HUNGER:
A Love Story of Gentle Fetishes and Incest
by
Jonathan Stone
1
"Jon, I don't want the fact that we're married to keep you from any joys and pleasures with your niece. I mean that."
The lovely black woman in the red sweater and short tan leather skirt rubbed her unsupported breasts against her husband as they embraced before she left for work. "From what you've shown me of her, I'd treasure an opportunity to have her completely relocate and live with us."
Jonathan Stone looked at his wife in surprise and said, "Heather, would you be able to be intimate with her? And what if she wants to...mmm, how do I say it...?"
"You mean could I make love with her and what if she wants to make love with you? Well, sport," and she pulled his long hair with a lusty laugh, "few things could thrill me more. What arouses me most is our time together; something in addition would be icing on our cake, gravy on our potatoes, sauce...."
"Okay, oKAY!" he laughed. "I see where this is going. I should have known with your hunger, few things would be a problem."
"With you, my Jonathan, I am yours. You own me, elegant Cajun man. You be careful, have an incredibly unrestrained time with your niece, and I'll spend my nights on-line with the denizens of your company's website."
He kissed her, felt the large cushions of her breasts beneath the red sweater, and let his hands drift to the hem of her very short leather skirt. Sure enough, his wife wore nothing beneath; his fingers tugged the crisp curls of her pussy strip. She stared at him, nodded, and smiled broadly.
2
_ _ _ _ _
Marlowe Ryan stared unseeing at the distant purplish mountains marking the high desert horizon outside Fort Bliss, Texas.
"There's an oxymoron to beat 'em all," muttered the young lieutenant colonel of Military Police. She twisted in her battle dress uniform to break the bond between sweaty underclothes and the outer duty clothing, grousing as she did so, "I cannot wait to git nekkid out of these things. My week with my uncle in those mountains cannot get here soon enough!"
Then Marlowe did a double-take on her previous remark. 'Good, grief...I'm wanting to get naked and I'm going on a week-long junket in north Alabama with my uncle. Is this [a] me having the gift of foresight? [b] me expressing a deep and forbidden inner desire? or [c] me just screwing around in my thoughts? Damn! I hope it's all three!'
Her thoughts turned to her uncle, Jonathan Stone, a man she had loved and respected deeply for as long as she'd known him. Stone was an unusual bird. On one hand, he had lengthy combat military experience, and although she did so as well, she realized that his unusual assignments gave him a depth that even she didn't know in certain respects; once she'd seen his array of medals...she knew very few general or flag officers who had anything like his accomplishments. He'd been in the saddle as she had. He loved his country as she did, teared up at patriotic music as she did, and rarely exhibited the medals and ribbons he'd received, a trait she'd emulated.
The other side of Stone was atypical for a military-minded man and one who still engaged in activities he could discuss only with a few men and women like her who owned high security clearances. There were times when she playfully called him 'my girly guy' in recognition of his unusually long, dense hair and the erotic activities she knew he'd had with PRISM Designs, the company for which he worked. At present he was married to one of the most beautiful women she'd ever seen, Heather Longstreet.
He was not all that many years her senior, but their relationship had always been one of mutual admiration, enjoyment when they'd worked together on the same Rollerball and Bullwhip projects, and something else much deeper.
Something neither of them had wanted to touch, for both realized that it was electrically charged.
Marlowe had never married. It wasn't that she was unattractive; she was a little more than five feet tall, had a strong and shapely body from her consistent physical training, nearly flawless skin, a good sense of humor to offset her high-powered mind, dark hair turning gray and swept back in a short cut, and a love for both people and long periods of silence.
Sexual desires and their satisfaction certainly hadn't bypassed her, either. Marlowe had a private and extremely erotic enjoyment of herself. Friends, advertisements, allusions on television, and even
Allison's Pleasures
on a corner in the suburbs had provided her with ideas, techniques, and items such as pussy and anal inserts. Even the website of a women five years her junior, an extremely daring and uninhibited girl who, to Marlowe, got away with the most blatant public exposure and outright nudity, provided her with tempting and delicious ideas as well as some of the most erotic clothing she'd ever seen.
She contacted Karen, the host of the website, actually went to see her, and in addition to getting a sizeable number of clothing items, went with her on several outings during which Marlowe bared herself with abandon. Afterward, she hardly used the sensuous clothing except when she was alone. In view of her military career, she could hardly believe she'd let herself go in such an extreme fashion.
All of this proved, however, that though she may have seemed chilly and aloof on the outside, Marlowe was a volcano that one day would erupt, given the right circumstances and person.
Eric Boston had been a soldier and lover whom she adored. While she was embroiled in odd locations such as Grenada, Panama and Somalia, he had been on combat operations in Iraq and a few unmentionable elsewheres. They were to set a date for their wedding when he returned this time.
Only, Eric didn't completely return this time. He'd changed in ways she had difficulty expressing. The man who came back from Iraq was short-tempered, rude, crude, boorish, selfish, physically threatening to her, and seemed to enjoy making her look like a fool in public. A light shone in his eyes that she'd never seen. Something else now lived within him, something she sensed was deeply hostile, dangerous.
Eventually Marlowe and Eric agreed to part ways. It never seemed to trouble him; he virtually peeled her off and out of his life as if she were a used Band-Aid. The termination of her love and desire for him was long in coming and had hooks on it that left scraps of the dead love along her life's path as if she were dropping bread crumbs in order to retrace some long lost trail.
On a mutual assignment in the Pacific, the relationship between her and her uncle made a graceful yet definite turn. The two were strolling along a walkway that fronted the ocean when Jonathan stopped, turned to her and remarked, "You know, Marlowe, one of the things that makes me saddest is that someplace out there is a fine man who is missing the thrill of the greatest woman he could possibly find...you."
She stopped and turned to Jonathan, clasping his upper arms as she did so. "That is the kindest, most gracious thing you could say to me, Jonathan."
"Well, I mean it, dear. Listen, if I weren't married myself and I was fifteen years younger than I am, I'd chase you around the world, Marlowe, until you dropped."
"You know, Jonathan, I just might let you catch me, too," she whispered over the fragrant sea breeze.
In one of those acts unplanned, surprising but not regretted and clearly recalled afterward, the two drew each other close and kissed. It was not merely an accidental move, nor was it childlike. Marlowe felt his lips on hers, then she stabbed her tongue into his mouth and flipped it about.
Just as she felt a pang of alarm that she'd violated a trust or crossed a forbidden boundary, he parted her lips with his own tongue and they sparred tenderly. She'd never felt a man kiss her eyelids or her ears, or fill her with a sense that she was treasured rather than wanted as an object.
Family relationships were important to both of them, yet neither felt as if they were violating these. It was a tender, emotion-laced hiatus built upon years of having known each other before this night. Their kiss lasted minutes and when they parted they stared into each other's eyes without regret.
"I meant that, Marlowe. Don't forget it or me."
"I was going to say the same, Jonathan, my precious mind reader."
They both laughed, hugged, strolled on...and hadn't spoken of that evening again.
3
Jonathan paid a visit to his mother-away-from-home, Pandora Brennan, with whom he shared a number of activities, most of them sensuous, some professional. This time she had him sit in her stylist's chair as she trimmed enough hair from his dense auburn mass to encourage its growth; it now reached above his waist but below the middle of his back.
