2

Yeah, he thought, and that same half would love to shoot cum all over girls' faces, too, but he didn't say it -- she looked too angry. He apologized a few times but let her clean herself up, and he let her get up on her own while he lit a cigarette.

When he had taken his first puff, and she was straightening out her pants, he said "So what happened to you last night?"

"What do you mean, what happened to me?" she shot back.

"You know. At bedtime."

"Duh -- I went to bed."

"Yeah, maybe, but not in your bed."

He watched her face carefully as he said it: a flicker of uncertainty, perhaps. Before she could say she was in their mother's room he said "You went downstairs with Dad, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did," she said, surprising him.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Did you do him?"

She shot him a disgusted glance and rolled her eyes.

"Don't give me that -- did you do him?"

"No, I didn't do him, Josh."

"But you wanted to."

"Oh brother," she grumbled, gathering up Jasper's leash. "I went down to check on him, and -- and I stayed with him cuz I was cold."

"That's bullshit," he said, following her out the door. "You went down to come on to him and you know it!"

"I did not! What planet are you on, anyway?"

"I dunno, maybe the planet where my sister just sucked my dick!"

They trudged around in the snow close to Josh's half-buried car. Jasper sniffed tentatively at the tires.

"That's right, Jasper -- piss on his car," said Vanessa.

"Come on, fess up. What'd you do?"

"I didn't do anything. Why are you so bent outta shape, anyway?"

"Because I came looking for you about three and you weren't in your bed!"

"Well, boo hoo for you! In case you forgot, I fucked you yesterday. And the day before. Don't you ever get enough?"

"Hell, no."

"Well, that's your problem. I've been taking good care of you since I've been back, Josh. Don't start bitching at me."

"Hey, I got rid of Jeanie for you, bitch!"

"You did not," she said sharply. "You got rid of Jeanie cuz you were afraid you might taste your own cum in her mouth. I think we settled that."

They were silent while the dog finished his survey of the yard, but Josh stopped her from going inside; they stood at the porch entrance and talked in hushed tones.

"Are you gonna be in bed tonight?" he asked.

"I don't know. Not if it stays cold."

"Aw, Ness . . . "

"Josh, I just sucked you off. Hell, you just gave me a fucking cum bath."

"I know but . . . I like to do it inside. Then we can get really get nekkid with each other -- it's more fun."

"Know what? You don't need to be getting 'nekkid.' You're starting to get sick -- do yourself a favor and get some rest. Besides, it's too risky inside with Mom in the next room."

It was true -- he had come down with sniffles in the last day or so. Probably from sitting in front of the window in his underwear the other night.

"Seriously," he said, more calmly this time, "were you trying to come on to him or what?"

"You shoulda asked me like that the first time."

"Well, were you?"

She smiled that naughty little smile he liked so much.

"Sort of," she said. "Not really. I just . . . wanted to see what would happen."

"So what happened? Did he think you were psycho?"

She shook her head, biting her lower lip.

"He felt me up," she said in a low voice.

"He didn't."

She nodded.

"He did. Just a quick feel. He thought I was asleep."

"No way!"

"Yep." She was swaying and rocking on her heels, happy as a clam. "It was sweet. He grabbed this titty here. Even felt my nipple."

"You are shitting me!"

Again she shook her head. He was quiet for a long while, thinking it over. So his old man copped a feel off his big sister. The old perv.

"So, what now?" he said at last. "You gonna go down tonight, hopin' for more?"

"I might."

"Soooo, what am I supposed to do?"

"Josh! I told you, you need to get some rest."

"I'm supposed to just lie up there and sleep while you're down here fucking Neal?"

"It's none of your business!"

"You are my business!" He thought for a minute longer. "What if he finds out about us, huh?"

She rolled her eyes. "If he hasn't found out in four years, he's not gonna find out now. And if he did, and he is fucking me, what's he gonna say?"

Josh stared at her, studying her smooth, flushed face. Those piercing brown eyes, the shimmering blonde hair wisping out from under her cap.

She drove him crazy, his sister. He'd never had anyone like her and didn't expect to, ever. It wasn't enough that he was doing her; he wanted her to be his, and he wanted her to understand that. When he had access to other pussy he was reasonably okay without her (though he hated that she shacked up with Brad Carlson -- it made it virtually impossible for them to meet). But trapped here alone, with no other girl within screwing distance, it was more than he could bear to think she was off fucking someone else on his time. That's what really got to him -- not that she was trying to lay their father, but that she wouldn't be there for him.

"I'm not letting you get away with this," he said.

She laughed. "What're you gonna do -- tell Mom?"

"How 'bout if I fuck Mom?" he said, scarcely believing he'd said it.

Now she really laughed. He just stared at her.

"Oh my God -- you're serious, aren't you?"

"Why not?"

She shook her head. "I'm going inside, Josh. It's too fucking cold out here."

On the steps she turned.

"Look, if you want me to, I'll come suck you again before I go downstairs. If you promise not to cum all over my face."

"Come fuck me."

"I can't. I don't wanna get in bed with him all funky . . . "

"Christ," he said. "You really do plan on fucking him, don't you?"

Vanessa said nothing; she only raised her eyebrows significantly and opened the porch door.

***

By nine o'clock -- how quickly night seemed to fall with no electricity -- Sherry had had more than enough of another colorless, cold, surreal day. Every room of the house, which seemed to have shrunk over the last few days and nights, was drab and dungeon-like; every remark from her family seemed barbed and wicked. Even Vanessa, whose inexplicable serenity usually held the power to calm her, appeared to be devoting all her bright good nature to cheering Neal, leaving her distressed and wronged mother to fend for herself. As she had taken to doing for weeks now, especially since the cold and the snow had set in, Sherry responded to her feelings of isolation by sedating herself. She was all out of Valium, damn it, and was not likely to get more until the snow thawed, or whatever snow did to make itself go away. She did find an old bottle of painkillers, however, after rooting around in the medicine cabinet for a while, and after downing them with a quantity of red wine, she was gratified to feel the stresses of her captivity slipping away from the forefront of her mind, replaced by a dull, hazy limbo. She made a brief appearance in the steamy kitchen to say she was going to bed, the disapproval on Neal's face barely registering with her.

As she careened to the staircase, the lines of the room leaving odd phantom impressions behind as they streaked past, she was surprised to feel a pressure on her arm. It was her son, saying something about having a cold, wondering if he had a fever. A wave of satisfaction preceded a wash of guilt as she pressed his perspiring head -- she was pleased to feel needed by the boy, who was certainly old enough to take his own temperature, yet remorseful that she had neglected to notice his symptoms during the day. After all, what good was a mother if she didn't take care of her family? What degraded variety of mother must she be, taking drugs to escape her own problems when her little boy needed her?

In her bedroom -- it was truly her bedroom now -- she did not bother to light her candle, but stretched and kicked her way out of her clothes and got into bed naked. Her head hit the pillow with a thump, and she was surprised for a moment to find herself in this cold, empty space again. She made a few half-hearted attempts to retrieve her dildo from beneath her pillow, but it required her to lift her head and she wasn't up to it. For a minute or two -- oh it may have been an hour -- she felt over her fat, hairy pussy lips with her fingers. But her fingers grew numb eventually, and she relented, turning on her side to drift away . . .

. . . she dreamed of ice castles and elves, of strange, cruel people who changed shape suddenly, without warning, of dazzling orange lights and lurking, black shapes . . .

. . . she even dreamed of a pale, ghostly man, strangely familiar, who stood beside her bed in the darkness and ran his warm hands over her body. The dream was both alarming and soothing simultaneously, and her urge to cry out and her urge to open herself up to him were peculiarly, inextricably blended . . .

***

It was almost midnight before his chattering, sniffeling son finally tired of Trivial Pursuit and cigarettes and rose to leave the kitchen. Sherry had departed hours ago; Vanessa had kissed him goodnight around eleven. Josh, who had neglected to take the Nyquil his mother had recommended, accepted Neal's offer of a few vodka lemondrops, and so was nodding a little by the witching hour, finally giving up at ten to twelve.

Neal sighed gratefully, reckoning it to be the first and only occasion he had ever had to fight his son to get him to go to sleep.

He had shaved earlier, but he splashed aftershave onto his face again in the chilly bathroom off the den. He studied his face carefully, but without meeting his own eyes in the mirror. He then brushed his teeth and crawled into his bed, this time leaving on his shorts and an oversized tanktop.

As he lay in the flickering light, his hands clasped behind his head, he wondered why and how he had managed to stop interrogating himself as to his actions. After all, the previous evening had seen him surreptitiously pawing one of his daughter's breasts. Within the space of mere hours he had gone from a sweating, heavy breathing, lusting mess of a man, wracked by guilt and swimming in his own shame, to a clean-shaven, primped and perfumed reprobate, who awaited the clandestine arrival of his own daughter in his bed with despicable calm and sanguinity.

