Date: Sat, 9 Aug 2003 15:49:16 -0600
From: Tom Emerson <thomas@btl.net>
Subject: CLARK KENT, PRETEEN

	Clark Kent and all characters from Superman are trademarks of and
copyright DC Comics.

Clark Kent, Preteen.

(Bisexual pedophilia and heterosexual incest.)


       "I have to admit I'm on something of a spy mission," the athletic
twenty year old said to the boy he'd flagged from the side of a road
leading into (and out of) Smallville.  The boy, an image of the zoom-zoom
actor used in the television ads came to a stop and looked politely up at
the handsome, road-side stranger.  "Just a university thing," the boyish
adult went on, "not from Russia or anything."
       "Oh," the boy responded.
       "A classmate watches birds near here," the explanation continued,
"and said if I was in the area, I should give you a shout, not that I can
recruit a twelve year old, but you and a bicycle seem to be made for each
other, and time can pass rather quickly, so I though I'd drop by, not that
I've exactly done that, and give you my card, just as something to think of
if you finish your algebra early."
       "That's nice of you," the boy said, reaching from his canted machine
and taking the stiff paper.  "If you're just driving through, maybe you
could follow me home, it's just twenty miles, and join us, that is Ma and
Pa and me for dinner.  We could even race, if you think I might have a
chance on your team.  I finished high school four years ago and have to
work awfully hard in order to buy new bicycles every week, so you'll be a
welcome guest."

       The boy looked at the card, "Mr. Lusor," he said.
       "Les," the handsome man replied, "Les Lusor, but Coach, when we're
on campus."
       They shook hands, the coach reclaimed his Hudson, fired up the three
hundred horsepower flathead six, and they were off, the boy, wanting to
please his kindly adopted parents, circling through Maine to purchase a
dozen two pound lobsters from a fisherman off Stonington.  With a wink, the
boatman threw in another six half-pound "shorts".  "I guess nobody will
catch me," the boy mused, but to make up for the environmental of his
illegal booty he spent considerable time laying a hundred derelict cars
from various local dooryards in a secluded cove just south of Isle a'Haurt
as a breeding ground for future generations of "bugs".  He had to hurry to
be in his own dooryard when Mr. Lusor arrived, but the little extra effort
required by the trip resulted in a catch-of-the-day roasted to perfection,
and the four were able to sit down to dinner the minute greetings and
introductions were completed.
       Groaning happily from their midday repast, Ma and Pa yawned and
headed to their room for a nap as the boy and his possible future coach
busied themselves housekeeping in the modest kitchen of the Kent homestead.

       "Thought I'd beaten you for a minute there," the young man sighed,
"but I guess that's off of not seeing you pass me."
       "There's an old shortcut," the boy said, pulling the plug on the old
soapstone sink, "it's not the main road, but it gets a fellow where he's
going."
       "Well, that it seems to have done, for a fact," Les smiled as he
began drying the first of the hand-me-down china plates, standing close
behind young Clark as he boy watched the water and suds drain away.
       "You're very attractive," the man whispered to the boy now mopping
the sink with a dishrag.
       "Thank you," the child said, visibly tensing at the compliment.
       "If you want," Mr. Lusor said, "I can hit the road.  Always another
rumor to track down when a fellow puts on his scouting hat."
       "If you want to stay," Clark replied, the tension in his slim young
body matched by a huskiness new to his voice, "I could make up a list of
boys and girls you might want to keep an eye on, a hundred or two.."
       "Would you like me to stay?" Les wanted to be sure.
       "Very much," the boy half whispered, half croaked, flushing in spite
of himself, then advising the man standing just behind him not to pick up
the next plate in the side sink in order that he might avoid burning his
fingers.  Dishes done, the two adjourned to the small parlor, sitting side
by side on the blue velveteen sofa.
       Living up to his commitment the twelve year old used a tablet and
pencil resting on the coffee table, and, licking the point thoughtfully,
scribbled a list in an attractive Times New Roman ten-point font, managing,
with a frown of concentration, to select two hundred seventy seven names,
the extra, he explained with a shy smile, because he'd decided to include
greater Chicago in his survey.  Les didn't take the time to peruse the
list, but even a glance yielded several familiar family names.  He thanked
Clark Kent, folded the sheaf of notepaper, and tucked it into the inside
pocket of his sport jacket.
       "You can take that off," the boy said.  "In fact, if the list will
really save you some time, why don't you make yourself comfortable and
spend the night here with us.  There's room in my bed and Ma and Pa adopted
me when they were in their sixties, so they're old enough to understand how
a boy my age might want to spend time alone in the company of an
experienced older brother."
       "Offer accepted," Les said, patting his jacket to reassure himself
the list was secure in its pocket, then doffing the coat and draping it
neatly over the back of the sofa.  The boy smiled shyly in response.

