Kathy Andrews Collection

by Kathy Andrews

  Still, his body was on fire. He realized that he wanted to be Bret, to be the one standing in his daughter’s arms.

  “In me,” he heard Karen moan in a husky, lustful voice. “I want to feel this in me.”

  Her hands clamped around the fleshy javelin her step-cousin sported. She jacked at its throbbing presence as if to be sure he understood what she wanted.

  There were no problems in communications. With one last kiss to her tantalized breast, Bret’s head lifted. Then he eased his entrenched finger from the wet lips of her pussy.

  The young brunette lowered herself to the grass, stretching out on her back. Her thighs, smooth and satiny, spread in an open invitation. Her pubic moss now glistened wetly with the juices of her own arousal. And beneath that soft fur, her pussy waited, its plump lips slightly pouting in anticipation.

  The young man stood over her, his eyes taking in the feast of his step-cousin’s wanton body. Her breasts were like shimmering domes, satin-covered pillows with a stiff button jutting from the center of each.

  “Please,” Karen pleaded. “It’s getting late. The others will wonder where we are.”

  Bret needed no further encouragement. He sank to his knees between the provocative spread of the teenager’s thighs and carefully lowered himself atop her body, supporting the majority of his weight on his elbows.

  With no word of instruction, the brunette reached down between his legs and grasped the stiff pole of his prick. Deftly, she glided the fat crown to the waiting mouth of her belly. From there, the youth took control.

  Slowly, he pushed forward. Inch by swollen inch, his pulsing shaft sank into the wet harbor of her young cunt. Deeper and deeper he delved into the willing socket of her sex, burying himself to the hilt. Greedily, the young girl’s hips arched up, as if trying to swallow his balls as well as the club-like length of his shaft.

  Frank could no longer stand it. His self-control crumbled. Standing there, his hands dropped to the fly of his trousers, fingering and fumbling open the fly. Painfully, he managed to extract the unbending rod straining for freedom. Hard and rigid it came from his pants, throbbing and jerking with need. He grasped it and stroked, his rhythm matching the steady in and out motion of Bret’s hips, as the youth fed his daughter a full meal of cockmeat.

  In the young man plunged, sinking all the way into the pink slit of his step-cousin’s hungry body. The girl beneath him quaked, coming alive with the presence of his prick. She whimpered in pleasure, her hips writhing and undulating beneath him.

  Out he pulled. The tight mouth of her young snatch tightened around him like an elastic ring, sucking at him. The scalloped inner lips of her labia flowered outward following the slithering hardness of his cock. Then he stroked inward folding the pinkness of her pussy back on itself.

  She was consumed by the feel of that meaty rail of flesh. Frank could see that on her face. His daughter wore an expression of complete ecstasy. Her red lips writhed as moan after moan escaped from the depths of her throat.

  Her hands clutched at her step-cousin’s ass, fingers digging into the taut ovals of his asscheeks. She pulled at him, trying to bring him even deeper into her willing young body. She urged him on, whispering and groaning out the full lust she felt.

  And while Karen’s father watched, Bret suddenly lowered himself atop her, his full weight pinning her to their grassy bed. Reaching down, the youth’s arms slid beneath her legs. His elbows hooked under the back of her knees, pulling her legs upward toward her chest.

  “God!” the teenager cried out in unabandoned relish. “Sweet God! It feels so damn good! Like you’re going to the heart of my soul!”

  Frank’s hand tightened on his cock, jacking at it. He could see how deeply the youth poled into the sweet, pink pocket of his daughter’s pussy. In and out the swollen rod plummeted, glistening with the moisture of the girl’s depths.

  Like a rutting bull, Bret drove into the snatch of his step-cousin. Deep and hard he stroked, giving a full measure of pleasure to the young temptress beneath him.

  It was not a one-sided affair. The brunette responded with fervent eagerness. She twisted and writhed under him. She squeezed and hunched as much as possible. Her unbridled carnal needs were raging out of control.

