Well, Sammy certainly has a lot to think about, doesn't he? It's really amazing what a hard cock in the arse can do to a straight boy. And Rastus isn't exactly what his daughter thinks he is, is he? And Paul isn't just a nude maid with a smile, either (admittedly, he does have some weird tastes when it comes to investments). So, how's Brenda going to greet her man when he comes home? How's he going to greet her? Read on, folks ... The fun's just beginning.

THE TAYLORS OF TAYLOR MOUNTAIN is fiction; no character in this story is real. The story is also copyrighted; nobody can reproduce it in any medium without my express permission. If you are not a legal adult in your country of origin, you're reading this or any other story on Nifty can cause it legal problems. Please, be kind to Nifty and don't sic the law down on them.

I have another incestual vampire tale running in another folder. If you want more of my writing and vamps, please check out Global Entertainment in Incest. If you're insatiable for hot, horny vampires, I'll recommend you to my new anthology just out from Starbooks, LOVERS WHO STAY WITH YOU. Nifty has links to several bookstores, use them if you decide to buy LOVERS, you'll be making a financial donation to Nifty.

I may be a published writer and editor, but that means little in the grand scheme of things. Please write me and tell me what you think of this story. Of course, I like to have my ego stroked, but I'm more than willing to look at constructive criticism (just don't tell me my characters stink, tell me why they stink - give me something to go on, in other words). Please use the title of the series in the subject box so that I know your e-mail isn't spam.

Dave MacMillan



Sunday night, Sniggums let me know that I was welcomed back into the condo by weaving between my feet as I tried to get through the door. After I'd finally gotten inside and put down my bags, she decided I'd received a warm enough welcome and, tail sticking straight up, sauntered to the laundry basket and my clean clothes she considered her bed. I was home.

I found myself wishing that I'd brought Henry back with me -- before I remembered Brenda and how good she was in bed.

Monday, Brenda didn't hang up on me the moment she heard my voice. "I thought we might go look around Lenox Mall tonight," I told her quickly, before she could remember that she was mad at me.

"Lenox?" she purred into the phone just as I knew she would. I could even hear the cash register in her head doing its thing.

Okay, she was a golddigger but that was a condition bred into most women from an early age. She also could go off on a religious jag that could drive a man up the wall. But she fucked like a rabbit and she was about the best looking girl in Atlanta.

"Afterwards, we can maybe take in one of the restaurants there -- or that Ethiopian place down on Ponce you like so much."

She purred even louder. "I'd like that."

"Come over to the condo after work," I told her.

I hadn't really thought about Brenda and me while I'd been on the mountain. True, she was my girlfriend, my regular squeeze, the girl who'd kept my bed warm the past year. She'd kept me satisfied. But I'd learned some startling things about myself as well as my family. My mind had been occupied.

Now, my perceptions had expanded. Henry's butt had been tighter than Brenda's cunt could ever think of being. I'd gotten off on slurping on his dick. Then, there was my dream blond doing the honors on my butt those two nights. While I didn't believe anybody had actually porked my ass, I was willing to admit that the day might come when somebody might. I was pretty sure now that I was bisexual. At least, I'd sure enjoyed both the imagined and real sex I'd had up on Taylor Mountain.

Brenda seemed to like Paul and she'd helped me develop my gay clientele over the past year. She was right there at the fundraisers that let me smooze with gay money.

She'd made it plain from the beginning, however, that I was hers and she wasn't sharing. That was the condition under which we became a couple, and it was the overriding condition that controlled her involvement in gay Atlanta with me. I was Brenda's lock, stock, and barrel -- or she wasn't going to be there for me.

While no woman ran my life, I pretty much did let Brenda think she did. Because I had a knock-dead gorgeous woman on my arm and heads turned anywhere we went. Despite the occasional religious rap I got from her, she knew just what to do in bed, too. All in all, she was worth every time I'd had to bite my tongue and let her act like she owned me.

Like I said, though, Brenda didn't own me. I didn't have a ring in my nose for her to lead me around by. My life was my own, and I only had to share whatever parts of it with her that I wanted. She might not like it, but she had no real hold on me.

With this new addition to our relationship, I figured that I'd keep my interest in guys to Taylor Mountain -- and I'd keep Brenda away from there.