She would come, wouldn't she? It was twelve-thirty now; she had waited till two the night before.

What if she didn't come? Would that be such a bad thing -- should he lie awake miserable because she didn't?

When questions about his motivations came to his mind, he was peculiarly adept at pushing them away. The pat explanation he had provided for Sherry -- that Nessa got very cold at night, that she liked to snuggle with her daddy, that it was all very simple and harmless -- did not tally with his own restless expectation of her, or the leap his senses took when a stray sound from the hallway caught his ear. It did not tally with Nessa's apparent caution, either . . . She was no fool, she would wait till everyone was good and asleep before coming down to him.

Oh, this is ridiculous, he thought, turning on his side.

Yes, ridiculous -- not to mention depraved. He ought to have known better than this -- whether her flirtation was genuine or not. If she was making a play for him then he should be able to resist, and to talk to her -- surely such an attempt was a sign of desperation, a cry for help, a symptom of some deep psychological wrong! If she was not trying, by her words and deeds, to interest her father sexually -- well then he should thoroughly and utterly ashamed of himself.

At some point he dozed off, his mind lazily musing over that absurd game of Scrabble. They had, the two of them, quite literally spelled out the fateful word between them! At the very instant his eyes had been thirstily drinking up the sight of her naked, dangling breasts, his dear one had spelled out those letters with the most mischievous of smiles . . .

An icy cold surge of air awakened him, how much later he did not know. His daughter's radiant face hung before his sleepy eyes as she settled in next to him, pulling the blankets over them both.

"Mmmm . . . " he sighed sleepily at the vision.

"Sorry I woke you, Daddy -- you don't mind, do you?" came her heart-quickening whisper.

"Hmm mmm."

He cradled the back of her head as she moved in to kiss his cheek, a kiss he returned, sloppily, against her ear. She was smiling at him, inches away -- her face took up all of his view.

"Hello," she said softly. "Sure you don't mind?"

He took a lazy breath.

"Now why would I mind a gorgeous girl crawling into my bed?" he actually said . . .

. . . While the warmth and the quiet seemed to sedate his daughter, the presence of her body awakened Neal -- but slowly, hazily. Again she lay on her side next to him, facing away, and made only the smallest sounds of acknowledgment when he draped his arm over her. Bolder than on the previous night, he edged his body up behind hers, so that he pressed cozily against her from his chest to his shins: his knees fitted perfectly behind hers.

He no longer worried about his lap touching her bottom, perhaps because he was still drifting between sleep and consciousness, perhaps because the feeling was too good. His was an apathy born of laziness and self-deceit -- he told himself he was doing nothing wrong, that his hardness was natural and human, to be expected. After all, she was a grown woman, and she had come crawling into bed with a grown man. Grown men had erections, whether they wanted to or not. She would understand that, if she was even awake. She was not a child. Besides, the warmth of their contact was pleasurable, even luxurious.

By the time she began to murmur her soft snore, it had all become very pleasurable indeed. He let his hand wander a bit, almost before he was aware he was doing it. Across her bulging belly, along her waist (she was so young, so tiny that she still had a waist, though she was pregnant!). His open palm running smoothly over her hip, along her thigh. The emerald green nightie she wore tonight was silkier, smoother -- his hand glided over it as over water. He wished he could pull back the blankets to look at her, to watch what his hands were doing, to see the body he was touching so casually, so insouciantly. A few times she seemed to start or twitch in her sleep; he halted his motions reflexively when she did. But within seconds of her calming he was touching her again, marveling at how glorious it felt just to stroke her firm, young, warm body. The flowery scent of her cascading hair, the soft creaminess of the skin on her exposed shoulder, the soft whisper of her breath escaping, as her torso rose and fell -- together with the magnetism of her smooth, satin-shrouded limbs, it all made him dizzy with pleasure. He wanted to caress her all night long. Though his rigid cock sometimes twitched restlessly against her warm ass, his roving hand was all patience and fortitude.

In the back of his mind, through it all he wondered: was she sleeping or pretending? And, did it even matter now? She knew what had passed between them -- she had to know. She was no innocent, no matter how young and smooth and lovely she was. Her big belly, her milk-swollen breasts proved this.

She had known what to expect if she got in bed with him tonight, and she had done so anyway. Perhaps -- he almost dared to hope -- she wanted it to happen?

Thinking these thoughts, even through his half-wakeful mist, assuaged his guilt, and calmed his fears. Suddenly conscious of his own unbearable hardness, and of the delicious pressure of her buttocks against him, Neal rubbed his hand slowly along her waist, over her swelling stomach, and wedged it firmly beneath his daughter's right breast. It was warm here -- so warm, the satin material gathered in his fingers, the ovening tit-flesh underneath. His hand ran up and over that firm but fleshy breast, again pausing at the nipple -- it was rock hard. It bored into his palm wonderfully, and strained against the shimmering material of her garment as though seeking to pop through. He couldn't leave it alone, but twiddled and tweaked it like a knob on a radio, stroked it with his fingertips.

Now she twitched and wriggled in earnest, and he could tell by the way her body rapidly swelled and retracted against him that he was giving her pleasure. She even gave his crazed prick a magnificent two-second massage with one luscious wriggle of her ass. Whether it registered as conscious enjoyment or the half-realized delight of a sensual dream, his lovely little girl was loving what her daddy was doing to her. It was the most erotic sensation he had ever known.

Blood boiling now, he actually grabbed her tit in his hand, cupped it and squeezed it, and even ground his engorged penis against her. What now, if she awoke? If it had all been a colossal mistake, a disastrous misreading of her body, her words, her seemingly significant glances -- what would he say? what could he do? The one provisional excuse he could think of -- that he was half-asleep, that his actions were reflexive, unthinking, the nocturnal instincts of a married man -- became less and less plausible as his grasp on her tightened, his heart thumped harder, his breathing grew more and more bestial. Still, he couldn't stop himself . . . the one great, recurring fact of his life, he could not stop, he could not stop --

"Daddy?" she whispered suddenly.

His hand froze . . . and a dozen imagined sentences filled the void in his frenzied mind -- Daddy, what are you doing? Daddy, let go! Daddy, stop it --

"Daddy," she said again, less a whisper than a soft purr, "I think we'll be warmer . . . in there . . . "

. . . She led him into the dark, freezing office by the hand, like a lover. He dragged one blanket behind him stupidly, letting himself be led. His shorts could barely contain him -- they were stretched out inches ahead of him. The friction of them as he walked nearly made him cum.

If he yet entertained any doubts as to her motivations, she sooned quelled them. No sooner were they inside the icy confines of the little room did she turn and close the door, painstakingly slowly. His heart skipped when he heard the sharp click of the lock. In a senseless daze he stood, in the middle of the room, peering after her shadowy form as she crossed the room and lit the single candle on his desk. With the flickering light came his first frank appraisal of her stunning appearance: she was flushed and disheveled, her hair wisping around her face in disorderly tendrils. Her deep green gown flashed in the light, emphasizing the curves and swells of her body. Her expression was distracted, preoccupied, as she yanked the cushions off the sofa and dropped them on the floor; he might have thought her troubled, had she not paused to bestow upon him a flashing, giddy smile.

"Nessa . . . ," he tried to say, but his voice made no sound. He cleared his throat, tried again. "Nessa, should -- what are we --"

"We're just gonna lie down," she said, her voice a soft murmur in the dimness. "We're just gonna lie down."

She arranged the cushions on the floor -- neither as long nor wide a bed as in the den, but she took the blanket from him and lay down on it, though her ankles and feet touched the floor. She held the corner of the blanket up for him, looking over her shoulder with a smile. In a daze, he climbed in behind her as before, his big dick poking against her as he tried to get comfortable.

He was suddenly confused, and embarrassed. It was one thing to fondle her when they were both drowsy and a bit muddled -- quite another to resume his fond stroking of her now that they were wakeful and behind a closed, locked door. Now the issue of purpose, of intent, loomed between them. No longer could his touches be written off as a sleepy accident -- he had to mean it. Bewildered and indecisive, he pulled his hardness away from her --

-- but she stopped him, her hand on his hip suddenly, pulling him back to her until he felt his throbbing length nestle in the trough between her buttocks. She pulled his hand around her and placed it on her tit firmly, writhing against his chest sensuously, letting her head fall back against his shoulder.

"Touch me," she whispered. "It's okay."

