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Introduction:

This is part II of a series of stories that will involve the Banefield Family.
A Daughter’s Coming of Age II: A Family of Freaks

This is part two in the Secrets Unveiled Series that chronicles the deepening debauchery of the Banefield family: Todd, Melanie, and Scarlett. It’s a story of incestuous desires, and what happens when a family loses control. Scarlett, who is 14 years old, has discovered her own sexuality and wants to explore it further. Like her mother, she really has no lines or limits—she’s willing to do just about anything, but, she is nobody’s fool or tool. Though young, she is smart and observant---and enjoys the newfound power she now realizes she has. Also, her father, Todd, is somewhat confused by the "freedom" that his wife, Melanie, and his daughter, Scarlett, obviously enjoy. This part of the story will fill in some of the holes left in Part One, and as a result it will take a little longer to get to the "good stuff," but I would advise not skipping it since it will provide the motivation for what happens later.

One Week Later: Early September

"Honey, before you get settled, Scarlett just called and she needs you to pick her up from soccer practice." My wife was standing at the sink with the water running, and she was wrist deep in shrimp as she prepared the scampi for this evening’s meal. She turned to give me that look that said I’m sorry, without saying a word.

"Shit! Isn’t it Bob’s week?" I said, obviously irritated. I dropped my keys and briefcase on the table. I had been really looking forward to a cold amber ale and kicking back before dinner. I loosened my tie and sat my ass on a stool under the kitchen bar as I gazed at Melanie’s curvaceous backside.

"I know, but Bob called to say they’re still waiting on the car at the garage. I’m sorry, I know you’ve probably had a rough day, but hey, look at this way, you’ll get a peek at Michelle—Scarlett’s little friend!" Melanie turned to gauge my reaction. "That’s what I thought," was all she said before turning her attention back to the shrimp. She could see my eyes light up from across the room.

I grinned, "Oh, you are a shitty devil, aren’t you!" I shook my head in grateful disbelief and sidled up behind her. She had her hair back in a yellow scrunchy, and was wearing a pair of rusty-colored dangling earrings that I had gotten her in Zimbabwe on one of my student recruitment trips. Clad only in a soft yellow tank that was cut short to show off her midriff, I placed my hands on the exposed skin at her sides. The beige-colored linen capris she wore were very thin and I could easily feel the globes of her ass as I pressed my rapidly engorging member into her soft cleft.

Melanie was all things to all people. In town, in managerial meetings, or at Scarlett’s school, she exuded a carefully crafted aura of refinement. She was smart, articulate, and always dressed to the nines in a style that was professional, but still alluring, but she and I both knew that underneath that smooth exterior ran a current of raw, unbridled desire. All it took was the flip of a switch—and of "switches," she had many! My favorite was the gentle but persistent flick of my middle finger across her unhooded spongy clit—which I believe to be larger than most women’s, Melanie’s clit was the size of the tip of my pinky finger and it seemed to rest in her boat peeking out most days, just waiting to be roused, and it was plenty big enough to get your lips around. So, in all these ways, my lovely Melanie was wonderfully predictable, and I thought, and I wouldn’t have it any other way! I ran my hands up her abdomen and felt the smooth undulation of her soft tummy until I came to her heavy round orbs, soft and full. I cradled both in my hands. As I peered over her shoulder, I could see my hands under her shirt softly caressing her breasts. Melanie’s head fell back on my shoulder. Her eyes were closed, and her lips slightly parted when a moan of deep satisfaction came from somewhere deep inside. It was almost mesmerizing as I watched her descend into this cave of carnality. We were right at the edge, again, one more step and I would licking the dark cleft of her ass right there on the linoleum of the kitchen floor. But, she woke up; the little minx had other plans for me!

Her head was still on my shoulder, but now her soft hazel eyes were open—full of mischief and desire. She looked up at me and said, "Mister, you tryin’ to get in my panties?"

I just laughed and leaned down and gave her a soft kiss on the lips. We both smiled, and knew we’d pick this up later, but a "soon" later!

I wrapped her in my arms encasing her in a soft cocoon of warmth and affection. She loves the feeling of a hug—the protection, the closeness, and, of course, the inevitable thickening of my rod fillling the indentation of her ass crack! She wiggeled her little as if to say hello. She was such a gorgeous woman—a milf of milfs! All my guy friends were constantly agoggle whenever she showed up with me at bar-b-ques, or out at the bars and clubs we went to. Sometimes I even passed my hand in front of their glassy eyes to make fun of their gawking, but she was mine; she always has been, and I relished that undeniable fact. Though, she certainly was not above flaunting her colors whenever the mood suited her. She had always had the attention of the males around her wherever she went. I think it was a kind of game for her—to see how many dicks she could make stand up loud and proud and salute her "fuckability" in one night!