  She came, her whole body shuddering as the flood of unleashed desire swept through every cell of her body. She came, quaking and quivering beneath the skewering thrusts of the young man’s cock.

  Then, her pleasure sated, Bret released the lust boiling within his testicles. He came, groaning as the rush of liquid pleasure erupted from his loins and splattered into the greedy mouth of the girl’s pussy.

  And still hidden from the couple in the bush, Frank shuddered. White come jetted into empty air from his cock, while his hand jerked up and down on his prick.

  Relief flooded through his body. He broke the enchantress’ spell his daughter’s wanton body had caught him in. He was free of her haunting beauty and the desires of the flesh. But he still felt the shame of wanting her.

  The couple moaned. He turned to them. Bret was now lifting himself from Karen’s supine body; his deflated prick slithered from the come-drenched gash of her cunt.

  What if they should discover him here, like this, holding his prick, jacking himself off? Frank could not bear that, could not live with the thought of his daughter knowing the carnal desires he felt for her, the lust he felt to know her alluring body.

  Realizing he had stood there watching them, no better than a common peeking Tom, he was suddenly flustered and embarrassed. Panic gripped him for a moment, as he was unsure what to do. He couldn’t go rushing back into camp like this, his cock dangling from his pants and his hand smeared with his own release. What could he do?

  Then he remembered the handkerchief in his back pocket. Pulling it free, he wiped his penis and hand clean of sperm and semen. Then he tossed the soiled cloth into the bushes, knowing he could never use it again after it had touched his sex organ.

  Quickly he tucked the snake-like hose of his prick back into his trousers and zipped up the fly. With one last glance at the young couple now reaching for their clothes, Frank quietly began to work his way back to the campsite.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Frank’s attention was homed in on Karen during dinner that night.

  The young girl sat close to Bret, her thigh pressing his, or a hand brushing over his. Her attention belonged solely to Bret. Frank was aware of that fact whether the others were or not. And her father’s attention was on her.

  But not now as she was seated there, but on the image of her naked body so willingly receiving Bret’s young cock.

  It was an image that refused to leave Frank’s mind. After returning to camp, he had tried to lose it by reading, then by eating, but the vision persisted, haunted him, taunted him. Nothing he could do would shake the tantalizing picture in his mind’s eye.

  He said little during dinner and even less as he and Mona retired to their tent. While his wife gathered her towel and soap for her nightly bath in the river, he waited. And when she left the tent, he quickly slipped into his pajamas and stretched out his sleeping bag. He didn’t try the book again, realizing it wouldn’t help.

  Damn, he cursed. His daughter was no better than a two-bit street walker and he couldn’t get her out of his thoughts. He couldn’t bury the tempting vision of her ripe young body just lying there in the grass, thighs opened and ready to take the thick, long, hard length of her step-cousin’s prick.

  Lust stirred in him, re-awakening in his loins. He felt the throbbing need coursing through his groin. His cock was rising, twitching and jerking with desire — desire for his own daughter — a desire he could never fulfill — a desire that was forbidden to him.

  Damn!

  He was a haunted man. His carnal lusts had betrayed him. All his life, he had lived as he had been taught by his parents. They had been strict, but they had shown him the path of right. It was a path he had treaded all his life — until now. Now there
was Karen, his own daughter, a temptation that rocked his very soul.

  The tent opened and Mona stepped in. He looked up. His eyes scanned her body hungrily, realizing that he hoped she was in the mood as she had been last night. But his wife wore a nightgown beneath her robe.

  “The water was nice,” Mona said, slipping off her robe and moving to her sleeping bag. “You should really try it with me one night, Frank.”

  “Mona…” His throat was dry, his words sticking in his throat.

  “Yes,” Mona turned to him.

  “Mona, I…” He wanted to say he wanted her, wanted to fuck her, but he couldn’t. “Mona, I’m in the mood.”

  She glanced away. “Frank, we’ve got to talk. We’ve got to work out…”

  “Mona, I’m in the mood,” he repeated. “We can talk later.”