Her words were like flames, enraging his mind, drowning his body in heat. He wrenched at her breast, digging his fingers into the soft, yielding flesh as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, kissing, licking, sucking. The animal sounds of his grunts and heavy breath mingled with the popping and smacking of his grasping lips on her delicate skin, the soft, quivering sighs that poured form her, tiny moans of pleasure. His cock felt gigantic, brutal, like a bludgeon -- he ground against her ass, back and forth, and forward, until she twisted her body in his grasp and he was thrusting against her hip. Her right hand plunged into his hair, held the back of his head, encouraging him in his kissing, the shellacking of her neck and shoulder with his spit. He opened his eyes briefly to see her lips hanging open, trembling, muttering words he couldn't hear -- her left hand tugged urgently at the tie of her gown, plucking at the thin ribbons that locked away her breasts. The fabric of her gown was stretched thin and tight across them, her nipples creating hard, sharp points in the silky sheen.

He jammed his left hand beneath her to encircle her body, held her tightly against him, pressing her broad belly. His right hand ran circles rapidly around and over and under her breasts while she yanked ineffectually at the tie -- furious with impatience he plunged his fingers between the ribbons and tore her gown open -- she gasped -- the sharp hissing sound of ripping cloth, popping stiches, bursting seams screamed out in the quiet room. Suddenly free of their confinement her large, taut breasts jumped out into his hands -- he kneaded them until she groaned, her chest rising and falling rapidly. They were hot and smooth and succulent in his grasping hands -- the nipples were solid, jutting stones between his fingers, and she loosed a stream of muttered curses and blasphemy when he pinched and pulled at them.

With a fierce jerk she twisted again in his arms, turning towards him even more, breasts bouncing, leaping in the light -- her hip ground against him and ohhh the delicious friction, the warmth of her flesh burning through the satin, the sudden rubbing pressure was more than he could bear -- his cock jerked and spasmed inside his shorts while he cried out in regret and despair, feeling the hot, viscous spurts slap against his pubis, pooling around his balls . . .

Neal fell back, frustrated, angry with himself -- his heart thumped in his chest and in his temples, his breath escaped him in sobs. His daughter, her dark eyes soft and sympathetic, prodded him gently backward until he lay still; she hovered over him, close to his face, her bare breasts dangling over his chest, broad nipples brushing his shirtfront. He tried to speak; she shook her head, touched her fingertip to his lips.

"No -- no, Dad -- no words, shhhhhh," she breathed, kissing his sweaty forehead.

For a long time he lay grieving and shaken, his mind vacant, like a dying warrior. As his daughter scooted forward on her knees to cradle his head, his brain whirled with frenzied emotions -- he was utterly ashamed of what he had done, yet ashamed also that he had performed the act so poorly, so unlike a true lover. His shorts became cool with dampness as his prick slackened, and he began to count himself among the most decrepit and pathetic beings on the earth -- lying in a pool of his own sperm, disappointed that he had not raped his own daughter . . . he was no better than an animal.

But Vanessa wiped the sweat from his head and stroked it, and held him to her breasts -- those lovely, soft breasts, whose nipples even now were sharp and insistent, the aureoles wide as half-dollars. His body began to cool, his mind to lapse into a comforting haze, and when he was strong enough to brush his fingers against her exquisite orbs, and she turned to guide one swollen nipple to his lips, he did not refuse it. He pulled it willingly into his mouth and suckled it, though his penis was a deflated, soggy mess in his shorts. Though his urges were calmed, and his strength sapped, and his unholy desires for her body now the source of grievous confusion and guilt in his mind, he sucked lovingly on first the one nipple, then the other, allowing her to nurse him compliantly. He was surprised, yet somehow relieved, when a burst of sweetness filled his mouth, and he realized it was her milk.

She did not let him lie back until he was breathing easily, until he floated on a cool thoughtless wave. With his head flat against the cushions, then, he watched her smiling down at him as she stood beside him, slipping the sleeves of her nightgown off her shoulders, allowing the torn garment to drop noiselessly to the floor. He had seconds only to absorb the pristine beauty of her pregnant body -- her long, rounded thighs, the mossy cleft between them, the dramatic swell of her belly -- before she was kneeling beside him again, leaning over his middle and allowing her breasts to droop once more while she ran her finger inside the waistband of his shorts. She pulled them down slowly, her eyes roving curiously over his creamed, defeated prick.

What she did then cost him the most disordered and commingled emotions he had ever had. She proceeded, in an almost workmanlike, custodial fashion, to lap up and lick all of his cum into her mouth. Her tiny, narrow tongue dived again and again out of her mouth, its pointed tip diving into the goo while she touched and stroked his flaccid dick. She took her time with her task, seeming to forget he was even there, and what her tongue missed the first pass it gathered on the next. At one point, with smacks of his cream all around her lips, she held his wet cock against her cheek lovingly, as though it were an adored and precious pet. It was a performance of appalling lewdness, the sort of thing a porno girl would do -- those overstuffed, overanxious women with their fake tits and faker moans, completely lacking in dignity or composure, they too lapped cum from their men's cocks and balls, sighing all the while . . . just as his daughter did now. He would have been sorry to see her do it to any man; it was unthinkable that she was doing it to him.

And yet . . . and yet, she was still his daughter, his beloved, his Nessa. She was still graceful and sweet, and unspeakably lovely, even now. She might have been a fairy lapping nectar from a flower, a goddess drinking ambrosia. He knew on some level of consciousness that she wanted him hard again, could tell from her breathing and her expressions and her pulsing nipples that she was incredibly, painfully aroused. And he was bitterly reminded yet again, as he had been reminded every day since she had confessed her pregnancy, that she was no longer an innocent, that this was not the first cock she'd serviced, not the first serving of mancum she'd swallowed up.

Yet she was still his girl, indescribably beautiful, and he blessed the day she'd entered his life

Seeming to read his thoughts, she smiled at him again, just as adoringly as she had when a little girl, before throwing her leg across his lap to straddle him. He could only watch in awe as she lowered her pussy to his cock, and gasp in surprised pleasure as she touched her ovening tender lips against him. She leaned forward langorously, the solid flesh of her stomach pressing the air out of him, like a football was caught between them; her eyes were bright and happy, her lips yet retained a sticky frosting of cum. She dragged her fingernails across his chest and gripped his shoulders, stretching out her back, flexing the muscles in her arms, thrusting her tits out at him before she mashed them against his chest. He thrilled to feel the hot, hard kernels of her nipples bulging into him. Though his mental delapidation was not over, though he still felt ashamed and confused, his arms closed over her, his hands ran up and down her back and waist, and over the taut slopes of her ass cheeks. She closed her eyes, the lids trembling, and sighed to feel him touching her, and stroked her splayed fingers through the hair on his chest, and licked delicately at his hairy nipples, and -- slowly, confidently -- began to rock her hips back and forth, to slide her swollen lips against his crotch.

He wondered at her audacity, and at her optimism, until he felt his prick leap and stiffen, beginning its rise. Its hardening was unmistakable, and Neal's desires were whetted all over again when he saw the gratified smile it brought to his daughter's lovely face . . .

. . . Once Neal was inside his daughter for the first time, a peculiar calm stole over him. That first fuck was very much a spectator sport for him, as he was content to let her do the work, and find her pleasure her own way atop his inflexible prick. The first panicky cum against her leg, as well as Nessa's sweet tending of him afterward, had settled his body down considerably, so that he was pleased to be able to provide her with a fat, firm erection that was a little desensitized, less edgy than it had been. With a little deep breathing, he was able to lie still and control himself while she got off on him, even though her pussy was amazingly tight -- like a fleshy vice nipping at his cock.

Maintaining an erection -- now that was no problem. Her protruding belly managed to conceal most of her pussy from his view, which was a shame as he had a particular fascination with watching himself disappear into a lovely snatch. But Vanessa provided plenty of eye candy for him to feast on besides that: her creamy skin, her firm, bouncing titties, the way she ran her hands all over her body while she fucked him. Her face alone was enough to inspire a dozen orgasms -- the fluttering eyelids, the open lips, the occasional drowsy-eyed glance, the way she cocked her head from side to side. Neal had never been a pussyhound, but he had slept with enough women in his day to be able to pigeonhole them into broad, if crude, categories: the giggler, the animal, the statue, the victim. Sherry was a giggler, Melanie . . . more of a statue. But Nessa was something else -- an enchantress, perhaps. She had the strange power of inspiring his lust with her very move, while yet retaining some indefinable mystique of unspoiled youth and innocence. He found himself wondering as he watched her, was this really some technique of hers, or did she effect him this way because she was his daughter . . .