       "We could do something," he said, "or just sit here and talk."
       "What would you like to do?" Les asked.
       "Take a ride in your car," Clark murmured, "it's Saturday and
Loddalagdolla Laddalenkowskiwitch always spends Saturday afternoons with
her family.  They live on the next farm.  She's only ten, but I still want
to go out with her because she's a little red-headed gremlin and I can't
help myself.  Today is her chore day, but if you were with me maybe her dad
and her four brothers would let her take a ride with us."

       "Okay," Les agreed readily, "and since this part of the world seems
most partial to rural roads and rustic byways perhaps you'd like to drive."
This brought a happy light to the boys eyes.  In turns they used the small
downstairs bathroom to clean up, and in five minutes were taking the long
way around to the house next door, a scant mile from the Kent farm.  This
route allowed them to carefully bounce the heavy city car over an old wagon
road entering the Laddalenkowskiwitch property from the rear.  In the end,
the trail was blocked my a mound of neatly tarped hay bales and Clark
brought the vehicle to a stop.  It was just warm enough to make sitting in
the parked vehicle uncomfortable, so they disembarked, finding a
comfortable hay bale, somehow sensing it was not the best time to simply
walk up and knock on the kitchen door.  Nor was there anything supernatural
about this, for if the boy had stopped to consider the matter, he would
have quickly analyzed it correctly.  Alpo, the Laddalenkowskiwitch's huge,
male Doberman was nowhere to be seen.  Was no one home?  Clark wondered
aloud to his friend and then slapped his head with a sigh of silly
frustration.  How easy it was to forget.  He removed his glasses and
trained his eyes on the neat farmhouse a hundred and seventy feet away.

       "I'm going to lose this ability," he murmured to the young man
beside him.  "Until we're fifteen or so, we can move our eyes anywhere and
look at anything.  After that capability fades, we can only look ahead or
slightly to the side, like others, though, of curse, we can see through
anything we want as long as we don't try getting fancy."
       "I'd like to understand," Les responded.
       "Oh," the boy said, "I detected the kryptonite before we started the
race.  You've apparently only previously dealt with adults from home.
Children my age are a bit more wily and agile, and, you really should know
this, actually snack, if cautiously, as the Japanese do on puffer fish, on
a pinch of green crystal now and then.  All to say I think you understand
very well; possibly realize the hopelessness of your situation."
       "Well, I'm a good coach," the older male sighed, "I can always go
back to that."
       "You're a good coach, a good person, segregated from profane
influences over which you have no control and for which you bear no
responsibility, and very attractive," Clark advised Les.
       "Forgive me," the disenfranchised villain wept happily, giving the
boy on his left a quick hug, then wiping his tears with the backs of his
hands.

       Still no dog.  The prosperous family had several vehicles, so it was
impossible to tell whether or not anyone might be at home, though it seemed
to Clark all where were where they should be.  On the other hand, the
Laddalenkowskiwitches were do for a new car, Loddalagdolla said as much in
class Friday.  I know," he added, "as a teacher I'm not meant to intrude on
the private lives of my students, but Loddalagdolla is special because
she's a neighbor and we're just the right ages for each other, and if
everyone in Smallville felt I had no interest in anyone that might be worse
than a teacher fraternizing with a student. "