  “No, Frank! We’ve got to talk now.”

  He didn’t listen to her. Instead he moved to her sleeping bag. “I’m your husband!”

  “And I’m your wife,” she said. “Doesn’t that mean anything? I’m more than just a hole for you to put your prick in when the mood strikes you. I’m a person, a human being, a woman who feels! Until we get our problems worked out…”

  “I’m your husband!” He glared at her, reaching out and pinning her shoulders to the ground. “And I demand a husband’s right with his wife!”

  “No, Frank! I don’t want to, not now.”

  She struggled to get away from him, but she was a small woman. He held her there without effort.

  “I’m your husband. You owe me this, it’s mine!”

  “It’ll be rape.” Mona stared up at him. “Is that the way you want your wife?”

  “A husband can’t rape his wife. She’s his and her body is his!”

  “Is that what you believe? Is that what you really think?”

  “Yes,” his voice was low and deep, like the growl of an animal. “And I’m going to get what’s mine!”

  Suddenly, she went limp beneath him, tears welling in her eyes. “All right, Frank. If that’s the way you want it.”

  Then she was silent, staring up to the roof of the tent, her eyes never turning to him. He didn’t care. All she had to do was just lie there.

  Reaching down, he hiked her nightgown up around her waist bunching it there. She was naked beneath it. The muff covering her cunt was shining black, the pink lips of her sex under the furry covering. It wasn’t the soft, light brown moss of Karen’s pussy, but it would serve to relieve the burning fires of his groin.

  He fumbled with the fly of his pajamas. The hardened length of his prick sprung out, jerking in the air. Gripping the blood-engorged shaft, he lowered himself atop his wife’s body. She didn’t move, but just lay there completely still.

  In the next instant, he pressed the glans of his rod against the lips of her cunt. His hips jerked, knifing his lance into the socket of her belly. Mona cried out under the brutal entry, then she was silent again.

  She felt different to him. The warmth and moisture he was accustomed to finding within her body were missing. She was dry. He didn’t care. He hunched into her, drilling his rigid shaft into the depths of her cunt.

  His testicles were burning. Fire consumed his loins. He took his wife, fucking her while in his mind he ravaged the body of his teenage daughter. Harder and harder he pumped himself into the furrow of his wife’s sex, until at last he found the release of his lust.

  Hot and thick, sperm and semen gushed from his balls. He emptied himself into the motionless socket of her cunt. Blast after blast of sexual cream fountained from the end of his prick, filling Mona’s pussy with his seed, filling her as he wanted to drain his lust into Karen’s tight, pink-lipped twat.

  He shuddered and moaned under the fiery force of his release. Then he lay there atop the limp body of his wife, sated. When at last his cock deflated, he lifted himself from the woman under him and moved back to his sleeping bag.

  Without a glance back to the woman he left there, gown still crumpled around her waist, he pulled the top of the sleeping bag over him and rolled over. Frank Stivers was asleep within minutes.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Mona was unsure just how long she lay there. She stared at the roof of the tent, feeling the wetness of her husband’s release trickling from the lips of her vagina and running down her thighs. She shuddered.

  For the first time in her life, she felt used and degraded. The fluids of Frank’s climax felt dirty on and within her. Never had she seen sex to be anything but a beautiful experience shared by a man and a woman. Now… now… she felt no better than a whore. No, not even a whore; at least men seek prostitutes for pleasure. Frank could have found no pleasure in the way he used her body, only relief. He could have used his hand for that!

  She became aware of the heavy snoring within the tent. She rolled her head to the side and stared at the man sleeping across from her — her husband. She shuddered again. Husband! Never had that word seemed so strange, so alien. Always the word husband had brought warm feelings to her. A husband was a man to share a life with, someone to love.

  Had she ever loved Frank?