She came the first time with a splendid, stuttering moan that rung in his ears; her pussy muscles grabbed hold of him with enough force to make him gasp, giving him up slowly, reluctantly, while anointing his balls with so much juice that it soon ran down to his asshole. Neal held her waist and felt the tremors rock through her body, experiencing his first genuine "fatherly" sensation in weeks when she slowly fell forward afterward and lay her head against his chest. Below the waist he was encased in burning hot, clinging pussy, the sweetest he'd ever known; above the waist he was holding his dear little girl while she trembled and sighed, as he had done since she dropped her first scoop of ice cream on the sidewalk, or lost her first balloon to the wind.

Still no words of consequence passed between them after Nessa's shuddering cum -- he gathered the covers up around her and lay between her legs, thrusting into her languidly, vaulted up on his hands to keep from crushing her tender belly. Once only did he steal a look at his greasy cock plunging into her cleft; it was too cold to leave his precious girl exposed. She lay spent and sighing while he took the initiative for a long while, though her smiles and glances told him how much she was enjoying it. Yet again he marvelled at the slick tightness of her cunt -- even though she had cum and cum hard, she was taut and tense inside, and ready to receive.

It was her idea to get up on her hands and knees and take him from behind, a position that lasted twenty glorious minutes. Neal had always had a thing for doggy-style, loving the opportunity of having a delectable ass at his fingertips, basking in the heavy pussy aroma that wafted up from the girl, enjoying the masterful feelings of pounding away into a raised ass. There was something almost punitive about the position -- it brought out his most dominating, dictatorial nature. Not that there was any question of his dominating Nessa; she had clearly been in control from the first moment of their intimacy. But the position did help his self-esteem a bit, and besides, he loved to play with her cheeks and her tiny puckered hole while he plummeted in. Toying with her ass with one wet finger brought on his daughter's second rocking orgasm as well, so that made him proud.

They finally relaxed into a position very much like where they started -- with him lying behind her, lovingly handling her tits. Only now his giant dick was snaked between her legs, thrusting shallowly up into her still grasping cunt. Sometimes he let his hand stray down to her furry slit to rub her, hoping that he could wrench yet a third cum from her and prove his abilities as a lover -- but he was kidding himself. His balls had begun their preparatory tingling during her previous orgasm, and now, with her tight opening rubbing directly on his most sensitive spot ( to say nothing of her sighs and moans in his ear, or the smell of her hair in his nostrils) he knew he was fast on his way to the breaking point. When he realized there was no turning back, he let loose his control, grabbing her hip and pounding into her with ferocity and strength. He was slamming into her so hard that his balls were being flattened with every thrust, and he knew he was in for a fearsome ache later. He didn't care; the pain became part of the pleasure, and he kept up his forceful thrusting, enjoying her heaves and sighs, until he at last drained his balls into her sopping pussy . . .

. . . Twenty minutes later they finally spoke. She was lying back against him, his flaccid cock still nestled in her cunt, something which she appeared to delight in. His hands rested on her belly.

"You okay?" he asked, tentatively. The tone of the question sounded a bit incongruous in his ears, as though she had fallen down the stairs or something. She giggled luxuriously.

"Much better than okay," she said, snuggling against his chest. "Are you?"

"I'm fine."

"Sure? You don't sound it. Are you worried?"

"Well . . . maybe a little bit," he admitted.

"Scared?"

"Uh huh. Yes."

"Of what?"

"Um . . . well, I don't know really. Of what we've done, of what it means . . . "

"Which means, you feel guilty," she declared.

"I don't -- well . . . not exactly, but yes. I guess so."

With delicious slowness she pulled her hips forward, dragging herself off of his cock. He sat up suddenly and gripped her waist while she extracted herself. The concoction of his sperm and her juices that had been leaking out her pussy now came pouring down on him, ticking his balls and inner thighs.

She turned to face him, resting her hands on his shoulders. He demured a bit when it came to meeting her eyes, amazed at her easiness and confidence. Incredible to believe, that he had been worried about her ability to face him when she'd witnessed his wanking session. She peered into his eyes now with utter frankness and casual aplomb -- as though they'd been fucking for years.

"No guilt, Daddy," she told him, in a tone that was almost stern.

He shrugged.

"That's easy to say, honey."

"I know. But there's no need for it. Do you trust me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just that -- do you trust me? Do you believe I wanted this, and that I'm not gonna try to hurt you with it?"

"Well . . . " He thought hard, forcing himself to meet her searching eyes. She was close, only inches away, and her dark brown eyes were penetrating and severe in the dimness. He remembered suddenly all the looks and gestures and body language of the past few days -- all the times that he wondered if she was indeed trying to seduce him. Was it possible after all that all those occurences were genuine, that he had been correct in his conclusions? It certainly seemed that way, incredibly enough.

"I don't believe you want to hurt me, no," he said.

"But do you believe that I wanted you? Like this, I mean?"

He smiled, in spite of himself. "It certainly does seem that way."

"Okay," she said, grinning herself. "Then no guilt. We both wanted it, so we did it. You know I love you, Daddy."

"Of course, baby. I love you too, more than anything."

"I know." Without warning she leaned in close to him and they were suddenly kissing -- warm and tenderly, slowly, not the kiss of casual fuckers but of romantic lovers, intimate partners. It was a kiss with history behind it.

"When did you -- I mean, how long have you wanted this?" he had to ask her.

She shrugged, smiling.

"I don't know. Probably a long time."

Neal's head spun. It was a whole new category of culpability to consider, a whole new way in which his little angel daughter was not "pure." He didn't know what to make of it: this frank, bald-faced avowal of incestuous desires. She delivered her confession so nonchalantly, as though it were a natural state of affairs, happening to everybody. As though she were completely acclimated to the idea of an incest relationship. He wondered if he had been entertaining such thoughts for a long time, as well -- just how long had their "courtship" been going on? It seemed amazing that they could have come so far in just a few days. He remembered, with a mixture of guilt and pleasure, the first occasions when he might have lusted after his daughter. Remembered how, when she couldn't have been more than fourteen, she used to lie on the floor in front of his chair watching TV, dressed only in boxers and a tee shirt -- and how his eyes kept returning to her crotch, waiting (hoping?) for a peek. Remembered when her little boobs started to develop, and how much he had longed for a better look, even a feel. Remembered how her choice of clothes when she started dating -- gaudy, tight, revealing -- had both appalled and excited him. He even remembered picturing Brad Carlson having sex with her for one fleeting instant in his mind, when she confessed that she was pregnant. Yes, he had to admit it -- he'd had loose thoughts about Vanessa for years.

But it wasn't the same, was it? The odd lustful thought versus an actual plan, meticulously carried out: a verifiable seduction. Of course, he couldn't claim complete innocence on this head either. He had desperately wanted her to come to his bed tonight, after all, and had even "planned" for it in some ways. Still . . .

"Have you been -- did you plan all of this, then?" he asked at last.

She laughed, a little guiltily.

"Plan it?" she said, considering the word. "No, not exactly. I just encouraged it some, I think. Wanted to know what would happen."

He shook his head in wonder, unsure what to say.

"I don't know how you can say that, Nessa," he said. "You just seem . . . so cool about it."

"I told you -- I wanted it," she said defensively. "And so did you. I knew it, even if you didn't. Besides, every girl wants to make love to her daddy eventually. It's natural -- like every boy wants his mother sometimes."

Again her words rocked his brain, challenged his instincts. Incest was natural? Surely it was unnatural if it was anything -- it was perverted, wasn't it? Every boy wants his mother? Oh, Freud had said so, the old degenerate. But his mind recoiled at the suggestion, recalling his own mother's heavy 68 year old body. Still, there had been times, half-forgotten occasions in his youth, when he had imagined her carnally. Flashes of her younger body he remembered, and curious rootings through her underclothing. He even remembered touching her tit when he was a boy, standing beside her bed while she slept. He'd come in to wake her and found her chest partially exposed, and his fingers acted before his mind could stop them. It was his first feel of a woman . . .

"I'm going to have to go upstairs," Nessa was saying, rising from between his legs. "I can't be walking around in this gown anymore."

She held the poor shredded garment out to him with a smile; he smiled back, nodding, and remembering his frantic urgency. Suddenly the sweltering details of their last few hours together filled his head, in all their lascivious glory. Perhaps it was natural, after all. He should have felt sick and miserable about what they'd done -- but just thinking about it caused him to smile, his prick to twitch.

He rose and they embraced, just he and his naked Nessa. Her arms around his neck, her fleshy tits bulging between them, his soiled crotch rubbing against her belly.

"You're not going to lie down here agonizing, are you?" she asked softly.

"I don't know. I'm not sure I can just sleep, if that's what you mean."