       As much as anything had during the last hour and a half, it made
sense to Les and he decided the best path to take would be simply remaining
still and stimulating his conversation with Clark Kent by means of a few
questions.
       "If they're out for a shakedown ride in the new bus," he observed,
"and have a ninety pound dog with them, they'll probably return before very
long.  Do you think we might go and wait on the porch swing?"
       "Why don't I just check," Clark suggested politely, feeling their
unheralded approach might upset the animal and wake the napping family.
       "Certainly," Les agreed, always liking to be the welcomed guest.
       "Why, they're all there," the boy said after a moment.  "Just
finishing the dishes.  We can go right..."  He stopped and frowned,
shelling his hands behind his ears, apparently straining to hear.  "It's
the with our hearing as with our vision," he whispered, "at first, it's
multi-focal, then that fades at twelve or thirteen, and we only have the
acute senses of something like a dog until we're in our fifties or sixties,
depending on whether we smoke or not, when it becomes merely highly
sensitive, you know, the pin drop at a hundred yards in fresh powder snow
during a blizzard kind of hearing.'
       "So you hear something?" the guest summarized.
       "Yes," Clark said, "I'll be able to pick up some words in a moment,
but what made me stop is that their voices sound different.  Lolla is just
finishing with the dishes.  She's rinsing a decorated plate, the kind you
serve a cake on.  And that shows something about not being perfect.
Today's her birthday.  Superdumb, that's this kid.  I'm meant to come by
this evening at seven for a party.  If that doesn't teach me a thing or two
about snacking on crystals, nothing will."
       "I'm sorry," Les choked.
       "Are you kidding?" the boy retorted, using language far ahead of his
time, "listen.  Chas, that's short for a name you never want to hear, is
standing just behind the brand new ten year old, Bo, Di, and Al, her three
brothers, who, as a little bit of a family joke, shortened their names to
B, D, and A, you know, sort of abbreviating them, are standing – more
like huddled = near her, too.  B's seventeen, D's sixteen and little A's
fourteen.
       "What are they saying?" Les whispered, able to tell from the tension
in his young friend the conversation he was eavesdropping on had nothing to
do with crops, chores, or the new car.
       "I can tell you this," Clark responded, "yes, they publish some of
my stories and adventures in New York, and, yes, kids read them, so it's
all on the up-and-up, but, while, yes, the stories are true, they are also
limited.  This train, that bridge, meteors, faults, it's actually easy
enough if you know how, but, again, limited.  Lacking something as a raw
steak lacks mesquite grilling, salt, pepper, mushrooms, and the herbs and
spices of a gently marinated sauce."
       "I never took them seriously," the coach said, vis-à-vis the
comic books.
       "Because of what I just said," the boy agreed.  "Spice, sauce,
almost white hot mesquite coals."

       "You may have a point," Les nodded.
       "You better believe it," Clark whispered, his ears now trained and
his hands back at his side.  "I can either record it, or provide a
simultaneous account."
       "Would the latter be at the expense of the former?" the young man
wondered.
       "No," `tis volume which never affectiveth the Krypton mind," Clark
recited from ancient lore.
       "That's great," Les enthused, nodding from the boy to provide a
play-by-play since they had nothing better to do for the moment than sit on
the hay and watch the house.

       "Daddy, I am sure," Lolla said softly as she carefully places the
ornate chinaware in the dish rack at her right.  "That's why I wanted you
all to come in here.  I want to tell you all it IS what I want.  Dad's been
honest in telling me in plenty of time, giving me a week to sort out any
reservations.  Dr. Jones has assured me that I'm fit as the proverbial
fiddle and athletic enough to handle everything that arises, sorry, don't
mean to be crude.  I love you all, unspeakably, and I want my birthday
story to stand up to Clark's tales, which I have to shoe-horn out of him
with a poking finger, of rescuing cattle from whirlwinds and plantations
from volcanoes."

       It was a tall order, but the Ladd''''''''''''''' menfolk murmured in
agreement with their daughter and kid sister, her tall, handsome father
bending to buss the redhead affectionately on top of her curly,
Little-Orphan-Annie mop.

       A girl only turns ten once, so the men of her household (her mother
was visiting her brother for the weekend in the next county) had decorated
and trimmed, recreating the ambience of a juvenile wedding pageant.
"They're all leaving the kitchen except Chas, who's lighting candles,"
Clark reported, and just as he did so curtains in various windows began
closing.
       "Are you going to look in Lolla's room?" Les whispered.
       "They're in quite a hurry," the boy replied, "I don't think I'd have
time to tell you much.  Maybe later."
       "Okay," the older male said, nodding reasonably.
       Yes, in less time it takes to tell the story the Ladd men had
shucked into simple silk pullovers, both Greek and ceremonial, Chas had
placed the candles, and were all awaiting their princess behind the drawn
curtains.  "Daddy," came her nervous from the stairs, and Chas moved to the
doorway.  He was just in time, catching the sylph as she fainted at the
sight of her three brothers in their simple, white silk.. Doctor Jones knew
his craft, and no sooner had Lolla faded than she smiled nervously and
stood against her father two proceed to guide her to her flower strewn
circular stage in the middle of the spacious parlor.  Al, her fourteen year
old brother was then brought up to stand beside the petite ten year old on
the slightly raised platform.  They held hands as the small birthday
audience found seats.  For ten minutes they gazed and stared at each other,
drinking in deathbed visions, then Chas rose and stepped behind his
daughter and youngest son.

