SHIPWRECKED

Barton Allen awoke to the roar of storm driven waves breaking on the coast of a Pacific island. He gagged and retched as the salt water washed over him and entered his open mouth. As he attempted to sit up, a shooting pain in his leg caused him to wince and groan. He glanced down and saw a bruise on his leg. It probably happened in those last frenetic moments when he clung to his mother and daughter as the sea engulfed them. He raised the front of his body on his elbows and frantically surveyed his surroundings.

In front of him, huge waves foamed and broke roaring on the silver sands. A few hundred yards behind him, thick verdant jungle foliage ringed the beach. He swung his head first to the left and then to the right, searching for his mother and daughter. Further down, the sundry items of his two masted brigantine were scattered about the beach.

Amid that wreckage, he could see the bodies of the crew. They appeared lifeless, their macabre motion caused by the breaking of the waves. Despair gripped his heart. Was he the only survivor? Was his family dead?

As his head cleared, he managed to sit up. Crates and steamer trunks floated in the water. In the distance, he could see the wreckage of the ship caught on a reef. It was all that was left of his ambitious expedition back to the islands where his daughter was born.

Down the beach, one of the seemingly lifeless bodies moved and tried to sit up.

"Hullo! Hullo!" His voiced cracked as tried to attract the attention of the other survivor. Hope sprang in his heart. There WERE other survivors. He thought of his mother and daughter. He prayed they had survived.

The figure set up. His heart surged as he recognized the long blond hair of his 20 year old daughter. She was alive. Barton struggled to his feet.

"Hullo! Cynthia!"

Cynthia Allen sat up. Her body ached from the pounding it took in her frenzied swim to safety. She had clung to her father's strong arms until a wave ripped her from his grasp. She was horrified to see she was amidst the drowned shattered bodies of the crew. Crab like, she scooted backward on her arms and legs . She struggled to her feet and took a few stumbling steps trying to put distance between her and the gruesome scene. A distant familiar voice caused her to turn in that direction. She recognized her father hobbling toward her.

She raised her hand to acknowledge her father's hail. He was safe! Joy sprung in her heart.

A mournful groan drew her attention back to the seemingly lifeless bodies. One of them moved. Cynthia recognized the iron grey hair of her grandmother.

Cynthia turned toward her approaching father. She raised a hand over her head, waving it back and forth. "Father! Grandmamma is alive."

Weak from her ordeal, she tried to walk toward her grandmother. She found her legs would not support her. Cynthia sank to her knees and crawled the few yards to where her grandmother lay.

Annabelle Allen lay on her back, her body encased in a whalebone corset. Below the corset, the undulations of the sea caused her chemise undergarment to move in concert with the water. Cynthia glanced at the thicket of her companion's pubic hair and averted her eyes. She was raised as a proper Victorian era woman. It was improper to view another person's nakedness.

She turned toward her father hobbling down the beach. Relief welled in her heart. She knew she was safe. Her father, the most important male in her life, was alive and well.

She turned her attention to her grandmother. As she attended to her unconscious companion and tutor, she was unaware that her short chemise undergarment had ridden up on her back, exposing her slim behind.

"Cynthia, you are exposed. Please cover yourself." Barton averted his eyes. He attempted to ignore the stirring in his ragged pants. That his daughter was a woman, there was no doubt. He watched her mature into a tall, full bosomed woman.

Her garment hid little. It was a mid thigh length cotton singlet. It's only purpose was to protect the skin from the pressure of the whale bone corsets of the day. It was sleeveless with a deep vee in front. Cynthia's large breasts caused the front to be higher than the back.

At first confused, she glanced over her shoulder. Her fair skin turned bright red. She struggled to her feet, brushing the undergarment down to its full mid thigh length. Her obvious embarrassment hid a secret thrill. As with most virgins of the Victorian era of the 1860's, she expected her husband to be the first man to see her nude body. That it was her father embarrassed and titillated her. She felt the quivering in her lower abdomen that she sometimes felt around a particularly handsome suitor.

Annabelle, her grandmother, forgotten for the moment, coughed and spit up seawater. Her sallow color showed her distress. Barton hurried to her side. He knelt in the surf and lifted her head. More seawater spewed forth. Concern knit his brow as he beheld her. He expertly undid her tightly laced whalebone corset. Her breathing eased. Her substantial chest heaved as she took big gulps of air. Her eyes fluttered open as her son tenderly stroked her arm.

