Can't Spell 'Country' Without...


* * *

I'd go by a lot and talk to Susan about my problems, you know, with
Press. I figured her being his aunt, and almost his age, too, and
living with him and all, sort of like a mother to him since his own
folks died--I just thought she could help me figure Press out. All he
wanted was to fuck me all day long. He'd pick me up from junior
college in that big black truck of his, check to make sure my panties
were long gone, and then he'd pat his thigh and up I'd scramble onto
his lap and stick it right in. His dick was always out and waiting for
me there in the truck. I'd either fuck him or suck him all the way
back to his--Susan's--property and the back acres and the little shed
he kept for a hunting lodge. If he didn't come by the time we got
there I had to take it in my ass on his little cot inside the shed,
and sometimes he didn't even lick me first. If he did come by the time
we reached the shed, then we'd just drink some Jack or fish in the
Little Oaks River for a while, real nice and quiet, snuggling almost,
until he'd get the urge again, and then he'd always go down on me and
stick his fingers in and take his slow, sweet time, like I like it
best.

I went to Susan on the days when Press had to take the cattle off to
port or up to the stockyards, when Susan was all relaxed and without
much to do with the ranch, when Press was guaranteed gone for at least
the whole day. Then there was no chance of him busting in and hearing
me complain and then making me do God only knows what to his monster
dick. When he went off with the cattle he had all his hands with him,
all his old high school football buddies, none of them, not even
Press, old enough to buy liquor yet, but they still drank like crazy
all the way there and back, so Press was never much in the mood to
even talk to me when he'd get back. He'd just slump by me and Susan
talking over the kitchen table, not even looking at us, and we'd soon
hear him snoring worse than a bear back in his room. Susan and me
would talk all night, then. I would always stay there if Susan called
and asked. I thought she was probably a good influence on me, since I
was only eighteen and all. Hell, Susan was only twenty-five, but it
was like she knew everything there was to know and could solve any
problem I would ever have.

I just wanted Press to, you know, love me a little more than he did.
More cuddling and whispering and smiling. More eating me out, more of
licking my clit all soft and stiff at the same with that huge wet
tonque of his. I mean, he was really unbelievable. He could stick his
tonque halfway up my asshole and wiggle it and it felt just like a
stiff little dick, and when he did that I didn't mind the ass-fucking
at all. And when he sucked on my pussy, well, the little thing just
burned. It would burn all night and into the next day and the next day
when he licked me real good. I'd sit in school and wouldn't even have
to remind myself to lose my panties. I'd get in that bathroom first
chance I got, hook my feet around the handicap rails in that big old
stall and just shove my fingers in and in and in. I'd rub my clit
trying to get the feel of his licking, and I'd almost bounce myself
off the toilet, I'd come so hard.

Susan said to just give him time, that he'd come around. She said he
saved all that sweetness for her, mostly, because she was still real
pretty and wasn't shy about clothes around her nephew. And that was
the truth. She never wore a bra and loved tank tops and sunned herself
out her deck stark naked all the time. And even I had to stare when
we'd find her there, all oiled up and brown, her knees always a good
foot apart, her bush trimmed real short. That was probably why Press
made me shave the hair around my lips every night and to keep the hair
up above my clit cut real close. He'd almost strangle trying to
breathe whenever Susan came around half-naked or naked or whatever,
and it was just clear as day what he wanted. But I didn't care. I
mean, hell, Susan was fine. I wished I had her hips and tits and ass,
and that way she just grinned at Press so sly and sure. And I also
didn't care because Press always licked me all over and fucked me
every which way and kept me around him an extra long time whenever
Susan teased him like that, so who was I to complain. All I wanted was
that all the time. Him. All the time. Fucking me. Fucking me no matter
how, no matter where or when, just fucking me and making me come and
come and come.

Press, you might have noticed, had kind of a mean streak, too, and
especially where Susan was concerned. She'd never been married, but
she loved to fuck, and a lot of times she'd leave for Tampa by herself
for the whole weekend, leaving Press and me the whole house to fuck
in, and she'd come home bleary-eyed and weak-kneed and smiling this
stoned blissful smile, and Press would just lock up and grab me and
drag me into his room or out to his truck and fuck my ass and just
ream me out good, and he wouldn't even grunt. Susan every once in a
while brought out Polaroids of her in all sorts of hotel rooms and
theaters and bars, dicks in her mouth, in her cunt, her ass,
everything sticky and slippery-looking. There were even a few of her
with other women, most of them just these tiny little things, no
bigger than me, and they all looked like Susan knew how to really do
it. Like her tongue was magic. There was even one with Susan shoving
her whole fist up this blond while another blond had her fist up
Susan, and all three looked like they were about just explode. Susan
showed me that one once and just shook her head real slow for a real
long time.