       "The rules are numerous," he said without preamble.  "Nothing
happens between the males of this family, nor do we observe anything, Lolla
bearing the principal responsibility of assuring no `accidents' occur, but
all of us sharing it.  The inclusion of outsiders is welcomed, but on a
strictly limited basis.  These are not issues of race or ethnic background
but details of manners and language that can be attractive or disagreeable,
in any race or culture.  It is expected Lolla will marry Clark Kent, and
that's not just because our neighbor is able to call Loddalagdolla
Loddalagdolla without sounding like he'd just dropped an Oxford on his
feet.  Young Mr. Kent will be fully appraised of all aspects of our family
on his date tonight with your sister.  No secrets, and all rules accounted
for.  You boys may be with Clark and Lolla, just one at a time, if you're
invited.  On a farm, there is always the subject of chores.  Sometimes the
answer to a question is so simple, generations can ignore it.  The solution
to chores on the Ladd farm is to be found in your little sister's belly.
No precautionary or artificial steps will be taken with Lolla.  She will
produce, in the next year or two, a farm baby, and one of us who could be
the biological father.  This baby will inherit the farm, and this baby will
inspire you to whatever efforts you can think of to earn its – his or
her – respect, while having the sense to eschew currying favor or any
shortcuts to a rightful place in the child's regard and affections.  It's
not as simple as he who milks the most cows or picks the most apples gets
the most time with his sister.  It's he who does these smoothly and
consistently, around the calendar who will earn her nod and their belt on
her doorknob.  And should it turn out, a year or two from now, that we are
operating a beautiful and modestly profitable farm, my guess is there will
be every real question of paternity when her belly begins growing. "

       "I golf with the dean," Les whispered to Clark, "and he's looking
for a commencement speaker."
       "Thanks," Clark said, coloring slightly at the kind complement paid
his future father-in-law.

       Though the boys were discouraged from interacting, the girl was
common property, so Chas lifted her simple sheath over her head, leaving
her standing naked next to Al.  He reached between them putting the boy's
left hand in his sister's tiny right hand, and, to the tune of Happy
Birthday Lolla led Al from the living room, up the stairs, and to her
bedroom, each helping themselves to a candlestick on the stairs.
       By now Les had Clark in his lap.  He opened the muscular boy's
shirt.  "Do you want to be naked, like she is?" he whispered.
       "Yes," the twelve year old replied, standing and drawing the young
athlte behind him to his feet.  As Clark continued his narration, Les
quickly removed his shirt and shorts, leaving the youth in his white,
cotton underpants.  The coach also disrobed, leaving the one garment
between the two of them as he gently probed with his penis against Clark's
inner thighs, at the same time huddling against the boy and fondling his
chest and belly gently with both hands.

       "You can call me Clark if you want to, sis," Al whispered as he sat
his little sister on the edge of her canopy bed and slipped out of his
costume, standing naked between her knees.
       "Anything but Aldonacastorforusio," his sister responded.
       "Do you want a pillow?" the fourteen year old asked, looking toward
the head of the bed.
       "Just the small one Tedgarluianastropovichisky uses," she answered,
nodding at her bear.
       The muscular young athlete separated bear and bear pillow and handed
the latter to his brand-new ten year old sister.  Lolla placed it under her
bottom and spread her bare legs wide, holding her knees nearly against her
slim and now heaving chest.

       "Dr. Jones did something really quick up under my skirt when I was
in his office," the girl said, "you know, using a medical thing, so it
shouldn't hurt if you want to rape me."
       "Dad wants to," the boy whispered, "to really throw you on the floor
and mount you off, but I think it would be better if he was the first.  It
would make me nervous."
       "Is this your first time?" the girl asked tenderly, as the boy
experimented with lowering his six inch circumcised boner between her legs,
moving the swollen purple glans slowly up and down, wetting himself as well
as discovering where she yielded to his cautions thrusting.