She sighed in his arms, shivering a little. "Don't stay up, Dad. And don't worry about it. I loved every second of it. And I love your dick and I love you. No guilt, okay? For me?"

Neal shook his head, unsure -- but his cock, rubbing in its ooze against her firm stomach, began to harden again. She pulled back from him, peering into his eyes, a gorgeous, gratified smile lighting up her features.

She kissed him, her hand closing around the stiffening rod. Within seconds she was on her knees. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, Sherry," Neal said. "What exactly are you accusing me of?"

"It's real simple, Neal," his wife spat, shaking her sleep-tousled head. "Were you playing with me last night?"

"Playing with you how? I can't even get into your room, you know."

"You could get through that lock if you wanted to."

"Oh, don't flatter yourself, Sherry," he grumbled, though he hated himself for saying it. "I didn't pick the lock, nor did I want to. And no, I wasn't playing with you. I'm not allowed to, remember?"

She was silent a while, weighing his remarks, head in her hands at the table. Her robe was tied crookedly, her eyes bore dark lines beneath them -- she looked a mess.

"Look," she said finally, her voice an unsteady croak. "I . . . I could've sworn that someone was with me last night. I thought it was you. It had to be you, Neal!"

"Jesus Christ, Sherry, it was not me! What makes you think it wasn't a dream or something, anyway?"

"It just . . . didn't feel like a dream," she muttered.

"What time was it?"

"I don't know. It was dark still. I don't know, I was half asleep."

"Uh huh. And what did he look like, this guy who was playing with you?"

"Neal, I don't know! I didn't get a look at his face. I told you, I was asleep."

"Okay, Sher -- 'you were asleep' means 'it was a dream'! Okay? It was a dream."

But Sherry, still trying vainly to pin down her thoughts (thoughts? dreams? experiences?) from the night before, just couldn't accept this. That stone still figure beside her bed, those hands on her body, touching, exploring. Familiar but different, welcome but wrong. She'd felt . . . touched that morning. Not just disoriented, but fondled, molested --

She held up her hands in frustration.

"It didn't feel like a dream!"

"Yeah, well . . . maybe -- and don't bite my head off --"

"Go on. Say it."

"Maybe with everything you were on last night, you dreamed a little harder? Maybe you even hallucinated --"

"Oh fuck you, Neal!"

Neal threw up his hands. "Yeah, fuck me, I'm such an asshole. You're boozing nonstop and popping pills like a groupie or something, but I'm the one who's being unreasonable."

He fell silent; she was crying into her hands, her shoulders trembling.

Outside the kitchen door, Vanessa bit her lip, shook her head.

"Josh, you son-of-a-bitch," she whispered.

***

"Hey!" she said, prodding him hard. "Hey! Wake up, dammit!"

Her brother stirred a little, rolled over. He grinned at her toothily.

"Mmm," he groaned sleepily. "Curbside service -- now that's more like it."

"What did you do?" she said sharply.

"What did I do? What the fuck are --"

"To Mom. What did you do?"

"Nothing. To Mom? What are you talking about --"

"Bullshit, nothing! You snuck into her room, didn't you?"

Josh waved his arms about mockingly, said in a girly voice: "Oh, I didn't do anything with Daddy, Josh! I just slept with him tuz I was sooo told!"

"God damn it, you fucker --" She hammered at him several times, hurting her wrist against his hard shoulder. Grinning, he grabbed her hands in his stronger ones, planted a kiss on her lips while she squirmed. She broke away after kicking his shins and leapt back against the door.

"Don't even think about it, you asshole!" she snarled. "Tell me what you did."

Her brother shrugged and lay back on the bed again, casually crossing one leg over the other.

"I just paid her a little visit, that's all. Nothing serious."

"You didn't."

He laughed at her. "Okay, I didn't. You're the one making accusations, sweetheart."

"Josh, you went and messed with her last night? For real?"

"I just told you I did."

"And did she know it? Did she wake up, did she recognize you --"

"Are you kidding? The way she's been tripping lately? I coulda buttfucked her and she wouldn't have known it." He stroked his cock through his briefs carelessly."Mom keeps on trippin', trippin', trippin', into the futuuure . . . "

"Well, she's downstairs telling Dad about it right now, smartass," said Vanessa.

He stopped singing.

"No kidding? What's she say?"

"That someone was playing with her last night. She thought it was Dad at first. Now she's crying about it."

"Aw, shit. I didn't mean to make her cry. Hell, I thought she was liking it."

"You're such a selfish ass, Josh."

"Oh yeah, I'm terrible. Of course, we both know it couldn't have been Dad playing with her cuz Dad was playing with you, wasn't he?"

"Fuck you."

"Wasn't he? Yeah, that's what I thought." He lay back again and pulled out his cock, stroking it languidly. "She looks pretty good naked, you know? Not as good as you, baby, but then she's got twenty years on you. She's got nice big titties, big nipples like you. Waaay hairy pussy."

"Josh, I did not come up her to watch you jack off! Just promise me you won't mess with her again."

"I'm not promising you shit. Here, you want me to promise something?" He waved his hardening dick in her direction. "Come lick this and I promise not to mess with her again."

"Oh, you fucking wish."

He shrugged.

"'Kay. I'll just have to drop by again tonight, then."

Vanessa clung to the door, frustrated at her powerlessness. Her brother ignored her, went back to stroking himself. Finally she left.

***

Neal caught up with her that afternoon when she was getting out of the shower. He knocked softly and said "It's me," and she let him in as quietly as she could. Once the door was closed he was all over her, touching and stroking her body through the towel, kissing her deep and passionately. His kisses, his groping hands, his energy swiftly awakened her sex, and she felt her knees weaken beneath her. Still, she knew it was too risky at this time of day, and she eventually succeeded in holding him at arm's length.

"Where's everyone else?" she whispered.

"They're in the kitchen, playing Checkers. At least Josh is playing; your mother's just kinda there."

"You better get back down -- one of them might come looking for you."

"I know, baby, but I had to see you," he said, reaching out to stroke her breasts. "I've been dying to be with you all day."

"Oh God, I know, Daddy -- me too. But you can't stay in here. We could never explain it -- we might get caught."

"I know. Here, just let me have a quick suck --"

She lowered her towel obediently and he sucked a nipple into his mouth, stooping, while she stroked his hair.

"Oh shit," she whispered. "You're getting me wet . . . "

"Mmm . . . you smell nice," he mumbled contentedly.

"Mmmf, aw shit! -- Daddy -- you gotta go! Someone might --"

BAM! BAM! BAM!

A huge knocking at the door, inches away from them. Vanessa's blood froze, while her father straightened so quickly his back popped.

"Hey Ness, is Dad in there?" came Josh's voice.

The two of them stared at each other, Neal's face a mask of panic.

"Um -- no. I'm taking a shower," she replied.

"Oh, okay. Well, tell him the power just came back on."

The sounds of his steps down the hall -- sounds they hadn't heard somehow when he came to the door. Her father's face was full of troubled questions, terrified conclusions. Vanessa tried to make light of it, flicking on the switch to light the room.

"Yay," she said, smiling lamely.

"He -- how did he know --" Neal tried to say.

"Hurry up and get downstairs," she ordered, kissing him dismissively. "We'll get together later. I promise."

She rushed her father out the door and locked it, stood for a while in front of the heater vent, now pouring out warmth for the first time in days.

That fucker, Josh. He was playing mean and he was playing dirty. He obviously didn't care what happened, as long as he got his.

"Stupid mother fucker," she said aloud -- and then she swallowed hard as the words sunk in. If she didn't do something fast, that's exactly what he would be.

***

The return of electricity was an extremely mixed blessing, at least for Neal. On the one hand, it meant they could get out of the kitchen, didn't have to endure each other within a twenty by fifteen foot space. And the television was soon up and running again, the cable was back on. Josh, Nessa and Sherry soon got lost in front of it in the den, making up for the recent drought by vegging for hours with Fred Flintstone, Archie Bunker, Barney Miller, Johnny Fever . . .

On the other hand, the return of heat completely destroyed any possible excuse for sleeping with Vanessa that night. She couldn't say to any unforeseen intruder that she was just trying to get warm. So anything that happened between them would have to happen very sneakily.

Not that Neal thought excuses would do much good anyway -- not with his son. He was still puzzling over Josh's remark from the other side of the bathroom door that afternoon. It made no sense, unlesshe knew Neal was inside.

Is Dad in there? -- No -- Okay, then tell him the power's on.

What the hell? Why did he respond that way? Why would he think they were together in the bathroom in the first place? They never had been before. And how come they didn't hear him come to the door? Granted, he had been greatly preoccupied with sucking Nessa's tit -- but they should have heard something . . . unless he snuck up to the door, in which case, what the hell did that mean?