As the decision worked its way through me, becoming a part of me, I realized it was the same way dad had handled things. He'd kept his family and Taylor Mountain totally separate. It sounded even more like a really reasonable plan to me.

We ended up eating at Mick's inside the mall. After Brenda had picked out two outfits with accessories at Rich's that cost me close to a thousand dollars. When we'd strolled along the concourse after dinner, she held my arm and pressed against me.

My first hint that things hadn't returned to normal between us was when I suggested we look in Victoria's Secret for something else for her.

Brenda smiled up at me. "Sammy, you stood me up in front of your friends Saturday," she said as sweetly and softly as any Southern belle from Brunswick, Georgia, ever could. "You didn't think enough of me to invite along on that trip up the mountain with you. Don't you even start to think I'm going to let you have your way with me any time soon."

I stared at her in shock.

"You're mine, Sammy Taylor. You accept that, and I'm yours. You start leaving me out in the cold or making me look bad, and I'll show you what it's like to miss me -- like right now."


She stamped her foot. "I'm not about to be ignored, Sammy Taylor. I'm not about to be taken for granted. I'm going to be a part of your life and you a part of mine. Else, you don't get what you want."

She turned and looked at some really frilly negligee, ignoring me like I wasn't even with her.

The silence that held us after that was deafening. I was still in a state of shock when we arrived back at my place across from Piedmont Park.

"Walk me to my car, Sammy," Brenda said. It was an order, and she wasn't smiling now that we were alone. I carried her packages down the sidewalk and waited for her to open the trunk of her car.

"Pick me up at my place tomorrow evening at seven, Sammy," she told me as she opened the door and slipped behind the wheel. She looked up at me and smiled. "I want you to take me someplace real nice."

I let myself into the condo and went directly to the liquor cabinet. I needed a drink bad. Two jiggers of Famous Grouse neat in my hand, I sat down. And wondered what the hell I'd walked into. I felt like the mouse that the cat had just played with. Sniggums ignored me.

My relationship with Brenda wasn't going in a direction I was comfortable with. I wasn't sure how to get a hold on it and lead it back to where I'd feel right about it. Downing the scotch, I told myself that she had to be on the rag. Women simply weren't as bitchy as Brenda had been unless they were having their period.

* * *

Rastus Reed was one butt-ugly man, Paul Estes told himself as he studied the naked preacher cuffed to the cross in front of him. He moved to stand at Rastus' hip and trailed the tails of his cat-of-nine-tails down the man's hairy back. Paul wondered idly if he should suggest that Rastus get rid of the fur. The man could afford electrolysis. He decided that put him too deep into the preacher's personal space.

"Why are you here?" he growled at Rastus' ear.

"I've sinned," the preacher mewled.

"You're a man," Paul told him. "Of course, you've sinned."

"I've been a woman to another man!" Rastus wailed. "I paid him to know me like a woman."

Paul pressed the end of the whip handle into the cleft between the preacher's sagging buttcheeks. He couldn't understand what it was about the priest-penitent role play that appealed to a born-again evangelist like Rastus Reed, but the man loved it. It was only the one sin he confessed, too -- time and time again.

In a perfect world, Paul would like to hear the man confess to taking grocery money from little old ladies. That was a lot more damning than having any kind of sex.

He pulled the whip back a couple of feet and positioned himself before bringing its tails against the preacher's ass. The blow wasn't hard. It was only the first of the many that Rastus Reed's two hundred dollars bought him.

Paul hated playing the dominant priest role. He hated Rastus Reed, too. He wondered if he dared to raise the strike zone onto the preacher's back. That'd look good.

* * *

Tuesday night, we did Buckhead, Atlanta's yuppie heaven. I wasn't sure that it would be ritzy enough to be "nice" for her, but it definitely was alive. She was happy enough with my choice when I agreed to park near the Laura Ashley store.

After another four digit spree and her new clothes were safely in my car, she'd become the same Brenda Reed I enjoyed being with. She held my arm and pressed against me as we walked the couple of blocks to the center of Buckhead's night life.

After we'd eaten, she smiled across the table at me. "Take me home, Sammy."

I held her close and breathed in the scent of her hair as we strolled back to the car. She held me by the waist. We walked in silence, but it was a warm and cuddly kind of silence. It was as good as it'd ever been between us.