Annabelle Allen looked up into Barton's concerned face. She lifted her arm and lovingly stroked his cheek. "I'm fine, darling, I'm fine."

Cynthia, accustomed to casual displays of affection by her grandmother and father, smiled. "Grandmother, it's good to see you are well."

The two adults quickly pulled their hands away from each other. As one, they turned and looked at Cynthia kneeling in the sand.

"Yes, dear. I'm fine." Anna's eyes moved from her near naked charge to her father and back again. The chemise was not designed to preserve modesty. The deep vee exposed Cynthia's substantial cleavage.

Cynthia's embarrassment grew as she realized her father was staring at her overly large breasts. They were her embarrassment. Women of the era were expected to have a slim almost elfin figure. While her hips and waist were boyish, her breast ballooned to an outlandish size. At an early age, her grandmother taught her to wear a tight bandeau to reduce the size of her unfashionably large mammaries.

They continued to be an embarrassment when she reached the age of her majority and entertained suitors. Her suitors fell into two categories. Those repulsed by her breasts but lured by her father's wealth. And those attracted by her father's wealth but salivating at her chest size. To her grandmother's dismay, she spurned them all. None measured up to her father.

"We must get Anna to the shelter of yonder trees," Barton croaked, "she needs to be out of this brutal sun." Barton scanned the sky. In the distance, he could see the dark roiling storm clouds. He knew in these climes storms usually hit in waves. They would need to find shelter or perish from exposure.

Father and daughter lifted Annabelle to her feet. They half carried, half walked her to the shade formed by the jungle growth. They deposited her on the sand under the trees. Cynthia sat next to her, her undergarment pulling high on her slim thighs.

"Cynthia, take care of your grandmother. I'll see what can be salvaged from the wreck."

Cynthia nodded. Using one hand to shield her eyes from the sun, she Looked up at her father. He appeared godlike, framed in a halo of sunlight. True, she saw him infrequently. His voyages kept him away for months at a time. However, when he was home he regaled her with tales of exotic places while she sat on his knee. Lately, particularly after his last trips and shortly after she turned 15, he insisted she not sit on his lap but in a chair.

Barton stood. His eyes flicked from his daughter's nubile body to his mother lying prone under the tree. His mother's eyes moved from his face down to his crotch and back. He spun on his heels and walked back to where the wreckage of the brigantine was washing up on the shore. He resisted the urge to adjust his rigid cock until he was well down the beach.

Annabelle, 56 years old, lifted her upper body on her elbows and surveyed her surroundings. She looked lovingly at the broad back of her 38 year old son moving toward the water. He was her only child. His father, like him an adventurer, left on a voyage when Barton was 17 and never returned.

The world of the 1830's was a difficult one for a single woman to raise a child. Fortunately, her late husband, although consumed by wanderlust, left an estate that generated sufficient income for her and her beloved son to live comfortably.

She never remarried nor took another man to her bed. Many men courted her. That was not unusual. A handsome woman with an income was considered good marriage material. However, they soon realized that her devotion to her son was total, allowing room for no other man.

The disappearance of his father devastated Barton. He woke up nights crying for his lost father. He would cross the hall to Anna's room and crawl into bed with his mother seeking comfort.

Anna, desperate to console her despondent son, let him sleep with her when he was distressed. Over time, he stopped going to his room and slept nightly with her. Anna realized this was of questionable propriety. However, she was desperate. He was all she had left. She would cuddle him to her bosom and they slept that way.

At some point, he began having nocturnal emissions. Annabelle was progressive for a woman of the Victorian era. Rather than castigate him, she counselled him that such things were normal for a growing boy.

One night, shortly after his 18th birthday, Annabelle awoke to her son suckling at her breasts. As was the custom in those times, she had breastfed him until he started school. Weaning him was difficult. However, eventually she succeeded.

Now, distressed by the loss of his father, he was reverting. She gently pulled her breast from his mouth. Like a baby, he fretted, his mouth formed a moue and made sucking sounds. Sighing with resignation, she lifted her teat to his mouth. Hungrily, he took it in his mouth with one hand caressing it.

