Once Upon a Time in the South
A Tawdry Tale of Incest and Miscegenation
He Bop, She Bop
Copyright 2021
Bennett Leone didn't masturbate often. He was that rare teenager with a steady supply and an endless variety of twat. The nineteen-year-old redhead was handsome, popular and well endowed. Any number of women batted their eyelids and surreptitiously poked their tongues into their cheeks (feigning fellatio) to gain his attentions. His older sister Abby had schooled him in the art of lovemaking early on. Ben passed Abby's lessons on to their younger sister Annie, one year younger, who slept in the bed next to his and was available day and night, since their youth, to cloak his incessant erections in hole. With so many viable options, masturbating seemed, to Ben, a waste of time and semen.
It wasn't only his sisters that obliged him. Ben was the scion of slave-holding family based in antebellum northeastern Louisiana. His father Nathan was a deacon in the church. His sisters caucused with a cadre of local white women in a secret society known as 'Pussy Posse', a group whose sole purpose seemed to be the sampling and evaluation of penises. Ben had black slave girls, church mavens, southern belles and penis-samplers at his beck and call. He'd grown up in a pussy-rich environment. Given these obvious advantages, why should he engage Rosie and the Five Palm Sisters?
And yet, here he was, four o'clock in the morning, lying on his back, staring into the darkness with his dick in his hand. His cock raged and bucked upward, demanding Ben's attention, inundating his brain with luridly suggestive sexual scenarios.
Penis:
"ANNIE!! LET'S FUCK ANNIE!! WAKE ANNIE UP!!"
Ben:
"No. She's snoring. We just ranged that rump five hours ago!! She'll be mad."
Penis:
"THE NIGGER QUARTERS!! THE NIGGER QUARTERS!!! LET'S GO DOWN TO THE NIGGER QUARTERS!!"
Ben:
"No. There ain't time. Sun'll be up in a l'il while and ..."
Penis:
"SANDRA JEAN!! SANDRA JEAN GOES DOWN TO THE SPRING EVERY MORNING!! BY HERSELF!!"
Ben:
"Are you fucking nuts? Pa would kill me!!"
Penis:
"SUZY!! GLORIA!! TILLY!! JEMIMA!!! MIRIAM!! GRETCHEN!!! ABBY!!! MOLLY!!!"
(Each of these pubic scalps already dangled from Ben's belt...except that last name: Molly Fierson. Penis was getting desperate.)
Ben (intrigued):
"Molly? Molly Fierson?"
Penis (excitedly):
"YES!!! MOLLY FIERSON!! PAULIE GASTON'S GIRL!!!
Having settled upon a masturbatory fantasy victim, Penis' job now was to exacerbate Molly's virtues to accommodate his own nefarious ends. Molly Fierson was a fiery, petite, short-haired brunette from across the river. She came from a well-to-do family with a reputation for being a tad "hoity toity". The Fiersons didn't fornicate. They didn't drink. They didn't gamble. They didn't ruckus. They didn't farm; the father was a dentist. The Fiersons didn't even attend the regular Bapticostal Church. They were Presbyterians which, in itself, was the definition of "hoity toity".
When the regular country rabble got together to revel, the Fiersons held themselves above the fray. They watched but did not participate. There was no hint of scandal attached to the Fierson name. They lived and died by their family honor.
Consequently, Molly Fierson was a prized catch. She'd been snatched up by one of the town's chief poon hounds, Paulie Gaston, who promptly found that Fierson honor was no myth. The first time he went to ingratiate himself by way of Molly's pubescent goods he was rebuffed. Similar rebukes occurred on the second, third, tenth, twentieth and fortieth attempts, too. Though she appreciated his efforts, Molly Fierson planned to reserve her virtue for marriage—as had her mother, as had her grandmother. Molly was no prude. She fully intended to marry Paulie Gaston. She intended to marry the
hell
out of him—after a reasonable engagement period, of course.
This charade had been going on for two years now. Known poon hounds don't stay celibate for two years. Women who refuse to succumb to the wiles of known poon hounds become valuable commodities, this on the off chance that the known poon hound might trip and fall clumsily into foreign poon, thus ceding claim to the virtuous poon. Ben wasn't the only man who fantasized about fucking the living shit out of the very demur Molly Fierson.
In the pre-dawn darkness Bennett Leone settled in to a comfortable vision of masturbatory poon. He often fantasized a grandiose world in which he lived as the chief prince of a tropical kingdom. In this capacity he had access to any number of beautiful women, all princesses, and all of whom bore the visage of women he knew in the real world.
The fantasy always opened with Prince Bennett astride a magnificent golden steed galloping along a tropical beach at sunset. Behind him galloped several more stallions, each hosting a naked princess bearing gaudy bejeweled headdresses, spears and side arms. These were his palace guard. Depending upon the whims of Penis, the racial heritage of these princesses often fluctuated.
Tonight Molly Fierson, Jem Jenkins, Sandra Jean Leone and Abby Harkness served as the prince's guard. All of these women, and others, had been suggested by Penis that night in his manic desire for succor. Prince Bennett reserved the final cut unto himself.
Now the Prince regarded his pride of lionesses. Silent killers, all.
His older sister Abby was the longest tenured member of the group. The auburn-haired beauty had been the first to introduce the young prince to the joys of cleft. Married now to a royal duke, Abby remained one of the Prince's favorites. He turned to her often when his well-oiled penis required expert re-calibration.
The very cocoa Jem Jenkins satisfied the Prince's appetite for exotica. She was as mocha-chocolate as they came, with perky black nipples topping demitasse breasts, a wide behind, and a V-shaped abdomen that dovetailed perfectly into a sensuous, curly mound at the juncture of her thighs. She had an impish smile and dimples that belied her thousand-yard stare. When she and the Prince smashed genitals the Earth moved. The heavens burst asunder. Her pussy tasted of coffee liqueur laced with honey manna. The Prince delighted in the lingering aroma of her resonant labia on his lips. And if it came to a fight, it was she that Prince Bennett preferred to be at his back. Jem was a warrior.
The very mysterious Sandra Jean Leone made the cut by virtue of her sheer unavailability. The Prince's father forbade Sandra to all, leading all to conclude that the bi-racial baby was the King's daughter by another mother. And yet her beauty led many to include Sandra in their masturbatory fantasies. She possessed the best qualities of all her racial forbears: Curly, reddish-black hair. Freckles. Wide, Mediterranean eyes. Sultry brownish-nippled breasts. Round mounds of balloon-like buttocks that wobbled gelatinously in concert with her tits when she walked. And finally, a reputation for sneaking off to service her own needs—in the absence of suitable lovers—that indicated a roaring, unrequited, unsoiled southern motor.
Ben had never seen Sandra Jean's goods in real life. A wispy line of reddish pubic hair ran up past the lip of her bloomers to her navel. He'd seen that much at the swimming hole. Now he used that memory to extrapolate a vision of her heart-shaped vulva.
In his fantasy life Ben imagined Sandra's vagina to be a chasm of dizzying delights. He imagined a much smaller version of himself leaping headlong from her labia into a pool of sticky ecstasy, and swimming laps from one pussy lip to the other as she looked on, spread-eagle to the winds. Improvising upon this starter vision, Ben further imagined Sandra's gullet to be an appropriate repository for his semen.
"I bet she sucks dick like a champ!!"
He envisioned himself emptying seed into her throat, her hair, her cheeks and her tits.
Yes, Sandra's inclusion in tonight's romp would be very necessary.