Back at the condo, she pulled me to her as I shut the door. Sniggums came over to investigate, her body curling around my ankle as she sniffed at Brenda's.

Her hands behind my head, her fingers in my hair, Brenda pulled my face down to hers. My arms went around her as our lips met. She unbuttoned my shirt as our tongues dueled.

I hadn't held her or been kissed by her in a whole week. My hands moved up from her waist across her blouse to find her pliant breasts.

Henry's pecs sure hadn't been flabby like Brenda's felt through her bra and the blouse. His had been hard with the nipples sticking straight out waiting for me to find them.

I kissed Brenda harder, and my hands pulled her blouse out of her skirt.

Fuck Henry and the horse he rode in on! I was only bi, and I preferred sex with a woman. And I was going to have it now.

My fingers found the hem of her blouse and slipped beneath it to climb up her warm skin toward their goal. She began to move us toward the bedroom, her mouth still glued to mine. I pushed the bra up over her breasts, freeing them under her blouse.

In the doorway of the bedroom, I broke from our kiss, pushed her blouse over her breasts, and knelt enough that my lips found one of her breasts. I sucked its nipple into my mouth, scraping it with my teeth. My hand stayed on her other breast, cupping it while my fingers roughly tweaked its nipple. She gasped and ground her pelvis against me.

The tit in my mouth was so large; the breast in my hand was so flabby. The body against me felt all wrong. Henry's nips had been small and perk; the blond's too. An itch flared deep in my butt as I remembered him.

I unbuttoned her skirt and, as it fell to the floor, my hand left her breast and dove beneath her panties to cup her nearest buttcheek. She ground harder against me.

Jesus! The thing just jiggled under my fingers. Henry's fanny had almost been hard. It'd had character. This was just a blob of soft flesh. A picture of uncooked liver formed across my mind.

I was losing my hard-on!

I let her nipple escape my lips, and my tongue followed the curve of her breast onto her ribs. I rimmed her bellybutton as I worked her panties over her fanny and to her knees. She stepped out of them.

"Let's get on the bed, Sammy," she said, her voice hoarse with passion, as she pushed my shirt off my shoulders.

I kicked my shoes off as I followed her across the bedroom. She stood beside the bed, watching me as she quickly unbuttoned her blouse.

She smiled as she pulled it off. "You can't treat me so bad again, Sammy," she whispered. "I need you all the time."

My lips found hers, my hands found her breasts. My tongue explored her mouth and my fingers worked her tits, alternately squeezing and rubbing them. She moaned in my mouth and pressed against me. Her fingers found my belt and unbuckled it, the back of her hand moving across the crotch of my slacks.

I started growing down there again and relief flooded through me.

I edged Brenda to the side of the mattress, forcing her to lie down on it. I quickly unhooked and unzipped my slacks, pushing them and my boxers down my legs.

Normally, our sex play was long on foreplay. Brenda had usually already had an orgasm before I entered her. With my dick switching on and off like a crazy light fixture though, I wanted it in her fast.

I reached into the night stand and pulled out a rubber.

It was part of our sexual ritual for Brenda to make a big production of pressing the plastic against the head of my pecker and rolling it down the shaft, blowing pubic hair out of the way so that the band rested against my body. I wasn't sure that I could stay hard if I let her play. And I didn't think I'd want to try explaining why I lost it when we were so close to getting it on. She'd already proved that she could get some really weird ideas about our relationship. I ripped the foil packet open and rushed the thing down my pole.

I knelt over her and her legs moved up to ride my hips. I leaned closer and kissed her as I placed my dick at her cunt. It slipped into her easily. I could barely feel her.

I was kissing the blond from my dreams as he slid into me Saturday night. I was as hard as I'd been when he claimed possession of me. I rode Brenda slow, in rhythm with the blond's movement in me.

I was close. All I needed was a couple of more strokes by the blond against my joy spot to send me over. I ground against Brenda beneath me. The blond's tempo in me changed, speeding up as if he knew how close I was.

I groaned in her mouth as I unloaded in the rubber. My assmuscle flexed and the itch inside me flared and relentlessly stayed just at the level of consciousness.

"You came?" she whispered against my ear.

"Yeah," I answered, sucking air into my lungs.

"Keep going, sugar," she panted urgently. "I'm almost there."