       Clark Kent felt Les Lusor move firmly behind his preteen body and
molestation of the coltish stripling continued unabated as the naked
swimmer urged the twelve year old higher on a shelf of the haystack,
finally able to probe him as Al was his little sister.  Clark reached down
with his right hand, whispered "stand back for a second,' and removed his
cotton underpants with a loud snap of the elastic and rent of fabric.  Les
immediately moved against the now naked child, again finding him with a
series of experimental thrusts and then, sure of position, huddled over the
panting boy (faked, obviously) as Clark revealed explicit details of what
was happening in the upstairs bedroom of the bright=eyed ten year old.

       "He's being quite matter-of-fact with her," the spy whispered over
his shoulder, "they aren't kissing or whispering sweet nothings, he's
finding her just like you found me, with his right hand on his erection.
Yes, there, yes, it's perfect now.  Okay, he's fully against her and he's
moving his forearms against the knees so he can push her legs toward her
shoulders.  She's gripping his arms in turn, and urging him to her.  This
view isn't the best but I can still see the head of him really pushing
against her.  Yes, probably even harder though; uh, that's more it.  Their
staring into each other's eyes.  Now he's reaching with his right hand to
get another pillow... humans do things incredibly slowly... okay, behind
her head so she can look down comfortably over her tummy and watch her
brother as well as feel him.  Now everything's adjusted and her hands are
back on his arms, his arms against the back of her knees, her slim legs
spread widely as possible.

       "It's beginning, Les.  Really beginning.  It looks like he's learned
enough from his experiments with her that he doesn't need to waste any more
time on it.  I thought so.  Yes, like you're doing; good, that's it, just a
little more, oh, he'll be inside her in just a little...just a... just.
Oh, yes, oh, her eyes are on fire and her knuckles are white where she's
gripping his elbows, I mean because she's gripping his elbows."

       Les huddled over his naked little friend, listening avidly to the
tense whispering, and as best he could emulated Al's first rape of his
young sister, thrusting at a certain gasp from Clark and easing when the
champion voyeur mewed for temporary relief.
       "I guess it's pretty crude to suggest he's half inside her," Clark
whispered at one point, "but that's the truth of it."  Les adjusted his
pressure against the child accordingly, and both panted as the activities
in the house continued.  Arms linked, thighs conjoining, the brother and
sister gazed deliriously at each other, eyes to eyes, then eyes to their
lower bellies where neither could really believe what was happening between
their beautiful young bodies.  Al spread his legs, making fine adjustments
in his relationship with Lolla, Clark emulating his future brother-in-law
to allow a more perfect union of man and superboy.

       "It's really happening now," the boy on the hay bale whispered.  He
could see Al beginning to fully yield to the hissed and whispered
entreatments of the tomboy mopped He became bold and mannish with her, his
delicate experimenting with the feelings of his long, hard penis very deep
inside her raging hot and wildly tight body, moving ever higher between her
widely spread, slim, childish legs, giving way to a solid, mature thrusting
that dimpled the boy's hard, been buttocks at one second, then half-second
intervals.
       "Just like that," Clark whispered over his shoulder, "just like
that.  She's telling him `just like that' again and again."
       "It's amazing they can talk," Les panted, not almost fully inside
the twelve year old in front of him, and, like Al, taking the boy firmly
and fully.

       In the house it became wild.  Al was fully with his cute little
sister, and, arms gripped, he was now in full rape, surging against her,
almost hammering her with his athletic hips and belly, making her squeal
and whimper and claw at his arms.  Since the sight of their plunging waists
amounted, beautiful as it was, to more of the same, their eyes locked each
other, hers glowing with welcome, his glazed as if he were trying to both
accept and decline a challenge beyond his years.  She could read him
because she felt much the same.  Close to heaven until they started to cum,
instinct told them, but then an initiation ritual that would land them,
albeit momentarily, back on the street.  So, like every couple, they both
did and didn't want to end their panting time staring into each other's
eyes and in each other's arms.
       Five minutes, fast and hard, and the gamin female could wait no
longer, nor the boy.  Clark willed her and she responded, going rigid,
indulging in a sharp welcoming female orgasm, she then slacked and with
eyes and hands bid her stallion extend himself fully, and then remain
motionless, pressing hard against her thighs.  It took Al the best part of
a minute to respond to his sister's urging, but his character was heroic
for his age, and, yes, panting and sweating he came slowly to a stop.
Lolla's cherry size nipples swelled noticeably, her eyes grew huge, and she
smiled shyly up at her first lover.  "Think of the baby," she whispered.