Annabelle cradled her suckling son's head in her arm. Her free hand stroked his head. The sensations he caused reminded her of his father and their lovemaking.

There were nights he cuddled spoon fashion with her, his arm thrown over her waist, cupping her breasts. Annabelle struggled with the impropriety of this. The young lad she took to her bed was becoming a young man with all the needs that presented. However, her love of him was total. She covered his hand on her breasts with hers. She often dreamed of his father when she and her son slept like this.

One night she awoke to him dry humping her. She scooted away and turned on her back. During the day while he was at school she struggled with the import of this. As she dithered, trying to reconcile the situation in her mind, one night he exploded, spraying her behind with his emission.

Though she was taken aback, it awakened an unholy arousal in her. Her gown, soaked with his seed, clung to her body. She found it curiously arousing.

That first time, he was inconsolable when he woke up and saw what he did. She tried to comfort, to explain that what happened was normal for a boy his age. His mournful laments caused her to hold him to her bosom to comfort him. Though 18 and a man in years, his sorrow caused him to do the one thing that always eased his distress. He pushed aside his mother's nightgown and took her teat in his mouth. Annabelle held him in her arms and stroked his head. She was surprised that this act of motherly love aroused sexual feelings in her.

As he reached his majority and began taking a more active part in running his father's export import business, he still suckled for comfort and security. Mother and son never made a conscious decision to take their relationship to the next level. There progression to having sex was organic, growing from years of shared intimacy.

She smiled as she recalled the first time he entered her. Her gown had ridden up around her waist from his dry humping. She could feel his cock sliding through the pillows of her ass. She leaned forward, took his manhood in her hand and positioned him at her entrance. Then she pressed back.

The rapturous feel of her son entering her was other worldly. Her seafaring husband learned much about sex during his travels. He taught his wife all that he learned. He had not, however, prepared her for the intense duality she felt as she became both mother and lover to her son.

Anna's sex life with her long lost husband was varied and exciting. She accepted the Victorian dictum that men were naturally polygamous while women were naturally monogamous. On his voyages to the far flung corners of the world, he learned new and exciting ways for them to have sex. She taught what she knew to her son. He learned to control his arousal. She expertly taught him the techniques of oral sex. They sometimes spent hours orally pleasuring each other. She taught him the things she loved and the things her husband loved. He became her compleat lover.

At some point in his twenties he came back from a voyage with a book he discovered in an exotic land. It was called the Kama Sutra. She and her son delighted in trying the many sex positions detailed in the book. The sex life she shared with her son was as full and satisfying as the one she had with her departed husband. They held the secret relationship close, realizing social and financial ruin lay with discovery.

Beyond him, she saw the wreckage of their ship. Fear gripped her as she recalled the howling tropical storm that caused their ship to founder. She and Cynthia clung to each other below decks while the ship was driven before the storm. She recalled the sickening sound of sturdy American oak splintering on the coral reef. Barton appeared in the door of their cabin, tall and reassuring. He ordered them to remove their cumbersome clothing as they would have to swim for their lives.

She recalled helping Cynthia remove her hooped dress and crinolines. She was removing her own clothing when the ship lurched and rolled to its side pitching them into the angry sea. Barton clung to them both until the force of the water separated them.

Annabelle turned her head and looked at her charge. She was sitting against a tree with her eyes closed. There was much she needed to know, the circumstances of her conception and birth was one. The other was the fact that Annabelle was ill and might not survive the rigors of being shipwrecked.

She frowned as she realized Cynthia wore only her undergarment. Then she took stock of her own dress. She wore no more than Cynthia did. Her own overly large breasts were barely contained in her short chemise undergarment. She noted that she and her son's child shared the deformity of an unladylike overly large bosom. Those few suitors she entertained were at once fascinated and repulsed by them.

Annabelle continued taking stock of herself and their situation. Her eyes widened as saw her iron grey pubic thatch exposed to the African sun. She pulled her chemise down as far as it would go Still it barely covered her mature thighs. She turned her head toward her granddaughter.

"Cynthia," she croaked. Her throat was dry and raspy.

Cynthia's heart leapt at the sound of her grandmother's voice. She crawled the few yards to her.

"I'm here, grandmamma! Are you well?"

"I'm fine, child! What of you?"

