Somehow, during this incredible action, I remembered that Missie had been a dancer, I decided to try something. I knew I was going to be shot down when this one was over, and I wanted to make it memorable for both of us.
So when my time got real close, I broke her hold on her legs and seized them myself, just inside the knees, and, while her cunt convulsed like no tomorrow, I forced her thighs further and further apart, until they were flat against the sheet, at right angles to her heaving torso… doing a perfect split.
Then, while she moaned and cried and pummeled me with insensate fists, I held her there while I pulled my dripping dong out of her whirlpool of pleasure to give it a brief respite before plunging back in for the final assault on the citadel of delight, leaving the tip just close enough so that she could barely brush its crown with the outer edges of her whirling labia.
“You're killing me, you bastard… you're killing me!” she gasped. “Put it in again or I'll die.”
For the moment, the air felt good on my prick, which had been buried in Missie for a long time… while she squirmed and thumped and thrust vainly beneath me to regain its solace within her, and, enjoying this part of the action, I could see the great spreading wet spot on the sheet beneath where our fucking pieces had fused.
She tried to grab my cock with both hands to stuff it back into her, but I took evasive action in time and the position in which I was holding her prevented her from getting a grip on it.
“Jesu!” she gasped. “Por favor, Jeff… I'm dying?”
It was time; I lowered my loins until my cock was lined up perfectly with the quivering, creaming cunt that lay entirely exposed in front of it… then let her have it, dead center and all the way up. She uttered a cry of relief and delight and her fingernails dug into my buttocks as she grabbed them tight to draw me into her still further and to prevent me from withdrawing again.
My withdrawal enabled me to gorge myself a few minutes longer on the feast of fucking that was my stepmother, and the action was best of all… but finally I could hold back no longer, and, letting go of her legs, which snapped around me like coiled springs, I dug so far into her that, when the sperm finally spurted, I felt as if I was firing it into her beautiful throat.
I lay within her, half cocked, while she came down from whatever cloud she was riding, and did not give her navel a third workout… it could have killed both of us. I knew her secret and that was enough, and she knew I knew it and that was even better. She'd never be able to look at me, or even think of me, again without starting to cream. My sex education might have begun late, but I had certainly had a crash course in fucking… enough to learn that much anyway.
When the glaze left her lovely eyes and my once-proud cock was a button mushroom barely containable by her labia, she stirred and kissed me tenderly and crooned over me like something precious and said, “Jesu, darling Jeff, what am I going to do with you?”
I slipped my hand between our bellies and let a finger drift close to her navel. She convulsed and cried, “No, darling, not again. I mean it.”
I said, “But I was just getting warmed up,” and she reached for my wilted prick and diddled it and we looked at each other and laughed aloud and I knew what we felt was love. Then she detached herself from me and our separation was like peeling a mustard plaster, so effectively had our sex glue bound us together.
She sat up and stretched and regarded herself in the mirror and pouted and said, “Jesu, I'm a mess!”
Then she froze, and I followed her gaze in the mirror and turned my eyes toward the door. Crowded in its arched opening were, not necessarily in that order, Jean and Francie and Darlene and Anita and Cousin George. Their eyes were popping and their mouths were hanging open along with everything else, for they were still stark naked… everything but Cousin George's tortured prick, which still rose valiantly toward the ceiling.
“My God!” cried Missie, “Maybe Jeff and I should sell tickets, How long have you been there?”
“Long enough,” said Darlene.
Cousin George looked angry and miserable.
He said, “Why in hell couldn't you keep your big prick out of her?” pointing toward Missie. “Why didn't you leave her alone?”
He was close to tears… come to think of it, Cousin George had had his problems the past twenty-four hours or so and still had them, if the continuing stiffness of his prick meant anything… for once.
Missie said, “If your father were here, he'd give you all a whipping.”
Anita said, “Maybe he'd send us to bed… goodie!”
Little Jean stepped forward, naked and solemn, and said, “Dad wouldn't do anything, because he wouldn't know about it. Not after what I saw you and Cousin George do last night, and what you just did with darling Jeff. We won't tell him and you wouldn't dare.”
Missie dropped her head and cupped her face in her hands. Then she looked up at them and said, “Por Dios, what kind of family have we turned into?”
Darlene stepped forward and said, “A happy family… maybe the happiest family in the whole world. We love each other, all of us.”
Suddenly, Missie accepted it. She reached for a cigarette and said, “Well, I guess this bed is big enough for all of us.”
“That's good,” said little Francie, scrambling aboard with the others, “because we left all the other mattresses on the beach and we're too pooped to bring them up tonight.”
Missie said dryly, “I suppose they could use an airing after what you've been doing down there.”
Anita said, “Speaking for the mattresses on the beach, we're all taking a fifth.”
Missie smiled and hugged her daughter, then said, “Speaking of fifths, I think we should all have a drink. Anita…? You're not too pooped to bring a bottle from the kitchen? Don't bother with glasses.”
Anita brought a demijohn of Cuban rum and we all drank out of the wicker-covered jug and caressed fondly and talked all at once over the wonders of what had happened to us. Only Cousin George looked glum… and finally Anita took pity on him and said, fingering its rigid length, “We'll have to do something about this.”
“They gave me Spanish fly,” he said miserably.
“I know,” said Missie, looking at them again. “Don't ever do that again, Anita. Do you hear?”
“Yes, Missie,” she said. “I'm sorry… I won't do it again.”
“Besides,” said Missie, “I don't believe anybody in this family needs it.”
Then she bent to the task of nursing Cousin George's aching cock back to normalcy. She laid him out flat on his back like a patient in an operating room and examined his cock carefully, studying its color, which was a congested purplish red, testing the rodlike veins that swelled its sides, soothing him whenever she hurt his ultra-sensitive dick by stroking his belly until he relapsed to a whimper.
I almost felt sorry for the pimple-faced bastard. After all, he was my second cousin and, if he had got me into a lot of trouble in the past, he had more than made up for it when he fucked Anita beside me on the beach and opened up the golden vista of sexual discovery that had followed.
I wasn't even jealous when Missie mounted him, as she had mounted me an hour earlier, and slipped her sheath over his aching prick. Looking down at him, she said, “How does it feel now?”
He said, “Better,” in a sort of moan, then added, “But it kills me when I come.”