       Clark Kent had left Krypton too early in his life to have become
sophisticated in ways of the flesh.  Everything he was seeing was new and
incredible, everything he was feeling, the strong athlete's hands all over
his prepubescent body, the hot breath against his neck, what was happening
deep inside his young body as the adult froze, emulating Al, against him,
and, finally everything she was feeling as she purred and smiled shyly in
response to the torrent of hot see spurting between her brother's body and
her own.  It was more than educational, there really was something to this.
Feelings he'd never imagined, physical sensations beyond description, and
not just for a second or two, it went on and on, the deep pulsing inside
his body, so meaningful to the female, was, even to the male, hot and
intensely exciting.  There was more to it than a heartbeat, almost as if
there could be no beating heart, without it.  Elemental.  As the tree must
take the sap, only bold and human.  A hundred images flashed in the boy's
mind, most related to the magic Lolla must be experience as her shaking
brother went on and on with her, assuring her a heavy belly if it was
humanly possible to do so.

       Clark not only kind of like Les, he was grateful for the older
male's guidance and explanations.  The boy concentrated for a few moments,
his handsome zoom-zoom face clouded with intensity.  Then he moved, not
outwardly, he was a statue taking his seed, that way, but inwardly, where,
as they say, the sun doesn't shine.  It was tricky but the prodigy not only
got it right, but timed it perfectly.  As he sensed an end to the athlete's
heavy flow inside him, the twelve year old tensed his muscles – just so
– and sent the adult's sperm gushing back into him.  A whoof and yowl
burst from Les's mouth and he began shaking as if he'd been shot.  So
dramatic was the first reaction, the boy repeated his action, sending
another jet of hot sperm back inside the clawing male's mature body.
Again, and it became begging and whimpering.  Once more, and there was a
yelp of pain.  "That's for the Kryptonite gag," the twelve year old
whispered over his shoulder, then let his frenzied partner cum inside him
once again.

       Having established a routine that gave them both pleasure, the boy
and man moved to get themselves comfortable, and continued with their
status of uninvited guests.  In five minutes after collapsing on his
screeching sister, Al was shakily on his feet, back into his kimono, and
amongst his brothers.  Di let a half an hour pass, then, at his father's
nod, mounted the stairs and knocked very softly at Lola's door.
       The girl made short work of tying the naked boy's hands above his
head, wrapping them gently to the bed post, then fetched
Tedgarluianastropovichisky's play stood, and, urging the sixteen year old's
muscular legs wide apart, spent a long time looking at and experimenting
with the male's jutting seven inch penis.  She fondled and wet him, kissed
and licked him, and experimented with stroking him in her right fist while
holding him low on his straining, panting body.  Ten minutes as she became
ever less childlike and more deliberate in her actions with her handsome
brother.  Clark and his athletic friend had shifted on their haystack and
the many was molesting the boy in response to his whispered account of
Lolla and Di's foreplay.  Then the little redhead's mouth was fully on the
boy, her head moving fast and deliberately, her throat humming avidly,
goading or coaxing, it was hard to tell which, only that it worked.

       Les had found Clark at a comely five inches, but that had been
awhile ago.  Now the twelve year old was so huge the young man released him
from time to time to see as well as feel the beautiful, slim, seven inch
penis jutting high and pink and straight from the apparently childish
loins.  In his slimness, he was a youth, a boy, a hobbledehoy, but the
ability to increase the length of his penis to please his partner was
unique.

       The girl hard and fast with the boy, the athlete hard and fast with
the preteen, minute after pearly-gates minute, then the pearly flood,
simultaneously, Di out of control inside Lolla's hot, sucking mouth, giving
to his kid sister wildly and fully.  Clark, thoughts of felony in his alert
mind, was supremely more modest in letting his boy sperm flow into the hot
mouth of his adult partner.  No killing.  He might not have been a
sophisticate when he was sent blasting out into the universe, but that
lesson he did now.