A quirky smile played across Cynthia's lips. "Aside from this revealing undergarment, I am fine."

"Perhaps your father will find clothing for us in the wreckage."

Annabelle reached over and patted Cynthia's hand. "Trust in your father, dear. He will take care of us."

Annabelle looked down at the beach where her son struggled to pull a large chest from the surf. In the distance, she could see a wall of black clouds moving toward the shore. The storm was returning. She recalled the captain, a quite handsome fellow, told her that in these climes tropical storms came in waves until their strength was exhausted.

Cynthia watched the black storm clouds swallowed the sun as her shirtless father sprint toward them. As he reached them, the rain began to fall in torrents. Even in these dreadful circumstances, he cut a fine figure. He was easily a foot taller than her 5' 2". His many travels and adventures left him muscular, broad shouldered and tanned, unlike her soft pasty-faced suitors. They failed miserably to inspire her as her large masculine father did.

"We need to get back amongst the trees. I have experienced these storms in my travels. The surf could be pushed up to where we are."

Barton and Cynthia struggled to get a weakened Annabelle to her feet. The ferocity of the storm grew. The rain beat down on them. He wrapped one arm around his mother's waist to support her as they trudged deeper into the jungle. His hand surreptiously cupped her breasts. His mother's hand came up and covered his hand. She loved him with a mother's unconditional love. That love was enhanced by their twenty plus years sexual relationship.

"Father!" Cynthia strained to be heard over the roar of the storm. "I see an outcropping of rocks over there. Perhaps, there is shelter."

Barton turned his head to where his daughter pointed. The rain and wind pressed against his back. "Lead us there," he yelled to make himself heard over the roar of the storm.

Cynthia took the lead, the violent wind pushing her toward the rocky outcropping. She could feel the rain and wind push her garment up. Vainly she tried to hold it down. Then gave up. She was aware that her father could see her bare bottom. Even in these calamitous circumstances, she felt a thrill in her lower abdomen.

She spied a lighter opening in the darker outcropping and moved toward it. It was a cave. She turned to holler her find to her father. The wind blew her chemise up over her head, blinding her. For a few frantic moments, she struggled to pull it down.

Barton fought forward holding his mother tightly, his hand still under her breast. He saw his daughter turn, point and yell something. Her words were lost in the fierce wind. Then her chemise blew over her head. For a brief moment she was virtually naked, her slim womanly body exposed to his gaze. She was pneumatic, having a full round bosom with vivid pink nipples set amidst lighter pink puffy areola. Almost invisible blond hair covered her pubic area. Despite himself, his cock hardened. His mother groaned. He realized he was squeezing her breast and quickly loosened his grasp.

Cynthia finally got her garment down. She was red with embarrassment. The torrent let up briefly. She could clearly see her father and grandmother. His hand lay familiarly on her breasts. She pointed toward the cave.

Barton could see her pointing ahead. Using his free hand, he motioned her to go into the cave. Holding his mother tightly, he followed his daughter into the cave.

Exhausted, Barton let his mother slip from his encircling arm. She collapsed to the moss covered floor of the shallow cave, her chemise around her waist, exposing her large mature behind, full thighs and hairy crotch. Cynthia watched as her father unabashedly pulled her grandmother's undergarment down, restoring her modesty. She smiled as he affectionately patted her grandmother's leg. He loves her as I do, she thought.

Barton looked up at his daughter. Her cotton chemise was transparent from the rain. Her lithe body with her outsized breasts was on full display. So like her mother, he thought.

She began to shiver uncontrollably. He realized they needed heat. However, there was no possibility of a fire. He reached for her hand.

"We must all lie together using our body heat to warm us." Barton lay down behind his mother. She was also shivering. He extended a hand. " Lie down behind me."

Cynthia hesitated. Her Victorian training said this was improper. "Father, I..."

"Damn it girl lay down. It's this or death." The command of her father's voice was irresistible. Cynthia lay down, spooning her father, wrapping her arm around his body. The warmth of his body eased her chills. His closeness caused a familiar aching in her privates. She watched her father spoon her grandmother and throw his arms over her. Exhausted they all fell into a troubled sleep.

