Author's note: This vacuous stroker is fantasy fiction, so chill. Real people do not act like this. All sexual participants are aged 18+. Tags: group sex, bisexual, sisters, brother-sister, mother-daughter, mother-son, clusterfuck, glee club, earthquake, pool party. If you object to such, stop now. Nobody here is named Honey. Views expressed may not be the author's. Prior chapters will get you off, too. Enjoy!
*****
A Taste of Incest: A Taste of Honey #5
(Families in pool fun after the quake)
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That weekend multi-family fuckathon, err I mean music club retreat, at Dr Elliot's mountain 'cabin', had been great! And exhausting.
And staying over with the Elliots in town the next night - sure, Ron Carson was assigned one of the guest bedrooms in their lavish home in the nicely-shaded upscale Vishnu Hills enclave. He chatted over dinner, played mandolin in the evening, and retired when the family did. Do not alarm Dr Elliot.
But Ron was in Judy's big bed all night.
Nuzzling her long clean walnut tresses. Kissing her oval face and hungry ruby mouth.
Nursing the lilting nipples erupting from fifty-cent areolas on her firm sweaty breasts, one hand cupped under his current treat, his other fingers tracing circles around the other nipple..
Nestling between her taut steamy thighs. Tasting her sweet-salty juices as he lapped her slit from taint to clit.
Kissing and teasing her labia, those sweet pussy lips. Moving up to kiss her other lips, and back. Exploring her sacred depths.
Taking another taste - damn, so good! Tongue-writing mystic formulae on her swollen love-button.
Stifling her orgasmic yells and screams by filling her mouth with his lust-bloated cock or thrusting tongue or even a thumb, as appropriate.
Massaging her feet for that extra bonus "ooohhh..."
That was the whole point, to make her moan and groan and rumble and spasm and scream (in various pitches) and sigh and tense-up and ease-down and go out of her fucking mind. Ron loved his power.
Ron had tagged Judy in his mind:
Her pussy flavor: like mild salt-water taffy.
Sliding his cock smoothly into her: like fervent worship.
Feeling her tight embrace: like a love prison.
Her mouth: like no escape.
Oh, Ron loved fucking Judy! They felt so fine together! Sure, he loved 69'ing with her Saxon-blonde girlfriend Ann Heinecke even more, and Ann's sisters and mother were really tasty too, like herbal honey. And Maria was always a special treat. His own delectable, smoky big sister Pam was a new-found delight. Too bad she would be gone before long.
He loved 69'ing. He could happily orally pleasure any of their vivid pussies while they swallowed his manhood and squirmed. And he loved when they rode him like a cowgirl. Ah, but Judy, cute as a bunny and twice as bouncy, was always an overload of fun.
Judy was happy to have some control in her life. Daddy and Ronny - both were easy to twist around her little finger. No whip needed.
Alas, Ron must return to Dad's little downtown apartment too soon, to deal with laundry, schoolwork, maintenance. He hated the dump but it's what was left after the divorce. Dad had to clear his MILFy babe Josephine out of the place now that Ron was back. They maintained SOME propriety, if few secrets.
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A ruddy waxing moon shone bleakly over the smogberry trees in this old Los Angeles suburb. Two-mile-high mountains just north loomed like smudged ghosts, day or night. This was before the Clean Air Act, tobacco warnings, auto seat belts, portable phones, and tasers. Smoky night almost hid the frantic sprawl that passed for civilization.
Lean, lanky, dark-haired, hazel-eyed Ron slept because weary. He snored because smoggy. He twitched and leaked because horny.
And he woke early in darkness because the bed, and furniture, and shelf contents, and the whole apartment, and greater Los Angeles, went shake-rattle-and-roll for five seconds, ten, twenty, twenty-five - it seemed endless.
Ron was surely awake now! He reached for a lamp switch - nothing. He pulled back a heavy curtain - no street lights outside.
The phone in the kitchen rang. Ron heard Dad stumble out to answer, heard Dad's low voice, heard the receiver slam into its cradle, heard Dad curse, not too quietly.
Ron threw a thin, ratty robe over his too-short pajamas and dared the kitchen. Light oozed from the battery lantern they kept handy. Dad wore only faded pajama bottoms. He poured coffee grounds and water into the percolator, lit gas burners, pulled white slices from the bread safe, and toasted them over the flames. He turned and saw Ron.
"Goddam big quake," he growled, as if Ron had not noticed. "Lines down everywhere, all over our district. Damn good thing they're buried here. They're pulling us office jockeys out to 'help' the crews. Said we'd be in the field, out to who knows where, till power is functional again. Damn, that could be days!" He scratched his bare shoulder.
Dad flipped the bread slices, pulled a clean plate from its shelf, and tossed down the roughly-toasted bread. He aimed the battery light in another cupboard to find peanut butter and a tin of nasty Vienna sausages. The coffee stopped perking; he grabbed a clean cup and poured.
A metaphorical battery-powered bulb flashed in Ron's head. He fetched the Zenith portable radio, Good thing he had replaced all the D-cell batteries last week! He switched it on and spun the tuning dial, top to bottom.
Weak local stations had the upper AM frequencies. Nothing there. The powerful L.A. network stations were lower on the dial and hopefully had generators for emergencies. KABC and KNX, the CBS station, were scratchy. NBC's flagship KFI was clear. Ron boosted the volume.
"...still trying to reach the CalTech seismic lab for an intensity report. But we know it was strong, very strong. The longer it lasts, the worse it is. We are getting scattered reports of building and bridge collapses, above-ground power and phone lines down throughout the region, but we have no official word of anything yet. Police, fire, and civil defense radios tell confused stories. The governor has not..."
KFI went scratchy. Dad had eaten, drunk half the coffee, taken the camp-light, and was in his room dressing. A weak smog-filtered dawn barely splashed the windows. Ron peered at the windup clock by the kitchen window. 5:45 AM. The stove's electric clock had stopped at 5:25. Geez, this is happening fast!
Dad emerged wearing his Edison coveralls and ballcap, service boots, and a scowl. He slurped the last of the coffee.
"Keep that radio on - lower, don't waste the batteries - and listen for local news. It's for sure there's no school today. Damn, what am I going to do with you? I can't send you to your goddam mother, no power there. And not at your Uncle Dan's either. Well, maybe Dan..."
"Umm, Dr Elliot has a generator at his house, Dad. I'm on real good terms with the Elliots. They might put me up till you get back. I bet they're all awake now. I'll try calling... nope, no dial tone. Maybe the phone cables are soaked by broken pipes now. But they've always had a guest room for me, and a place at their table."
"Okay. You're sweet on that Judy girl, right? And her folks like you? Give it a try. If that doesn't work, go to Dan. You can play Boy Scout campout behind his store or something. But stop by our office here and leave a message, let me know where you are. They'll radio me."
Dad compared the kitchen Westclox with his wrist Timex.
"Damn, I've got to run! Keep the refrigerator door shut. There's a can of gas in the shed for your moped. Here's fifty bucks; don't blow it on a guitar. And don't neglect your schoolwork - it's still a couple months till graduation. Watch out for lines down..."
"Dad. Stop. I can handle it, Dad. I can. You be safe, too."
WASP fathers did not usually hug near-adult sons at that time and place. Bill Carson broke the mold. He hugged Ron, already taller than him at six foot four (190 cm). Ron held tight, and a little longer.
"We'll get through this. It's only a quake. Seen one, seen-em all."