Then Susan kissed me one day. I was brushing my hair in her hall
bathroom, still talking about Press and how huge and dry his dick
could be sometimes, and I was wearing my little biker shorts and my
matching spandex top, braless and pantyless because those were Press's
instructions for when he got back from the haul, and I was just
brushing my hair and then got spun around and caught up in her smooth
arms and kissed. Susan fed me her tongue, soft, long, pressing my
whole body against her own, me up on my toes to suck back at her
mouth, my arms around her neck, everything going warm and achey. Then
Susan was on her knees looking up at me for a split second with this
sweet-sister face, her hands rolling down my spandex pants, her mouth
sucking on my shaved cunt, and it wasn't like there was eleven years
between us or a man between us or even any air between us. We just
melted right together, and her mouth on pussy shook me right down to
the floor. Her finger was up my ass, another finger was in my cunt,
her teeth scraped my clit. She swung herself around and pressed her
crotch against my face and I sucked at the juicy cotton of her shorts
and chewed at her mound until she came off me long enough to pull the
shorts off. She didn't wear panties either! I got my first real cunt,
then, licking and sucking and working it like it was instinct, and I
swear nothing in this world ever tasted so good! Not even a sweaty,
leaky dick. Then I had my own fingers wiggling up Susan's asshole, and
we were both coming and coming and the next thing we knew Press bangs
through the door with his whole gang of buddies behind him.

We were still on the floor in front of the bathroom. And Susan almost
had her hand all the way in.

"You fucking cunts," Press said, and his friends all rushed in around
him to get a better look. I didn't know what to do. I was so jacked up
by Susan I couldn't just back off from her, and it felt so good anyway
that I honestly didn't feel all that bad about getting caught. I mean,
hell, it's not like I was fucking some other guy.

But then Press saw the Polaroids on the table. He picked them up one
by one and studied each of them as slow as Christmas. Then the rest of
the guys passed them around, and nobody said a word, and I slowly
helped Susan slip out her hand, and then everybody was staring at us
again.

Press shook his head and looked straight at Susan. "You can't fuck me
for some reason? Huh? You think these shits in these pictures are any
better? You think she is?" he pointed at me. "You fucking Julie so you
can kind of fuck me, huh? Is that it? Is that what you've wanted all
this time, my own dick up your pretty little ass?"

Susan just sat there, just like me. We were still panting for breath a
little, and from the way Susan sat so still and quiet I could tell
that Press was probably right. But only part right. Susan had always
wanted to fuck me just as much as him. And I was easier. I wasn't her
own kin.

Press pulled out his bowie knife, growled over his shoulder. "Get all
that rope out of my truck, and do it right now."

Then he was next me and pulling me up with the knife against my
temple, whispering. "I don't know if I can forgive you for this, sweet
thing. You knew how I wanted her, and this is like a slap in face.
Like cutting my own dick off and giving it to the goddamn dogs.

"But I'll see how I feel after I make both you two pay a little, make
you do what I fucking want for a change." And he was looking straight
at Susan.

By now the rope was being passed around and cut into lengths and my
wrists were cinched up behind my back, but not too tight and not as
painful as the hand pulling at my bound wrists, wrenching my
shoulders. I was put on my knees and my face was pushed against the
kitchen floor. A rope was looped around both my thighs just above the
knees and one knee was tied to the leg of the kitchen table while the
other knee was tied off around the hinge on a cabinet door. I was
spread wide open. I could feel the air from the open porch door
blowing warm across my ass, tickling my asshole, making my cunt gush.
I was still a little excited. And then I looked at Susan.

Susan stood held by the boys, her breasts free and swinging heavily
beneath the grasping hands of the boys that held her. Then she was
pushed down onto her back about five feet away from me on the floor,
and her hands were tied up above her head and secured on the pipes
running out from under the kitchen sink. Her legs were left free, and
her knees lolled out prettily to the sides. She had her eyes closed,
and it almost looked like she was trying not to smile. I came just
looking at her like that, the juice running down my thighs. The boys
who saw me clench up just laughed. One of them blew on my cunt.

Press picked up a Polaroid. "I bet these pictures have been 'round
here the whole damn time. You and all these strangers and shit. Going
to Tampa for a fuck." He threw the picture on the table and knelt down
beside me, pressed the dull edge of the knife against my chin and
looked dead at Susan. "You been mockin' me this whole time, miss Aunt
Susan? Honeypot."

Susan just gasped a little. "No Press! We...I...ain't mockin' you!"

"Well I have had enough of whatever you call it, then."

The knife at my throat backs away maybe an inch, but hands

clutch at my wrists again, pull them back and twist them out, so

painfully, and tighten. The ropes pulling my thighs apart burn and
tear, but it's really not too bad.

