teasing my cunt with my finger to see if anything would happen. It did. Some. I mean, the tingles got more interesting. That's when Stan walked in.

  "He had slipped into some jockey shorts, mostly to hide the hard on he had from watching a blonde babe that was ten years too old for him. I suspect he wanted to talk to me about the blonde and what were his chances with her-which I would have put at zero, since she had half a dozen grown men after her and not likely to be looking for a kid like Stan. She was a babe who would like experience, not cherry.

  "Stan just stood in the doorway of my room-we had connecting rooms-gawking at me, like he'd just discovered I was a girl. With equipment. In all the right places
and in pretty fair shape. I know I twisted around when I saw him in the mirror. And gave him a nice side view of rounded tits and a flat stomach. With my finger just playing with my cunt. I didn't pull it out fast, either, because I had just reached a real interesting point, where things were really beginning to stir inside.

  "I saw his dong jump to a real hard on in his jockey shorts, so I knew he realized I was female and maybe just as good as the blonde babe. And I was right there. In the same room. Where there was a bed. And teasing myself, so he knew I was interested.

  "He didn't say anything, just gulped, and then started walking toward me. I wasn't really scared. I guess I didn't have enough sense to be scared. Just curious. About how things would go. I just stood there, turned now to face him, waiting, not really doing anything, except maybe a little shiver every now and then that shook my tits. With some ripples in my stomach that maybe showed.

  "I don't think I even saw Stan's face, just that lump where his dong pushed out his jockey shorts, twitching some. Oh, I knew what was in there, all right. I'd seen plenty of peckers in my nude bathing, even Stan's-but not a hard on. I was just picturing how it would look without his shorts. Stan had some curly hairs around the base and a sort of skinny shaft with a bulb that was sort of blue-purr pie. That much I knew.

  "I didn't know how big it could get. But I found out quick enough.

  "Stan walked right up to me, until his chest was almost against my tits. He moved his chest a little from side to side, so it teased my tits, setting up some new tingles and sort of sending advance notice on what else was to happen, like down around my cunt, where the heat was really starting up. And it wasn't just heat, like hot, you know. It was sort of-anticipating.

  "Feeling his dong rubbing at me, even through his shorts, made me excited and at the same time made me weak, so I wasn't doing anything, just standing there, maybe sagging a little against him, waiting to see what was going to happen. And breathing real light and easy, just enough to move my tits a little and move my stomach against Stan's.

  "I was in a sort of suspended animation-all there and feeling all sorts of curious waves and tingles-but not doing anything. I felt Stan put his arms around me, felt his hands slide down my back, slow, and then felt him make a sudden grab at my ass, pulling me tight against him, with him grinding his pelvis at me.

  "It was as if it was all going on in a dream. In sort of slow motion. You might even say, slow emotion, because everything was very gradual, mixed up with a sort of amazement, a kind of wonder that this was happening to me. Feeling the tension build up inside was only part of it, I think. But mostly it was the astonishment.

  "Oh, I wasn't making any fuss about it. Whatever was going to happen, I wanted to happen. I let it happen. I think I could have stopped Stan any time up to when he actually put me on the bed. After that, I don't know. He went a little berserk then.

  "He picked me up, mostly by grabbing my behind and lifting and walking with me to the bed, his dong rubbing right up against my cunt all the time, making things curiously light and tight in me. For myself, I was-well, you might say, standing just outside myself, watching it all happen, yet feeling it, too. Feeling all the tensions and tingles and excitement while I looked on and saw my tits and nipples swell and my little cunt begin to open up and make juices.

  "I saw Stan rip off his jockey shorts. I could see his prick then, not so little and dangling anymore, but standing straight up, big and stiff, with his bulb wet and a very sparkling drop of wet on the end. I could focus on that, seeing it bright and shiny-and know it was going into me. Way in.

  "I just lay there on the bed, with my legs falling open and showing my cunt, wet and open, too. After that, things got a little confused. Stan was like an animal.

  "He clawed at my tits, jammed his mouth down on one and sucked and nibbled at it-not too gently either-until I thought I'd scream, not from excitement but just from pain. I know I tried to push him off them, but that only made things seem worse.

  "He rolled over on top of me, muttering and sort of growling. He aimed his prick right at my cunt, pushed until his bulb was right up against it, wiggled a bit, to get things going, and then just rammed his prick in me.

  "I know I yelled then, because it hurt so, and beat at his shoulders. I tried to pull my cunt away but I couldn't. He was really reaming it into me, humping up and dropping down on my mound, each time his dong going a little deeper in me.