I tried, even though I was half-hearted. I was wiped out, though. My dick decided to give up the ghost right then, rather than let itself be used any more. It slipped out of her on my second stroke and was too soft to get back into her. I rolled off of her and pulled the rubber off my shriveled pecker.

I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

* * *

Wednesday morning I sat in my office and tried to think what had happened to me. I'd given every girl I'd ever screwed good sex. It was a given that she had to have two orgasms to my one. It was also a given that my dick was always ready for one more time around. I stayed hard in every sexual situation I'd ever been in.

So, what had hit me last night?

I mean, I almost lost my erection before I could get Brenda's panties off. My pecker shot its load and died. I couldn't even get her off once. And I'd fallen asleep on her without so much as a goodnight kiss.

Something had happened to me, that was for sure.

Jesus! I wasn't even thirty. I was supposed to have plenty of sex drive left -- at least, for a few more years.

I didn't know which was worse -- me failing to perform to standard or me dreaming of the blond plowing my butt while I gave Brenda what I could.

The blond and Henry both had nice pecs -- hard and chiseled. They also had nice hard butts -- at least Henry did. I'd not gotten much of a feel of the blond's in my dreams.

Brenda, though -- she wasn't flabby. She sometimes even jogged around the reservoir in Piedmont Park with me. She even wore size six dresses. But her boobs! And that soft, giving ass!

Damn it, being bisexual was supposed to let me still get off on what a woman had going for her. Was the blond guy in my dreams turning me all the way queer? Jesus!


That evening, I was feeling a little rundown but perked up enough when I found Brenda waiting at the door for me.

"Are you all right, Sammy?" she asked as I got close enough to give her a peck.

"Yeah -- just a little under the weather, I guess ... I'm feeling it tonight."

"I want what you didn't give me last night."

Uh oh.

I let her in and followed after her. We ordered Chinese delivery and I poured myself two jiggers of Famous Grouse while we waited for dinner to arrive.

She came over and clamped the palm of her hand on my forehead. "You don't feel feverish."

"I'm just a little tired."

She studied me for a minute. I chugged the scotch. "Last night wasn't just a little tired, Sammy."


She leaned over and kissed my cheek. "Sammy, something strange is happening to you since you went up to that mountain."

"Strange?" I poured myself another drink and turned my back to her. I figured I was going to need it and probably more before she was through with me.

"Sammy, you performed..." I looked over my shoulder as she blushed. "You performed quite adequately before you decided to go off to that mountain and leave me here." She studied me closely. "Now, it's as if you met some woman up there and I don't measure up."

"Brenda, there's no other woman!"

"Then there's something up there that got into you -- what did you eat while you were there?"


"Sammy! Don't you go using the Lord's name in vain around me -- you know better than that."

"Brenda, look. I lost my dad just two weeks ago. I've taken over the company completely. Don't you think I might be shell-shocked?"

"Shell-shocked? So that you lose your erection? So that you can't keep it up to help your girl get hers? Something's got into you and is taking you over, making you lose interest in me and making you talk dirty, too." She moved around me so that we were facing. "I think Daddy's right about this kind of thing. We should pray to Jesus, Sammy -- that's what Daddy does with people who become impotent. It gets rid of the evil that's trying to take them over."

Impotent? Prayer? Evil? Pray with Reverend Reed? No way!

"Brenda, there's nothing wrong with me physically. I'm also sane as the next man, but I've taken some pretty major emotional blows."

"I think we ought to pray about this -- to heal you and make you safe."

I took a deep breath. That didn't help. I downed my second drink. That didn't help either. "If you're so worried, I'll make an appointment with a psychiatrist Monday."

"What do you need one of those quacks for?" she demanded. "All you need is prayer and love for Jesus."

"Brenda, I think I ought to go to bed and get some rest -- alone."

She studied me again. Her lip turned into something almost like the beginning of a snarl before she caught it and forced it away.

"I'll go on home then, Sammy. I'll pray for you, too." She turned and walked across to the door. She turned back to me and said: "Call me when you're feeling better, Sammy -- when you've accepted that you need Jesus in your heart." She opened the door and almost walked into the Chinese delivery man.

"Eat hearty, Sammy," she called over her shoulder. "Maybe you're just coming down with a cold or something."