I heard a voice interrupting my reverie, "Honey?"

"Yeah?" I said as my hands slid down to her waist and rested on her hips, not wanting to wake up from the this intoxicating interlude of lust and love.

"Michelle’s waiting. Opps! I mean, Scarlett." Melanie giggled like a girl. Her right hand reached down and slipped between her ass and my pelvis to feel the hard ridgeline in my slacks. "Hmmmm, you betta be careful…you may have to let this deflate before picking up our little girl—she might think this is for her." Melanie had turned wicked…again. She was purposefully adding tinder to the small but hot flame I had for my little girl, a flame that didn’t need any encouragement. I had felt increasingly guilty about what had happened the other day—all the fantasizing about Scarlett—watching her fuck Brandon, imagining her shoving her mother’s big purple dildo in her tight little hairless cunt and then licking off her own juices as she smeared the fuck stick all over her pretty mouth, and, of course, the one series of images I just couldn’t shake…of her and Michelle in the throes of a lesbian frenzy, their legs spread and intertwined around each other as the ground their pussies together in a lewd spectacle of teenage lust. I knew I was but six steps from the edge, and now, Melanie, my own lovely wife, was the one leading me closer to that edge.

Melanie was a strange woman—a mystery in so many ways. She seemed to understand that her power was her femininity—her sexual energy—and, unlike so many women, she herself, was supremely comfortable in that knowledge. In many ways she seemed a throwback to an earlier age when women recognized that their power was as ancient as any thing in this world—that it is now, and always has been, the force and foundation of all that is truly real…Nature itself. As I began to relax, I sort of chuckled to myself; my hands still quietly resting on Melanie’s hips.

"What are you laffing at?" Melanie said as she dipped her hands back into the bowl of shrimp in the sink.

"Oh, I guess I was just thinking about you women."

"Yeah, how so?"

"I dunno. I mean, I guess, well, that you’re natural."
Melanie shot a quizzical glance up my way.

"I know it sounds strange, but I guess I was thinking how powerful women are—women who recognize their femininity and, well, all that that entails." I paused for a second. "and, of course, I thought of that old commercial of "Mother Nature"—probably before your time. Anyway—that’s what made me chuckle."

Melanie put down the shrimp and looked up at me. "Well, I guess you’re finally catching on, aren’t you?" She smiled, then leaned up and craned her lips toward mine. For fifteen seconds we shared a wet sloppy kiss tongues interlacing, licking, slurping of each other’s saliva, and I’m sure that if we hadn’t had other "obligations" we would have a hard-driving fuck right there in the kitchen—I know I was primed and ready.

"Fuuucckkk! You really know how to get a guy, doncha?" I said, as I nuzzled her neck and sent my tongue snaking into the crevice behind her ear. She had, once again, gotten me pumped up and was now going to send me on my way! It’s what I loved about her, but what I also fuckin’ hated—she’s the very incarnation of feminine frustration. It’s all so freakin’ crazy, all the time, but it’s also a head-spin of entertainment. With Melanie, I’m always guessing, nothing’s tame or ever the same—and, maybe that’s her power, maybe that’s the real power of all women—that eternal allure?

"Okay, I get it. I gotta go, right?!" I said as I backed off her and stood for two seconds looking at the lovely curves of her backside—jeeze, how does she do it, keep me coming back for more and more, and I’m never, ever satiated?

"Yeah, but hurry back!" She said with a glassy-eyed smile.

I leaned over and pecked her on the cheek and ran my hand lightly over her tight ass, "no panties either, I see!" as I turned to go.

As I was picking up my keys, she put down the knife on the counter and deftly untied the cinch of her light linen pants, dropping them around her ankles. She didn’t even look around for a second or two; she just let me enjoy the view---taking in the soft creamy flesh of her delicious ass, and the cute dimples that resided above her luscious crack. At last, she did look over her shoulder at me, all the while wiggling her ass and flaunting her dampening pussy. Her little Arizona State Sun Devil, tattooed in the small of her back, was an apropos symbol of how she lived her life—a damn delightful she-devil! As always, I would be hurrying back!

"Hmmmm, soooo sweet!" I said I ran a hand over my dick, still straining the polyester mesh of my slacks. I wanted nothing more than to spring it from my pants, but, unfortunately, it would have to wait, but not for long.

"Go!" she said as she turned completely around, brandishing the knife in my direction with a smile, but also exposing her perfectly bald cunt to my hungry gaze. Her eyes radiated a kind of carnal delight, as I backed out of the kitchen—holding the hard ridge of my pulsating dick beneath my slacks, ---and mumbling to myself…."knife—cunt, blade—pussy, the wet edge—the soft cleft…" the images began to blur as I slowly traded glances from one to the other. And, at last, I blew her a kiss as I disappeared into the garage.