Neither his son's eyes, when he could catch them, nor his mannerisms told Neal anything. True, the boy had given him a few significant glances days ago -- but that was well before anything happened with Vanessa. Had he seen them together somehow? Heard them last night? Neal tried to imagine his chronically lazy son rising at four in the morning to listen at the office door and couldn't. Josh lived in his bed. He'd probably never even seen a sun rise, just thought someone switched it on. It was inconceivable that he should be spying on them, or at least, that he could catch on so soon. And Vanessa certainly wouldn't have told him.

Still, why that loaded question? Why sneak up to the bathroom door? It seemed obvious he knew something -- but what?

Neal rested his forehead against the cold windowpane in the living room, stared out at the eternal whiteness. Oh, this was awful, this was too much like cheating -- always asking questions, wondering if Sherry was catching on. Maybe the snow would begin to melt soon -- then he and Nessa could sneak away for a while. They could go into Fulmer, or even into Tampa perhaps, get a room . . . It seemed absurd, plotting such nefarious activities -- which belonged in his mind to his Melanie phase -- with his own daughter. But at some point during the day he had chosen quite consciously not to think too much about what he was doing. Their night together had been unbelievable, ecstatic -- the most mind-blowing night he'd ever spent with a woman, any woman. Whether his excitement occurred in spite of their being father and daughter, or whether it stemmed from that very fact, he didn't know. Maybe it would all catch up with him and his life would be ruined. Maybe he'd go crazy, unable to cope with his disgusting perversion. If there was a hell he was definitely going, he knew that. But even if he couldn't adopt such a casual, devil-may-care attitude about their sex, as Nessa could, he knew he wanted more of it. Maybe with the thaw, they could find a way to fuck each other in more secure surroundings. The big house was suddenly shrinking in on him.

But even as he stood in the glow of the Christmas tree, watching and hoping, the little flakes began to flutter down again, damning them all to their confinement.

***

For the first time in days, Vanessa took Jasper out that evening without telling her brother. But he followed her out anyway, he'd been watching her. When she didn't head for the barn he grabbed her ass, even though they were well within the view of the living room windows.

"Cut it out!' she said, smacking his hand.

"Oh, so now I don't get to touch you at all? Now that you're Daddy's little girl?"

"Just stop it. Someone'll see, you asshole."

"Oh boo hoo, someone might see. I really don't give a fuck anymore, Ness. Let 'em see. I mean, you're doing Dad and I'm doing Mom. Who's gonna object?"

She looked at him hard through the cascading snowflakes.

"You're not doing Mom," she said. "You said you just touched her."

"I put my fingers in her a little bit. She liked it, I think -- her ass lifted off the bed and she moaned. Nice wet, fat, hairy pussy -- looked good. Maybe I'll have a little taste tonight . . . "

"Josh!"

"By the way, I notice you didn't dispute me about Dad. You really are fucking him now, aren't you?"

"Fuck off!"

"Was it good, Ness? Was it everything you hoped for?"

"Leave me alone!"

Suddenly he had grabbed her wrist, was wrenching it painfully, thrusting her up against the barn. Jasper turned about and stared at them worriedly.

"I'm not gonna leave you alone, you little cunt!" he hissed into her face between his teeth. "You can fuck him and me if you want, but you're not gonna fuck him instead of me. You got that?"

"Let me go, dammit! You're hurting me!"

"Have you got that?" he snarled, his eyes flashing.

"Yes, okay! Okay! Let me go . . . "

Jasper whined at the pain in her voice, growled suspiciously at Josh.

"Now let me tell you what you're gonna do," he said, releasing her wrist to unzip his pants. "You're gonna go down on me right here, right now, and you're gonna suck up all my cum and you're gonna like it. Then you're gonna come to my bed tonight. Understand?"

Vanessa nodded, watching his fingers pulling his erection out of his pants. She was cold and she was annoyed, and she was certainly in no mood to service her brother, least of all where someone might see them at it. But she was also a little afraid of him -- he made a habit of being a rude asshole, but she had never seen him this angry, this forceful and mean.

When she dropped to her knees he gave her shoulder a shove and grunted masterfully -- that was more than enough for Jasper.

In a flash he was all over Josh, growling like a demon from hell, flailing about with his claws, snapping with bared fangs while Josh rolled to get away from him. It took her almost a full minute to get him under control again, and by that time Josh had scratches all over his hands and forearms, a gash on his cheek, and a shroud of snow all over his dick.

She laughed while he cursed and fumed and threatened. But it wasn't a laughing matter. She got back inside as quickly as she could.

***

"Oh my God!" cried Sherry, rising from the couch. "Joshua Lawrence, what the hell did you do?"

Her snowy son, wiping blood from his cheek with a scratched-up hand, shrugged sheepishly. "Aw, I fell down outside, taking Jasper out. Slipped. In the snow. And I, uh, fell in some brambles."

"Well, crap, just look at you! You shouldn't be outside anyway -- Vanessa, why didn't you take him out? He's your dog."

"I did take him out," her daughter replied, with what was perhaps the ghost of a smile playing around her lips. "He wanted to tag along."

Sherry clicked her tongue and shook her head, which was throbbing.

"Well, go up and put some peroxide on it. Honestly, you're sick, Josh. Don't go outside anymore till you're better."

While he trudged up the stairs, Sherry surveyed her daughter, who was definitely laughing at something, yet who also looked a bit worried, a bit troubled.

"What's up?" she asked her frankly, not inclined to mince words. That was one very good thing about alcohol; it made a person bold.

"Nothing," claimed Vanessa.

"No, I saw you laughing at your brother. You think it's funny he hurt himself?"

Vanessa pushed her hair back with a scowl.

"He deserved it. He was . . . picking on Jasper."

"Picking on him how?"

"Mom, I don't know. Antagonizing him."

Surely it proved something, she thought, that she could tell Vanessa was lying. Surely that demonstrated that she was in no drug-induced haze, the way her husband wanted her to believe. She was sharp enough to smell something up between her two children, though she couldn't tell what.

If only you could talk, she thought, stroking Jasper's cold head.

Watching the whole conversation from his chair, Neal tried to transmit his own messages to Vanessa unsuccessfully:What's going on between you and Josh? Why did he follow you outside? Why does he always follow you outside? The dog quite obviously attacked the boy -- that was a claw mark on his cheek. But why?

But his daughter, who had spoken so much about trust the night before, refused to meet his eyes, and left him to stew in his own speculations. A little later, when he caught her alone in the den, he leaned across the coffee table to whisper to her.

"What happened? Outside, with Josh?"

Nessa looked confused and evasive for an instant, then shook her head.

"Nothing. He just slipped, that's all," she lied.

Neal watched her trying to ignore him for a while, pretending to focus on the TV.

"Are you going to come see me tonight?" he asked in a low voice.

Again she appeared unsure, evasive. "I'm gonna try. It might not be easy."

"Why?"

She shrugged, glancing furtively down the hallway.

"With the power back on, I mean. I can't just say I was cold now."

He nodded to himself; so she had thought of that too. Of course, this was the same girl that had led him into his office only the night before to fuck him for hours. No amount of cold could have explained a locked door and the raucous sounds of sex behind it if Sherry had stumbled upon them.

She was worried, all right -- but not about the power being back on. There was something going on between her and Josh. Neal suspected he knew what.

Somehow, God only knew, the boy had found out about them, just that quick. Perhaps he had been outside that office door, after all. Was he threatening to tell Sherry? Maybe he was trying blackmail Nessa in some way? Something ugly had passed between them outside, something that put that fearful look in his daughter's eyes, and, he supposed, caused Jasper to rip into the boy. Old Jasper was not the best watchdog in the world, but he was fiercely protective of Nessa. All Josh might have to do was raise his voice to put himself in dutch with the mutt.

That was assuredly the scenario, or some close variation of it. Neal decided not to pressure Nessa quite so much; she was probably as scared shitless of Sherry finding out as he was. God damn that son of his!

"Just find some way to come down for a little while, as early as you can," he whispered. "We need to talk."

***

Sherry retired at about ten, toyed with the idea of lying awake to watch TV, wrote it off as pointless. Whether she was becoming some kind of junkie or not, she recognized that, despite a brief lift in her spirits, she had now settled into a whole new category of despair. Oddly enough, it may have had as much to do with the big rubber dick Vanessa had given her as anything else. She wasn't Vanessa. She couldn't get used to sticking some foreign object into her for pleasure, no matter how nice it felt. She also couldn't reconcile herself to cheating on her husband -- not that there was anyone to cheat with, anyhow. So, there it was. Neal had his fun; she had only despondency and gloom.

