YPA: Your Privacy Assured/YPA.ISO/text/familypact2.sty

Text File | 1995-02-04 | 5KB | 95 lines

                           A FAMILY PACT
                         (edited by EROS!)

                              Part 2.

    Sue does not turn when I come out to the porch, but stares at the ice
 dark lake water, or perhaps the fast-moving cumulus clouds that are the
 silver lining of a starry sky. For the first time I hear the wind
 whistling. I feel I must talk to my daughter, say something to her...
 explain... anything. I sense that she is troubled by what she saw, but I
 don't know it it is embarrassment, guilt or even jealousy. I put my hands
 on her shoulders, in a fatherly gesture. She does not flinch, she knows I
 am there. I want to press my body against her, but she is obviously
 upset... there should be space here now. It is hard for both of us to
 come to terms with the intimacy she has witnessed. I suddenly have an
 uncontrollable urge to share it with her.

    Sue has shared our parental love for her, but never actually witnessed
 our physical love until now. It's as if she's been in our lives, loving
 us both, but in a cameo role. I can understand the indignant flexing of
 her back, and the way her shoulders melt into my palms. I ask Sue if she
 would like to come back inside, now that the fire is roaring. It is cold
 out here.

    She turns, and for the first time realises that I am still naked. Her
 eyes seem to sparkle mischievously in the firelight and I seem to detect
 a tiny smile lift the corners of her mouth as my cock brushes
 inadvertently against her thigh. I shiver at the momentary contact, but
 not because of the cold. Come on inside, I tell her with a grin, before
 your poor old Dad catches pneumonia. I sit her on the couch in front of
 the fire and go in search of my wife.

    Nina is in the kitchen. I tell her everything, except the fact that
 the idea of our own daughter watching us have sex actually turned me on.
 But Nina is no fool. She nuzzles my neck and whispers; "You want to fuck
 her, don't you?" What can I say. I shrug my shoulders non-committally and
 just stare at her stupidly. I could never successfully lie to Nina.

 "It's okay, leave everything to me," she whispers, "Now go keep her
 company while I get us some drinks" I shake my head in disbelief, but do
 as Nina says. I always have.

    Sue is still on the couch where I left her, fidgeting uneasily. We sit
 beside one another, separated by a palm width of propriety, she in her
 gleaming leotard while I am still naked. I watch as the light from the
 burning logs flickers over her beautiful face. She has her mother's
 fair looks, serene yet with a tantalizing hint of devilment about her.
 There are freckles on her cheeks that almost glow as the tongues of flame
 lick outward in the fireplace. I can feel my daughter's flush rise from
 the warmth of the blaze before us. I long to savour that young animal
 heat rising from her tender flesh with my hands, but to feel it is
 inappropriate. We stare at the depth of the fire, apart, together.

    Nina comes into the room. She bears a tray with a bottle of wine and
 three glasses and sets it down on the table in front of the overstuffed
 couch catty corner to the Ottoman where I sit beside Sue. Nina is wearing
 a silk wrap around gown that barely reaches to the top of her thighs and
 that is translucent in the roar of the fire. Nina's light brown hair
 drops over this fine material and seems to be organic, pulsing in the
 light of the flames. She tells me to clean myself, and I realize that our
 outpourings have gelled on my lower body. I leave, as instructed and wash
 my genitals in the sink of our white tiled bathroom. The warm water from the
 faucet flows over my nether parts, the bar of soap cleaning the evidence
 our strenuous coupling away with its bubbling lather. In the bedroom I
 find a pair of grey cotton drawstring pants and a black T-shirt and put
 them on.

    Five minutes have passed when I return to the room. From the top of
 the varnished stairs I can see the fire has ebbed, and that Nina and Sue
 sit close together on the couch. Their bodies are white, but the
 luminesce of Nina's gown glares over the whiteness of Sue's body suit.
 Their arms and heads are dull shadows, Sue's blonde head a nightlight,
 Nina's light brown hair a texture in the penumbra of her radiance. I walk
 down the stairs behind the couch. For a moment I think that Sue is
 crying. Her head is almost buried into the crotch of her mother's armpit,
 and Nina is caressing Sue's back. My bare feet let me move silently
 across the hardwood floor but Nina looks up as I approach. I catch her
 glance and its message.

    Slowly Nina's caresses pull the straps of Sue's leotard off her
 shoulders. I place my hands on Sue's neck, my fingers dwelling over its
 nape, tracing over the shape of the vertebrae. I help push the straps
 down my daughter's upper arms and palm the corner of each shoulder with
 each hand, as I held her earlier on the porch. Again I want to press my
 body against her back. Nina nuzzles Sue's cheek and neck. I watch as Nina
 slowly works the top of Sue's leotard down. I can see from my vantage
 point, behind the couch, the creamy swell of her firm young breasts
 emerge to the light. Sue's nipples are distended, almost like grub worms,
 in their erectness. I long to pinch them, or at least cup her breasts
 like I do her shoulders, but instead I watch as Nina's nose and mouth
 trace a line of kisses and pressure to the cleavage between Sue's
 breasts.