Cynthia awoke in the dim confines of the cave. Just outside the opening the moon glistened off the wet leaves of the trees. She raised her head. She lay behind her father with her arm thrown over his waist. His lower body seemed to be moving. She rose on one elbow. Curiously, her father's crotch was pressed against her grandmother's behind. His hand was inside the sleeve of her chemise holding her breast. In their sleep they ground against each other.

A 20 year old female's sex education in 1860 was limited. Her grandmother was her sole tutor in all things. Grandmamma Allen taught her that men were naturally polygamous and women naturally monogamous. Curiously, clandestine girl talk with other girls her age in the village revealed they were taught it was their duty to have sex with their husbands whether they wanted to or not. Her grandmamma said that with the proper partner it could be enjoyable.

Since she had no siblings, the concept of incest was foreign to her. She was not exposed to the juvenile fumbling of a sibling. She took the affectionate embraces and kisses between her grandmother and her father as a natural part of family life. Often on mornings when her father was home from a voyage, she observed him emerge from her grandmother's bedroom and walk down the hall to his own.

When she asked about this, her grandmother first admonished her that family matters must stay in the family. She went onto say it was normal for mother and son to share a bed. When Cynthia asked whether this familial bed sharing extended to her, her grandmother looked at her long and hard. Then she said it was a topic they would discuss later. It was shortly after that her father insisted she no longer sit on his knee but in a chair when he shared tales of his voyages.

Variations of this response were given when she asked about her mother. All she knew of her mother was that she died in childbirth while at sea with her father. Her earliest memories were of her grandmother.

Barton slowly awoke from a troubled sleep. The proximity of Annabelle's body comforted him. His hand cupped her breast and the bulge of his morning wood lay between the pillows of her behind.

"Father, are you awake?"

He quickly removed his hand from Annabelle's breasts.

"Yes, Cynthy. Are you okay?"

Her eyes flicked down. Her grandmother's chemise was around her waist. Her father's crotch was pressed against her bare bottom. She made a mental note to ask about this the next time they had a female to female talk.

"Yes father. Is grandmamma well?"

"Yes! Yes!," Barton said nervously, "she is fine."

"Father, I must answer Nature's call."

"Ahhh yes! Go just outside the cave. Do not go into the jungle."

When she returned from relieving her bladder, she noticed that her grandmother's undergarment now covered her and her father sat with his back against the cave.

She studied him from just outside the cave. She often dreamt of him when he was away. Sometimes she even touched herself when she dreamed of him. Often she awakened from her dream to a warm tingling sensation suffusing her body. It began shortly after she entered womanhood. She would touch herself and the feelings exploded in her body. When she confided this her grandmother, she was told it was normal. She trusted her grandmother even when her girlfriends said masturbation could lead to madness.

As she matured, her view of her father changed. His adventures left him deeply tanned almost like a Negro. His shoulders were broad. Even through his waistcoat, she could see the hard flatness of his abdomen. Many times, she pleasured herself with the image of her father in her mind. Some nights the feeling was so intense that a clear liquid sprayed from her privates and she writhed in her bed.

Barton looked up and saw his daughter standing in the cave entrance. The bright African sun behind her made her chemise nearly transparent. She looked so like her mother.

"Check on your grandmother while I answer Nature's call."

"Yes father!" She watched her father walk from the cave. Though ragged his pants fit tightly across his well muscled behind. His gait was easy, almost catlike.

It was obvious to even Cynthia's inexperienced eyes that her grandmother was not doing well. The wasting disease diagnosed by her doctors was proceeding apace. They recommended this voyage, thinking the clean sea air would aid her recovery. It had not and would not.

As she bent over her, her chemise rode up, revealing her tight slit. When her father returned, he saw her tending to her grandmother. Barton was a worldly man, having shared intimate moments with many women of many cultures. Her pussy seemed so small, so pure. The presence of her almost invisible pubic hair was emphasized by its wetness. He resisted the urge to lean forward and kiss that precious treasure. He cleared his throat.

"Is she okay?"

Cynthia glanced back over her shoulder. Her eyes flicked down to the hard outline against his thigh in his pants. Again she harkened back to snatches of conversation she overheard amongst the slaves. The name they used varied. Some called it a dick. Others a cock. Some called it a licking stick. The last name confused her. She was not sure what it meant.

"She's fine, father, sleeping soundly. What's to become of us?"