       It hadn't settled into exactly a routine, and Clark could sense that
in time each of Lolla's brothers, and her father, would spend long nights
with the pretty child, instilling an affectionate and human facet in each
relationship, but for her birthday party it was more cut-and-dried, one and
then the next, for all the tender kisses, clasping hands, and shy smiles.

       She tied Bo as she had Di, spreading the nineteen year old's legs a
little more widely and placing her teddy bear's pillow on top of the little
stool.  "She wants to be higher against him," Clark explained to Les and
the man immediately complied with the assumed suggestion, using a bale to
adjust things so his chest was high against the youth spreading his legs as
he lay back against the pile of straw.  "She kissed him," Clark reported,
"you know, not on the lips, but now she's using just her two hands.  I
think she wants to see what happens at the end."
       "Yes," Les, his voice unreliable because of the slick coating still
lingering on his vocal cords, "nineteen year old's have the most to offer a
partner, so she chose her order well, because watching it happen is the
most exciting of all to some people."
       Indeed, the pixie seemed hot as a firecracker for her powerful
brother's spill.  She used him until the boy was a quaking wreck, half
hanging from the bedpost, has legs shaking so it looked as if they couldn't
support half the weight of her body.  Her hand didn't blur on him, she
didn't suddenly begin beating him twice or three times a second, she just
kept steadily, affectionately at it, mewing with curiosity and then
encouragement.  Since it had worked so well with Al, she cooed for her baby
and in half a minute her delicate chest and throat were being coated with
showering semen.  Clark, enjoying the safety the few inches separation from
Les offered, was fuller in what he did this time, cumming over the gasping
adult to an extent that might have slightly overflowed a wine goblet.
       "God, it tastes like lobster," Les murmured, hugging the naked boy
to his chest, slicking him, then repeating the process until finally the
heaviness was gone and Clark looked down on his older friend fondly, drying
him with a warm glow of his bright, hazel eyes.

       Bo had rushed from Lolla's room naked and was urgently summoning his
father.  Chas was at hand and entered, closing the door and taking a long
look and the wet girl as he slipped from his tunic.  He manhandled her onto
the rug, jammed his knees between her long, slim legs, found her using his
right hand, then, bracing himself started his full rape.  He ripped into
her so hard with his eight inch phallus he shoved her bodily across the
floor until her head thudded against a post of her bed.  He grabbed the
post for leverage and savaged her as she wriggled as screamed wildly, her
tiny hands clawing at her rapist's heaving flanks, her voice urging then
demanding him.  They both shouted bad names at each other, then came
massively together, the act of insemination lasting nearly two full
minutes.  Exhausted, they lay in a panting heap on the floor.  Slowly they
revived and the man eased the little girl onto the bed, her tiny breasts
against the soft cotton spread, and her knees resting on the toy stool.

       "Oh, Daddy," the girl sighed as her father sat beside her gently
rubbing her back, then touching her and fondling her more intimately, "to
think it can happen more than once. How amazing."
       "I want it to be gentle and sweet, next time," the father whispered
tenderly.
       "Mmm, and all night," the girl sighed happily.
       "Any time your mom lets us," the man said.
       "You're her older brother, aren't you Daddy, that's our big,
delicious family secret, isn't it?"
       "Yes," the man affirmed.  "It started on her tenth birthday, and we
got pregnant with Bo when she was eleven. Laddalenkowskiwitch isn't our
real name because we had to change identities to live as husband and wife
when the babies started coming.  Originally, we were the Ty family, and we
have plenty of pictures and letters and all the stuff other families have,
only a generation removed, so to speak, so you don't have to grow up
feeling half-way and confused about things."

       They remained naked and in near silence for some minutes, the man
exploring the little girl in an unfamiliar way.  "Oh, Daddy," Lolla sighed,
I know the best of the best of the best in all the whole wide world
happened for my birthday, but that feels really nice, too.  Where you're
pushing against me.  It feels really good."
       "That's wonderful, angel," Chas whispered.  "You just lie still for
a minute and I'll be right back, okay?"
       "Yes, Daddy," the girl replied, adding: "I love you."
       "I love you, too, pumpkin," the fond father said as he opened the
bedroom door.  "Very much."  He whistled.  "Here fella, yeah, come on big
guy, yeah, yeah, time for all that later, come on in, boy."
       "Oh Daddy," Lolla sighed, "it's Alpo."


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