  Yes, she had loved him. After Tom’s death, she had thought she would never be able to love another man. But when Frank came along, he was so gentle and tender. He filled a hollowness within her. She gave him her love, a love he professed to share. And he had asked her to marry him. Six months ago, they had taken the marriage vows. For better or worse.

  It had only gotten worse.

  The first few times, she had considered Frank’s lovemaking to be caused by the newness of her, his excitement. But after the honeymoon nothing changed, except that Frank approached her but once a week. And then it was only to mount her and sate himself. It was like the old joke about the rabbit — wham-bam, thank you ma’am. She had once thought that was funny. Now it was only frustrating.

  For six months she had clung to the hope that things would change. But nothing did. No matter what she tried, Frank was the same. He entered her body, came, then pulled from her only to roll to his side and go to sleep.

  Never once were there preliminary kisses, gentle caresses, exploring each other’s bodies. Never whispered words of endearment or even a “thank you” when he had finished. It was simply on and off, leaving her aching for sexual release — for love.

  And tonight — tonight had been the worst.

  Mona choked back her tears. Tears would only be wasted on Frank. In their six months together, she had done more than her share of crying. It never helped anything. Never. Frank didn’t even notice.

  Something had to be done. But what?

  She didn’t know. Everything was too confusing.

  Frank continued to snore. Anger and frustration grew within her. She pushed up and stood. To remain in the tent with him was too much for her to endure. She had to leave, get away by herself until she could think this out and hopefully find a solution.

  The air was cool outside, cool and clean. Yet it did nothing to remove the dirty feeling she had. Quietly walking from the camp, Mona moved toward the river bank. She stood there a moment watching the gentle current. Then hiking her gown, she stepped into the water.

  She waded out until the water washed around her knees. Then reaching down, she scooped out handful after handful of the chilly water and bathed herself. Carefully she washed the silvery sperm tracks from her thighs, then cleansed the matted hairs of her public mound. Last of all, she washed out her vagina as best she could, removing every trace of Frank’s ejaculation, washing out the dirty feel of his seed.

  She felt better now, cleaner, free of Frank. Standing straight, she slowly walked back to the shore and stared at the tents. To go back now would be too much. She couldn’t endure the thought of returning to Frank. But where could she go?

  Nowhere!

  There was nowhere she could run to escape Frank. She was amid one of the largest wilderness areas in the country and there was no place she could lose herself.

 
The thought was too much for her. The past six months and all she had endured came rushing back to fill her brain. She dropped to her knees and cried.

  The sound of sobbing invaded Jason Jefferies’ sleep. For a moment he lay there half-awake, wondering if the crying was something left in his mind by an unremembered dream. Then he realized the sobs were real; a woman was crying.

  Sitting up, he glanced to his side. Liz was nestled within their sleeping bag. The warmth of her naked body was assuring. Easing back the top of the sleeping bag, he quietly slipped out. In the dark, he managed to find his blue jeans and pull them on without too much difficulty.

  The crying was still there. And for some reason it sounded familiar. However, he was sure the sobs didn’t belong to his daughter Linda. He had nursed her through too many adolescent heartbreaks not to recognize the sound of her crying. Yet somehow he knew the sound of those tears.

  Tiptoeing to the front of the tent, so as not to disturb Liz, Jason stepped out into the night. He glanced around the campsite, but could not locate the source of the sobs.

  His eyes moved around the edge of forest, but saw nothing except shadows and trees. Walking away from his tent, he moved toward the river. There he saw her, his sister Mona, kneeling on the bank, holding her head in her hands and crying.

  Immediately, his strides lengthened into a trot. Within seconds he was beside her, kneeling and taking her into his arms. Her own arms encircled him, holding him tightly.

  “Jason,” she managed to say between her sobs.

  “Little sister,” he whispered; his hand caressed the raven blackness of her hair. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong with my little sister?”

  She shook her head, nestling into the hollow of his shoulder. “Nothing.”

  “Hey now, all these tears can’t be over just nothing.” His voice was gentle and soothing. “Remember me; I’m your big brother.”