The import of their situation came crashing down on her. They were shipwrecked. They had no food or water. The thought of water reminded her of how thirsty she was. "What are we going to do for food and water." She held her hands out, palm up and looked down her body. She noticed a strange but exciting glow in her father's eyes. "And clothes! I can't walk around like this."

Barton stood and briskly brushed the sand from his tattered pants. "I'll go down to the beach and see what is left of the ship. However, I fear whatever was salvageable was blown away by the storm."

Cynthia stood also. Demurely she brushed her chemise down covering herself. An intense sadness overtook her. She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her father's waist.

"Father I'm so frightened." She shivered as the hardness of his cock pressed into her abdomen.

Barton stepped back quickly, his tool twitching at the contact with his daughter. "Don't worry! I have travelled many places and experienced many things. I will get us through this."

Cynthia watched her father walk out of the cave and into the jungle foliage. She glanced down at her still sleeping grandmother then out of the cave entrance. Cynthia moved slowly through the cave entrance. She was unsure of why she was following her father or what she would do.

A sound just in front of her caused her to pause. She cocked her head, straining to hear the sound. For a moment fears of wild animals welled in her chest. Then she heard a very human sounding groan. She crept up to a tree and peeked around it.

Barton Allen stood in a clearing just past the tree with his pants around his ankles. His hand was wrapped around his enormous cock. It moved slowly up and down its length. Cynthia watched in stunned fascination. As a 20 year old virgin, this was the first cock she had ever seen. Her father was pleasuring himself just as she did.

She watched as droplets of liquid leaked from the end, were captured by his stroking hand and deposited up and down its considerable length. Her hand trailed down to her privates as she watched his stroking speed increase. As he stroked his cock glistened more wetly and his breathing grew more ragged.

Cynthia hissed as her index figure slipped between the wet swollen folds of her pussy. She watched her father. As his stroking increased in speed, her finger thrust harder and faster into her hole. She could feel her juices increase, dripping from her crevice and running down her thighs.

Her knees were weak. She extended one arm balancing herself against the tree. The sloshing sound of her pussy was so loud she was sure her father would hear it. Still she finger fucked herself. She watched as her father's back arched. His hand flew up and down his tool. She was amazed at the stream of thick greyish liquid that spewed from his cock.

Cynthia came explosively, spewing a clear stream of her ejaculate onto the jungle floor. Weakened, the jungle spinning around her, she slumped forward against the tree. When she opened her eyes her father was gone.

***

Annabelle sat up. A quick glance around the cave showed she was alone. The events of the last hours flashed through her mind. She recalled the stumbling progress to this cave as though in a dream. In that dream, her son had squeezed her breasts. Her hand came up and touched that breast.

A smile stole across her face. She and Barton successfully hid their incestuous relationship for twenty odd years. Even when she became pregnant, they concocted a story where she went with him on a voyage. While away, he supposedly married and his bride died in childbirth.

Their child, Cynthia, was born on a tropical island in the South Pacific. Mother and son spent several months there. Anna's heart skipped a beat as she recalled nursing their baby on one teat while Barton suckled the other.

Anna adopted the native style, going topless and wearing only a sarong. They even experimented with the open sexuality of the natives. She recalled living in the hale noho or sleeping house. They were tentative at first, their Victorian upbringing restricted their full participation. Over time they joined in the sexual life style freely. She shivered as she recalled the thick black cocks filling her pussy and the exotic taste of a dark skinned woman's pussy.

The exigencies of life forced them to leave their idyllic paradise. There were financial matters dealing with the estate of her late husband, Barton's father. They promised themselves they would return. This voyage, probably Anna's last, was in keeping with that promise.

The sadness she felt was tempered by the fact that she was with her family. She knew the illness would eventually claim her life. It was their hope, she and her son and lover, to explain to Cynthia their relationship before she died.

When they returned from the island, they adopted the role of son and grandmother/companion to Cynthia. In their home, they lived as husband and wife raising their daughter.

Annabelle frowned. It was becoming more difficult to hide their relationship from Cynthia. They planned to tell her during this voyage. Being shipwrecked complicated the situation.

"Good morning, grandmamma."

Annabelle turned and looked at her daughter. She was tall like her father. Her shoulders were broader than average to support her breasts. Though slim hipped, they still swelled more than typical Victorian woman. Though the term was not in common use, in another age statuesque described her 5' 9", 150 pound body.