  "Suddenly, in spite of the pain, I liked it. There was warmth all up my stomach and new excitement in my cunt and pelvis that was bigger than the hurt, so new and startling I couldn't really take it in. But I was humping right back at him. It was ragged at first. We bumped more often than we really built a rhythm but finally we got together on it, with me wiggling my little butt some to get some things off, swelling my insides until it seemed I would burst. My nipples were so hard I know Stan could feel them-if he was feeling anything except his own excitement.

  "He kept muttering and growling the whole time, as if that helped, and just kept up that rhythmic humping, driving his pecker and bulb up inside me. I could feel his whole shaft sliding against the lips of my cunt and his bulb pumping back and forth up in me. And giving me thrills I never expected to happen, tightness that would have to give way but felt awful good just getting tighter and tighter.

  "Suddenly Stan let out a yell and drew way back, almost pulling his dong out of me, and held it there, just barely moving. I humped up my pelvis, trying to get his dong deeper in me, when suddenly he just dropped down on me, ramming his prick so far up I squealed-and then I could feel a big pulse all along his shaft and a thud I could almost hear when his come exploded out of his bulb.

  "It flooded my insides with hot goo in one great glob, and triggered things in me, so I exploded, too, gushing more goo. I don't know why I wasn't flooded out. Maybe it just felt like a lot more than it really was up there. But it was certainly a wonderful release, as if my clock had been wound too tight and was suddenly ticking smoothly again, in a pumping rhythm that was far better than any ticking.

  "It was wonderful. In spite of the pain and the bumping, I felt marvelous. Released and deflated but delightfully relaxed. Even the weight of Stan collapsed on my stomach and tits felt good.

  "I could feel his dong going down, like a slow leak in a tire, with little jerks and twitches that kept triggering new quivers inside me. Each new easing of tension seemed better than the last until Stan's prick slid completely out of me, unplugging all those juices in my cunt. I wet the bed, I know, but who cares? The maid would make it up fresh.

  "Stan rolled off me and lay down beside me, breathing heavily and still sort of muttering to himself. I was happy to have his weight off me, even if it had felt good for a few minutes. I know there were still some little explosions going off in me, like squibs after a big bang, so I just lay there and let them happen, squeezing my legs tight against my cunt to make the feeling a little bigger. I reached up and played with my tits, squeezing a little on my nipples, though they were sort of tender. That helped to prolong the little explosions. Or I think it did.

  "I liked it, and I liked knowing what this 'swingers' stuff was all about. Not that I really thought about it right then-I mean, not full out-but I remember thinking I understood why my parents were swingers. If this was swinging, then I wanted more of it. Lots more.

  "Stan raised himself on one elbow and looked down at me, scowling. 'You're not going to tell Dad how I screwed you, are you?'

  "I know I giggled. 'Why? Doesn't he know how?'

  "That set us off. We just lay there, laughing like idiots-which I guess we were along about then. Mindless and just feeling. But feeling very good, stretching a little just to feel muscles pull and know you're alive. It's great, that afterwards feeling. Almost as good as screwing itself. Only, of course, if there wasn't any screwing there wouldn't be that glorious after feeling.

  "That was the first time Stan ever screwed me-or we screwed each other, however you want to put it.
His technique was crude, not subtle at all, but then, at that time, I didn't know there were subtler ways of fucking… "

  The preceding is a condensed version of Jill W-'s story, with much more to come, in Chapter Three. Jill, from her own words about herself, her family and their travels, establishes herself as one of the jet-set crowd, wealthy families who entertain themselves with globe-trotting, to whom Marrakech and Marseilles and Singapore are as commonplace as the corner drugstore, as familiar as the supermarket.

  Jill's family were swingers, which is not to say that all globe-trotters are swingers or sexually promiscuous. She is simply a child of the very rich who were.

  Maxwell Douglas, in The Documented Story of Sub-Teen Sex, a study funded by the American Institute of Motivation Research and conducted in co-operation with the California Youth Authority and other institutions dealing with youthful delinquents, quotes a prominent volunteer social worker, who operates at two levels, working with the very poor in her social service capacity and living, in her normal life, among the very rich. She is quoted as saying that "the morals of the very poor and the very rich are very much alike."

  He also quotes a C. Y. A. official, as commenting on the squalid conditions under which the very poor often have to live: "With all too many of these girls, sex is simply a way of life. Many of them live in crowded conditions where they see sex all around them. It becomes a facet of life, so, when it happens to them, they are neither surprised nor offended. They simply lack the moral background of middle-class mores."

  Douglas interprets the above use of the term "middle-class mores": "They represent… the finest values by which we live-honesty, integrity, virtue, courtesy, kindness-all the basic plus-values of life in America."

  Jill W- and the other four young girls considered in this volume are from among the very rich, where, frequently, the morals are "very like" those of the extremely poor, though for generally quite different reasons.