The only thing she was determined not to do was eat her head off, tempting as that was. She hadn't developed her skimpy eating habits and worked for what was left of her figure to throw it all away over Neal. Besides, it was her mind, not her body, that she wished to escape. So drink and painkillers were the way to go for now, no matter how much her smug husband might disapprove.

At ten thirty Vanessa knocked on her mother's door and was beckoned in. Her mother looked absolutely awful: haggard, tired, spent and anxious all in one. Vanessa sat on the edge of her bed and held her hand, chatting with her for a time. She felt like she was visiting in a hospital, so fundamentally unwell did her mother look. They talked about trifles, since Sherry's state of mind was touch and go at best (there was an empty Scotch bottle on the bedside table, Vanessa noted). When they had exhausted every relatively harmless subject, she kissed her mother and rose to leave.

Just outside the door she paused, shaken from the ordeal. She had never seen Sherry looking so bad, not even during those first few weeks after she found out about Neal's affair.

Neal decided not to play games with his son that night, and simply announced he was going to bed at eleven, so Josh needed to vacate the den. The boy disappeared without argument or even comment, though there was definitely tension between them and had been all evening.

When he crawled beneath the covers, leaving the TV on to provide a little background noise, Neal slipped off his boxers and his shirt and tossed them aside. He rather fancied the idea of dozing off and then awakening to find his daughter's mouth on him; this way she had easy access. And, if she wasn't able to come down to him, for whatever reason, he would at least sleep more comfortably. Thoughts of Sherry, of guilt, of consequences, he pushed from his head. He and Vanessa could not afford to waste time; they must take what they could get.

In his room Josh also stripped down before climbing into bed, and for much the same reasons as his father had. He even left his door open a crack, so Vanessa could come in quietly. He thought about their confrontation in the yard that evening with satisfaction -- even if the fucking dog had nearly maimed him for life. It was about time, he had decided, that his sister realized to whom she had real obligations. Playing around on the side was one thing, but he wasn't about to be passed up in his own home for his old man. They had a history between them, she and he, and she needed to be reminded of that.

Cold or no cold, he opened his window after a quarter of an hour and lit up some chronic, trying to be patient. Before long the room swam in a pleasant mist, and he stroked himself absently, warming up for their session together. He was determined it was going to be a long, hard one.

***

Vanessa took a deep breath and stepped out into the dark hallway at midnight, softly closing the door on Jasper, who was upside down and fast asleep on her bed. Good old Jasper, her protector. She half wished she could bring him with her. Of course, that was out of the question -- he'd rip Josh's balls off.

She didn't know how things had gotten into such a total mess. And she couldn't help but feel responsible for it all, despite the best of intentions.

Her mother -- oh dear God, her mother. What had happened to her? She had hoped to provide her with a little self confidence, not to mention some much-needed physical relief, when she gave her the dildo and that little woman-to-woman. But from the looks of it her mother was determined to fry her brains instead, and sink off to sleep in a stupor. That alone would be bad enough -- but now the poor woman also had her own son coming to molest her at night, while she struggled to awaken. And that too could be laid at Vanessa's door, albeit indirectly. If she hadn't "neglected" her brother, he would never have started playing with their mother.

Vanessa wasn't about to claim responsibility for her brother's insane attitude or his reckless actions. But she knew he felt betrayed somehow, and felt she ought to have known him better than to risk snubbing him. Josh had always been jealous of her -- he had nearly come to blows with Brad a number of times, and over the slightest provocation. But she had never known him to be so brutal, so genuinely frightening. Being stranded in the house for so long had apparently made him a little crazy.

Actually it had made them all a little crazy, she figured. Her mother had chosen to deal with it by self-medicating herself into oblivion. Josh had responded by getting mean. She and her father were the lucky ones, really; they dealt with it by finding each other. Vanessa could not have been happier that they had crossed the line the night before and become lovers. Now her only worry regarding Neal was her nutty brother and his volatile moods. She desperately wanted to keep her relationship with Josh a secret from her dad, at least for a while. But with her brother becoming rash and spiteful, she feared that disclosure, even a confrontation between them, was becoming inevitable.

Her plan for the night was simple -- perhaps too simple to work, she worried. She would visit Josh first, as she had promised, and she would play the submissive for him. Since he was long accustomed to her calling the shots in bed, that alone should satisfy his vanity or his wounded pride or whatever his beef was. She would do what he asked and give him what he wanted without complaining, only hoping he didn't insist on cumming inside her. She didn't want to just "talk" with her father later, but could hardly go down to him hoping for more sex if she had a pussy full of Josh's cum.

She pushed his door open slowly and stepped into his room, the pungent aroma of weed invading her nostrils. Everything was dark. She peered through the inky blackness to his bed, thinking that he might be stoned out of his gourd, in which case she could back out and go downstairs with a clear conscience. But just as she was about to open the door again her brother's voice came stabbing through the darkness.

"You're late," he complained.

"Oh fuck, Josh. Don't push your luck."

Submissive, submissive, she reminded herself. It was so hard, varying their pattern. The whole crux of their relationship for years had been her mastery over him. She was smarter than he was, more experienced, more sexual even. To let him have control seemed ridiculous, even dangerous, given his lack of caution or restraint.

"Come here," he ordered her.

She floated through the room to his bedside, arms at her sides. She was hoping that, if she put in her best effort, an hour might satisfy him. Two at the most. She promised herself that she would perform to her utmost, resolved to curb her criticisms and follow his orders. Who knows -- perhaps it might be fun, being Josh's sub for a night or two. He couldn't really be that mad at her, could he? She was far and away his best lay; hell, until the snow thawed, she was his only lay. When he got himself another girlfriend they'd go back to normal.

Dress was important, she knew, for every occasion. Even for times like this, when she wouldn't be keeping anything on for long. She had decided to flatter Josh's masterful mood a little tonight, to encourage his deluded impression that he was the boss. So she'd put on an old, and much too small, pair of flowery cotton panties. They were from the sixth or seventh grade -- she couldn't remember which -- one of several pair she had kept expressly to create just this effect. Stretched taut and thin, they barely covered her ass, leaving most of her cheeks exposed, while her wispy, dark pussyhair peeked out both sides of the tiny crotch. The leg elastic bit into her much broader thighs uncomfortably, but then, she wouldn't have to put up with it long. On top she'd worn the flouncy, lacy teddy top from an outfit she'd received at her wedding shower. Again, the flimsy garment could barely contain her; she'd doubled her bust size since then. Meant to cling tantalizingly close to her pantyline, the hemline instead fell just above her navel due to her sloped belly, so that a good six inches of skin lay exposed.

Naturally she was freezing to death in such a skimpy outfit, even with the heat back on. But that just made her nips rock hard, prominent points in the teddy, something which Josh -- which any man, unless he was gay -- would surely appreciate. Her legs and arms were covered with chill bumps, too, but that would just make her appear helpless, more vulnerable.

She stood close in the half light, letting her brother, little more than a shadow in the corner, look her over. She could vaguely see him slowly stroking his big piece of meat with his left hand; now his right hand snaked forward to touch her belly, to rub her jutting nipples through the teddy. Then it fell to the hemline, held it briefly, gave it a tug.

"Take it off," he said to her. She could barely see his glinting eyes in the pitch black corner.

Obediently, she hoisted the top over her head, exposing her breasts and broad belly to the chill air streaming in through the window. She immediately broke out in a new set of chill bumps, but did not dare to complain.

"All of it, panties too."

Shit, she thought. Nothing, no effect at all. She had hoped the little schoolgirl look would entertain him a while, so he'd be plenty excited by the time they fucked. She didn't want this to last too long.

"Nice," was all he said, when she slid the panties off her ass and kicked them off her toe.

There was a click, and she was suddenly blinded by the lamp beside his bed. She squinted at him, finally making out that he too was naked, and that, yes, he had been stroking his cock to hardness. She felt a little thrill pass through her. Crazy or not, he was one gorgeous man, even with the wounds Jasper had left on him, the bite she had left on his shoulder a few nights ago. And he sported an absolutely edible dick.

"Did you leave your music on like I asked?"

She nodded, watching his scratch-mottled hand play over his thick, veiny shaft leisurely. It was a pointless question: you could hear the dull thud of her stereo, even through two walls.

"Good, because I'm gonna make some noise tonight. And so are you."

What he did next surprised her completely. After their ominous confrontation behind the barn earlier, she expected him to be merciless with her, and entirely selfish. A blow job, some anal -- something to make him feel in charge, in control, in possession of her. But, with the delighted leer of a dirty old man, he chose to begin by eating her, swiveling himself on the bed so that his head hung over the edge and his feet were against the wall.