Her ruddy face was triangular with wide set eyes, broad forehead and an a slightly upturned nose. Her lips were wide full and sensual with a Cupid's bow curve.

"Good morning, Cynthia." Annabelle recognized the distress in her daughter's posture and face. "is something wrong?" Adrenaline surged into her veins. Had something happened to Barton?

"I...I...you have always told me I could discuss anything with you."

"Why yes! Yes you can! Is something wrong?"

Cynthia knelt in front of her mother with her legs crossed Indian style.

"I...I... I have noticed that you and father are close...very close!"

Anna got a lump in her throat. They tried to be discreet. However, their passion was a fire that consumed reason.

"Yes! Yes, darling! Yes we are!"

"I...I have on occasion some mornings seen father leave your bedroom in his night clothes and go to his room. I just wondered...I just wanted...!"

Annabelle reached out and lay a hand on her daughter's thigh. It felt warm to the touch. "We planned to tell you together. However, I believe Barton will understand if you and I discuss it."

Anna took a deep breath. "I am Barton's mother. Your father and I are lovers."

Cynthia blinked. She and her girlfriends whispered about many aspects of sex. One girl hinted that her brother did something improper with her. Her Victorian mind tried but could not conceived of all the ramifications.

"What of my mother? You said she died in birthing me."

"No child. I am your mother."

Cynthia stared blankly at Annabelle.

"I don't understand, Grandmamma."

Annabelle's head dropped to her chest. For several moments she thought, collecting herself. When she spoke she explained to her about passion, about loving someone so deeply that all else paled. She explained about family love and how that was stronger then all else. She finished by saying that she, Cynthia, was a product of a love so deep that society could not understand it.

Cynthia took several moments to digest this new revelation. Her upbringing by her sexual liberated grandmother was unusual for the age. She accepted what she said and asked the obvious question.

"What of me? I have no male sibling to explore this mystery with. I have rejected all suitors because they did not measure up to my father. Who will initiate me into these rites?"

Annabelle lay her head back. She stared at the roof of the cave. The sea voyage that it was hoped would heal her illness had, because of the shipwreck, aggravated it. She knew without the care of her doctors and the medications lost in the storm she would not last.

"There is a book called the Kama Sutra. Your father and I learned much from reading it. Shortly after you were born we also had the magical experience of living among sexually uninhibited natives. Sit next to me and I will describe the things in that book and tell you of the native life style."

When Barton returned to the cave, Annabelle and Cynthia sat facing each other. It was obvious they had an intense conversation. He looked form one to the other questioningly.

"I have told Cynthy about us and the circumstances of her birth."

Barton's mouth opened and closed reflexively. Words rushed to his mouth, were discarded and replaced by others. Finally he stood mute.

Still sitting cross leg staring up at her father, Cynthia smiled. "Grandmamma has just told me of your life on the island. Was it your plan to introduce me to those practices while we were there?"

Annabelle scooted back and rested her back against the wall of the cave. She was tired. However, there was so much she had to do before her time came.

"Cynthia, show your father what we discussed."

"I...what...What are you talking about?"

Smiling nervously, Cynthia rose to her knees. She walked the few feet to her father on her knees. She blushed bright red as she began to unbutton her father's pants.

"What are..." He stopped and looked at his mother. "What is she doing?"

Cynthia's hands trembled as she opened her father's pants. She could see his cock hanging semi rigid. For the first time in her life she reached out and took a man's cock in her hand. It felt warm. She was surprised at how pliant it was even though hard. She roughly squeezed it.

"Not so hard, dear," Annabelle said, "it is sensitive to touch. Stroke it like you might stroke a kitten...or yourself."

"Mother, I'm not sure..." Barton was interrupted by his mother.

"Hush, darling! This is her first time. She is already nervous and scared. Right Cynthy?"

Using both of her small hands to stroke up and down her father's cock, she turned and looked at her grandmother and nodded. "Grandmamma, it feels warm and alive. The fluid dripping from it feels hot on my hand."

"Taste it, dear."

Cynthia pulled her father's rigid cock down to her mouth. She took a tentative lick, sliding her tongue over his leaking slit. She grimaced and shook her head. Her grandmother laughed.