"We got enough rope. We got enough time. Nothin' but." Press

stepped behind me, the point of his own knife slicing neatly through
one

of the pictures. I heard his pants drop. A grunt. He slapped my ass,

walloped me, over and over until I could hear myself screaming over
Susan's cries, the boys laughing. Press put his cock to my anus,
pushed, enormous, blunt, wet. I gave with all my strength, opened for
him, but he backed away. We both watched Susan for a minute there on
her back, just barely kicking her legs around the hips of the first
boy pounding into her.

"I'll be the last dick you ever get, honeypot," Press said to her,
"for the rest of your whole fuckin' life. And believe me, you won't
complain one bit."

Then his breath is on my ear. "The same goes for you."

I'm still thrusting out for him, my face pressed to the floor by a
boot. I can only see Susan's side, her flexing hip, the bucking. She
wimpers a little.

"All right." Press sneers, and he pushes against me again, and
suddenly I couldn't breathe. It felt so good. Better than ever. Wet,
sopping, sloppy, easy. The air turned blue and white and thick. I
gasped for it. I felt him just slip right in, huge, deep, and from far
away I could hear myself screaming his name. Something seemed to come
loose inside me. Something good.

Susan by then was just begging the boys crouching over her, pinching
at her, pulling. "Please," she muttered. "Please." Over the grunting
and laughing and happy swearing I could hear her begging, and I knew
she wanted more, but you almost couldn't tell. She was sly. I begged a
little too, then, and I moved and pushed and clamped on that dick. But
then it was out. And then I was really begging. I could even feel warm
shit sliding down my thigh. I could smell it, but I didn't care. I
wanted it back in!

I loosened it up even more. Press stuck one finger, then another into
my anus, wiggling, then pulling in opposite directions. No pain. And
my cunt almost blew up right there, juicing me good, and then he was
back in, so huge, my belly pushed out by the thrusts and pulsing,
warm. I heard grunting and huffing and there were claws on my hips
pulling, pushing. All the other boys stopped to watch. They stared and
their faces were bright with joy at this thing that Press had brought
them, this freedom to fuck his two women. Press saw it too, and his
crotch just melted against my ass, so hot, his heavy cock piledriving
easily back and forth into me, filling me, splitting me. And then he
came, bursting, laughing, shooting deep inside me. His cock throbbed
and throbbed, thrust deep and still inside me; deep and still inside
me. His cock pumped me so full of semen I could feel it squeezing back
out around his root.

Slapping my ass, still laughing, he pumped me again for another minute
or two, then easily withdrew. Immediately another, smaller penis
stabbed at my asshole, pushed snugly in, no pain, and fucked me. Press
was still behind me, talking.

"Damn, will you look at the shit on my dick? All slick and
milky-black!" Then his face down beside me, almost touching the floor.

"You got some ass, girl," laughed Press. He sat up on his knees in
front of me, his cock slapping my face, smearing it. I smell myself,
my own greasy shit and his come on my face, and without a word I'm
sucking, cleaning, licking this enormous thing thrust into my mouth.
"Get it good and clean and shiny, Julie," Press whispered, moaned.
"The only shit Aunt Susan'll get in her cunt is her own." And I sucked
and sucked, my jaw going numb, fluids rolling down my chin and neck
and breasts, dripping onto the floor, my ass rocking against the third
dick pounding into me, and Press gave way to the second shit-smeared
cock, and I sucked and watched Press as best I could break his own
promise to wait until last.

He shoved his cock straight up Susan's soaking wet asshole, no
resistance at all. He kissed her, sucked her tongue, took it slow, and
she came hard and fast, glued her mouth to his. Then he pulled out of
her ass, wiped the shit off his cock with one hand, smeared most of it
all over the lips of her red dripping pussy, and then let her lick the

rest off his fingers while he fuckeed her cunt. She arched back lifted
her pelvis, her legs swimming, her hips like a wave rolling back and
forth against his cock. Press had her good. She came with him for the
second time while I sucked my third dick. She was almost crying,
sobbing, coming, smiling up at Press, over at me. Press had her real
good. I rocked back against the next cock pushing its way in. I sucked
them all dry.

Press had me good, too. But only till I moved to North Carolina. He
wanted her more than me, and without competition. He told me to move
away, and I did. The two of them ended up married and having kids, and
don't even ask me how they got away with it! Susan still sends me
letters and pictures sometimes, and sometimes those pictures are
little Polaroids…. Last I heard, Press had undergone a change of
heart, and now they have a little live-in girl doing them both
whenever they wanted and keeping the kids for them while they go off
and cruise in Tampa. It kills me to hear it, I swear. And if he ever
wants me back, I'll go, no matter what, no matter how.

But, for now, I'm doing all right. Matter of fact, I moved in with my
aunt...