"Come here," he said. "Let me have it."

Vanessa stepped forward and straddled his face carefully, gasping a little when he immediately thrust his tongue up into her. She couldn't help but smirk, though silently, when she considered it, her fears for the evening subsiding. Here was her badass little brother, trying to crack the whip and own her for the night -- and the best he could think of to do was to eat her out, his nose pressed firmly against her asshole. Honestly, there couldn't be a less domineering posture. She smiled to herself and relaxed a little, stroking her tits in time to his licks. Oh, the boy could use some lessons in dominating, that's for sure. But he was pretty good at muffdiving . . .

As her brother pulled his face back some, taking time to lick around her pussy lips and even dip down into her asshole, Vanessa had to balance on her tiptoes to give him room. It was a wonderful, precarious sensation -- hovering there getting eaten, nearly falling over when he got enthusiastic. She watched his cock rising in front of her, his ass squirming against the bed as he swallowed her juices. He was getting very turned on doing this -- if she were to grab that beautiful dick and start sucking she might get his first cum out of the way very quickly. But dammit, she wasn't so inclined to rush any longer, not if he was going to be a good boy and munch on her for a while. It had been the only thing she missed about poor, geeky Brad over the holidays -- his need to lick her cunt for hours on end. Brad worshipped her pussy, that was one reason he was worth keeping around.

She looked down to watch what her brother was doing, frankly fascinated at his choice of openers. Her protruding baby belly did not allow her to see much: only his neck muscles straining to keep his jaw moving. His fingers were stroking delicately at his own nipples. It was uncanny -- Josh almost never chose to eat her. About the only time he spent this much effort gobbling her up was when they were in sixty-nine, and that was mainly because what she was doing to his dick was driving him out of his mind. Was he working himself up to something? Was he sorry about before, trying to apologize? Was he trying to win her away from Neal by doing something nice for once?

Vanessa decided, floating on a happy wave of sensation as her clit mashed his chin, that for all his bluff and bluster, he was happy only when she was in the lead. The poor dope didn't know how to take charge -- hadn't she told him as much only the other night? You need someone to outfuck you, she had said, and he obviously knew it. She suddenly changed her mind about Jeannie Crews' being right for her baby brother. If the girl just blew him in a car and didn't get anything in return -- not even a kiss -- then she wasn't strong enough to keep Josh on a leash where he belonged. So he'd been too squeamish about tasting his own cum to kiss her? She should have made him lick his cum out of her mouth -- or better, fed it back to him from her pussy. If she had the "balls" to do that, she might be able to handle Josh. He was so stuck on himself that he needed that taking down. And Vanessa had always been able and willing to provide it.

Feeling suddenly empowered -- not to mention vengeful after the scare he'd given her earlier, the stupid way he'd been acting -- she gritted her teeth and tightened the hold of her thighs on his head, planted her feet firmly on the ground. She raked her fingernails across his belly and ground into him, cramming her pussy against his mouth, her asshole against his nose. She could feel his tongue whipping into a fury inside her, could feel the suction of his lips as he slurped up all her flowing juices, listened to his stifled attempts to get a breath with pleasure. She had a good mind simply to rock herself to orgasm on his face. It would so serve him right just to serve as her masturbation tool, his whole face nothing but a set of protuberances on which to flail her tingling pussy.

But she wanted more than that. He was a dirty, selfish, insensitive asshole but he had a gorgeous body and a fantastic dick (even if it was now, she thought, licking her lips, only the second best dick she'd ever had). It would be a shame to ignore that rising, throbbing column of meat in front of her, she decided, leaning forward and wrapping her hand around it -- mmm, hot and hard, spasming in her grasp, surging upward . . .

Her brother squirmed and thrashed beneath her, making muffled sounds of protest against her cunt. Vanessa only laughed -- until he wrapped his arms around her thighs and pulled her off balance, trying to turn the tables on her. She fell forward and to the side, her head thudding against the wall while her brother scrambled to escape from between her legs. Crashing to the bed, she clamped her thighs shut with all her strength, her fist tugging and pumping at his cock in double-time.

The prick -- did he think he was going to call the shots now? Too late now, fuckhead.

She hunched her ass around to get a better hold on his head, squeezing his nuts a bit too hard, to take the fight out of him. He moaned but didn't stop struggling.

All at once there came a gigantic crashing noise, like a dump truck had just tipped its load into the tiny room. She twisted just in time to avoid a falling plank and several heavy objects that came skidding down the wall to bounce on the bed -- Josh's flailing foot had kicked loose his trophy shelf --

-- Neal awoke with a start, a hard, heavy thud resounding in his ears. His senses suddenly on full alert, he listened intently. Seconds later, a huge crash upstairs, almost above his head.

Josh's room, he thought, leaping out of his rude bed.

What the hell was going on up there -- were they fighting? He had suspected his son of being angry with Nessa earlier, even cruel -- but he hadn't thought it would turn violent. Heart hammering in his chest, he rooted around on the dark floor for his shorts in vain, until the sound of raised voices reached his ears.

"Fuck it," he muttered, running for the stairway naked, his head full of ugly images --

-- startled by the noise, the tumbling objects, she had lost her hold on his head, and her brother scrambled onto his hands and knees beside her, his pussy-wet face snarling with rage, his eyes as wild and fierce as they had been earlier, behind the barn. Vanessa's voice caught in her throat.

"You stupid bitch!" he yelled at her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I -- I didn't do it . . . it was your foot --"

But there was no way he was going to listen to her. He launched his whole body on top of her, grabbed her wrists and pinned her arms back while he fought to get between her legs --

"Josh," she tried to say, whispering harshly up at his wounded face, "Josh, stop it -- we're making too much noise -- dammit, stop it! --"

He wasn't listening, he was only bent on getting her legs open. She could have fought him off, but she was desperately trying to keep the noise down. Impossible to judge how loud that crash had been -- maybe her mother wouldn't have heard it, sedated as she was. If only the dumb bastard would stop fighting her, stop wrenching at her arms, kneeing her in the thighs, trying to nudge her open . . . best not to fight him, she thought finally, spreading wide her legs. He was in her, up to his balls, in an instant -- so hard and so sudden it took her breath away . . .

A second later the world caved in.

With a resounding, springing smack the door flew open -- Vanessa gasped and twisted to the side to see -- her brother stopped his thrusting but remained lodged inside her, merely turning his head to the door.

Their father stood silently in the doorway, his stern face written over with confusion and dismay.

For some reason he was naked, and -- in a moment that seemed to defy time, lasting forever in her mind -- Vanessa's eyes ran over his hairy body and fat, dangling dick, a feeling of unutterable sadness and regret filling her soul. A body she had only just begun to know, a lover she had just discovered though he was there all along. And now she knew he would be lost to her forever.

Her brother's cock plopped noiselessly out of her as he fell back, gaining his feet to confront their father. Neal ignored him, his eyes surveying for several heart-stopping seconds the sight of his naked, pregnant, spread-eagled daughter -- Vanessa felt as though she could shrink away into nothingness and still not escape those troubled eyes.

"Did you want something, old man?" she heard Josh snarl. Incredibly, there was no trace of dismay or contrition in his voice, only indignation.

Her father spoke low, his bewildered tone matching his features.

"This . . . so this is what's been going on," he said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, this is what's been going on," Josh snapped. "And don't act all righteous with me, cuz you've been fucking her too. Only I've been fucking her for years, Neal."

"You . . . piece of shit," he growled, slowly turning to Josh. "You miserable piece of shit."

"Dad," Vanessa croaked throatily, seeing rage in her father's eyes. "Daddy, no . . . listen to me --"

"Hey, fuck you, pal!" said Josh. "I notice you didn't mind having a go at her -- even if you were getting sloppy seconds!"

Vanessa watched in horror as Neal made a lunge at Josh, a lunge which he dodged, planting his knee in his father's stomach. While Neal gasped in pain and surprise, his face paling, Josh pushed him away so that he stumbled to the floor with a gigantic thump. Immediately, Josh was yelling at him to get up again -- he wasn't long in waiting. Among the myriad of crazed and absurd thoughts that raced through Vanessa's mind as she watched the naked spectacle, the recollection that her father had played football in high school suddenly became the most prominent. Neal launched himself from the floor into his son's body, tackling him amidships and sending him crashing against the bureau.

She winced, both at the evident painfulness of the blow and at the noise -- when would these two morons remember that Sherry was but one thin wall away? Several times she tried to speak, to intervene, but there was no getting through to them as they swung and cursed at each other. She huddled herself into the corner and clutched at one of the heavier trophies, determined to put an end to the struggle as soon as she had a clear shot -- at which of them she wasn't sure.