"It's an acquired taste, Cynthy."

"It doesn't taste bad, grandmamma. Just different!"

"Mother, I..."

"Barton, darling, she must be taught. I hoped she could learn while we were on the island. That is not going to happen." Anna returned her attention to her daughter. "Kiss the head, dear. Then let it slide into your open mouth."

As she widened her mouth and felt her father's cock slide into her mouth, Cynthia pulled back excitedly. "Grandmother, this is what the slaves meant when they said it could be called a licking stick!"

"Yes, dear! Now tend to what you are doing."

Awkwardly at first, then with increasing confidence Cynthia bobbed on her father's cock. She felt those sensations she previously only felt when she pleasured herself. Her privates leaked copiously. For his part, he held her head in his hands while looking lovingly at his mother. "Thank you mother."

Tidal waves of emotion washed over Cynthia. She ecstatic that her first oral experience was with her father. While she heard whispers of this from her girlfriends, the actual deed exceeded her expectations. She found she liked the feel of his...in her mind she briefly searched for a word. She decided 'licking stick' as used by the slaves fitted. It felt good in her mouth, her privates, she mentally began to think of it as a pussy, throbbed, her juices flowed freely.

She took one hand from his cock and inserted a finger in her aching hole. She hissed around her father's cock in her mouth. The feeling was intense. She liked having his cock in her mouth and her finger in her pussy.

"That's right, darling! You're doing fine." Anna levered herself to a kneeling position. She walked on her knees to where her daughter was sucking her son. Lovingly, she wrapped her arm around Cynthia's waist. "A little faster, dear!" Anna glanced up at her son and smiled. The look on her son's face told her he was close to cumming.

The corners of Cynthia mouth ached pleasantly from sucking her father. She was amazed when she felt it swell in her mouth. Suddenly she felt a flood of hot sticky fluid fill her mouth. Desperately she tried to swallow. Inexperience and the volume of her father's cum defeated her. Gagging, she pulled back. Suddenly, the flood continued over her face and chemise. She dimly heard her father howl like some animal. Then Annabelle leaned in, grabbed his cock, and wrapped her lips around his spurting tool. She expertly finished what her daughter started. She only stopped when Barton sank to his knees spent.

Annabelle wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. She looked at her daughter kneeling next to her coughing and gagging. "Are you okay, dear?" She rubbed her hand up and down Cynthia's back.

As her coughing and gagging subsided, Cynthia nodded her head. Is it always like this, Grandmamma?"

"That depends on what you're asking," Anna laughed. "If it's cumming yes. If it's the volume, no."

Recovering laying on his side on the floor of the cave, Barton followed the conversation. "It's obvious you two have been talking."

"Yes, father. Grandmamma...mother...is teaching me what I need to know about sex and satisfying a man."

Anna scooted over and leaned against the wall. The least activity exhausted her. "There are other things we must work on. But first I must rest." she dozed off.When she awoke, her son was on his back. His hands gripped his daughter's hard nipples. He twisted and pulled on them eliciting squeals and groans from his daughter. Cynthia was straddle him impaled on his cock. Her slim ass rose and fell rhythmically, her face a study in lust. She glanced over, saw her mother watching and blushed.

"We decided to try some things while you rested."

"Good child! Good!"

***

The Allens were stranded on the desert island for nearly a year. Early in that year Annabelle succumbed to her illness. Before she died, she continued instructing her daughter in how to please her father. Barton and Cynthia buried her in the jungle shaded by the trees.

Barton was resourceful. Though a basic subsistence, he and his daughter survived until a passing ship saw their signal fire. They were taken aboard with much hoopla.

Back at home, there was sadness for the loss of the crew and Annabelle Allen. They also lamented the death of the man Cynthia Allen met and married aboard ship. He was also lost at sea, leaving her and her father to care for her infant child. The townspeople often remarked on the devotion they showed each other and the child.

They never heard the passionate moans at night as Father and daughter explored the mysteries of the Kama Sutra. A few tongues wagged when they decided to visit the island where Cynthia was born. There were rumors of impropriety. They were scandalous intimations that Cynthia was again pregnant. However, they were silenced by the displeasure of their neighbors and Barton Allen's business partners. His wealth was significant. Incurring his displeasure could adversely affect the economic well being of the village.