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Scarlett’s school, Madgalen Preparatory, was only five miles away, so it wouldn’t take me long to get there. We had been lucky to find such a school for her after we had relocated from Prague to Baltimore, Maryland in the late ‘02. We had been living in Prague for three years as I completed my dissertation on Eastern European Literature at Charles University.

As we had gotten settled in Prague, we had looked about for a proper elementary school for Scarlett, but finding none that suited our tastes or pocketbook, we had settled on having her tutored at home. Her tutor was a wizened Austrian matriarch, named Ms. Karlova. She had had five children of her own—all girls, and she had educated them all herself which was especially difficult during the communist regime that ruled Czechoslovakia during the 60’s and 70’s So, at the time, we had been impressed with both her experience, devotion, and her credentials which were fantastically attested when three of her daughters came with her to our second interview. Each woman was the epitome of grace, beauty, and style. So, without much more consideration, we turned our own little girl over to her care. It wasn’t till much later, that we found out that Ms. Karlova had taken a definite liking to Scarlett. At the time we thought we’d hit the jackpot when Ms. Karlova had offered to take Scarlett—(and sometimes even Melanie, too, when I was especially busy with my research) on frequent trips to her cottage in the countryside, visits to private castles in Germany and Poland, and even, to our later surprise, to an "introduction" at a state-sponsored dinner with the duchess of House of Hapsburg—which had been the last royal dynasty to rule the Czech Republic. At the time, we simply considered these issues as the proverbial "icing on the cake" and thought our Scarlett the lucky recipient of such attentive devotion. However, as I finally finished my research and we planned our departure back to the U.S., Melanie and I discovered something we found somewhat disturbing. Though we could never absolutely confirm it, we now believe that Scarlett, through Ms. Karlova’s tutelage, had been exposed to various occultic ideas and practices. We found an assortment of intricately carved candles, wafers and long cylindrical sticks of powerful incense, books of pagan prayers and rituals, and, most shocking of all, small parts of dead animals clustering together—some with tied together with twine or ribbons. All of these things were found in a beautifully inlaid wooden box hidden high up in Scarlett’s closet. At the time we had the box, we had wanted to question Ms. Karlova, but we had some difficulty getting a hold of her. We had terminated her employment two months prior as it was summer in Prague, and we were planning on leaving at the end of July to return to the U.S. So, it was with some shock that when we finally did get a hold of her daughter, Kristina, we found out that Ms. Karlova had passed away—quite suddenly and without any outward or discernible signs of distress. Her daughter said she had simply fallen asleep and didn’t wake up. Given these unfortunate circumstances, we decided to simply let the matter fade away. We did finally ask Scarlett about it, after we settled in Baltimore, but she seemed to think it had all been just a bunch of fun—like a weird game. And, since Scarlett was only 10 at the time, and by all other measures she seemed so normal and well-adjusted, we thought, why "rock" the boat, so-to-speak. At the time it did scare Melanie and I, but as things settled down and time went by, there seemed to be no real consequence to the exposure, and we soon dismissed it as old-world gobbledy-gook, child’s play, or silly superstitions. Though, if I am to be truthful, I must admit, that I still, even now, think about it and wonder what sort of long-term effect it might have on my little girl. I guess that’s why I was so relived to find this school—Magdalen, in this oasis of green goodness—right here in dear old Baltimore.

I pulled our white Range Rover into the school parking lot and glided to a stop parallel to the edge of the field. Out on the grass, I could see a cluster of girls talking, though I didn’t see Scarlett anywhere. As I turned off the engine, and slid my sunglasses into the holder attached to the visor, I heard a rap on my driver’s side window. Shocked out of my reveries, I looked out and saw a dark-haired in a tight pony tail girl smiling up at me. I pressed the button that would lower the window and said, "Hey, and who may you be?"

"Mr. Banefield, you don’t know me?" She pursed her lips in a pout that was perfectly posed. Her little hip thrust out as if to indicate that she was thoroughly miffed at my ignorance, but then she laughed, and set her chin on the door’s window sill. "I’m Michelle."

My heart immediately leapt into my throat. Here she was at last—and though I had been lusting about her in my "imaginary" world, here she was now in the flesh—her gloriously taut and toned little girl frame.

"I don’t think we’ve ever ‘officially’ met." She said as she stuck her hand through the window to shake mine. I took her hand and felt the dainty nature of her small fingers encased in my broad palm. However, I was also "shaking" for other reasons. I had not forgotten what Melanie had told me a week ago, "Scarlett had been reading my journal to Michelle on the phone…" This little black-eyed brunette knew things about me that I had only shared with a few others---partners in crime whose "passions" matched mine. This latest revelation—one that I had not sanctioned—was now a kind of threat, or, perhaps, an opportunity of an extremely rare sort; I didn’t know which, yet.

I held my proverbial cards close to my vest as I asked, "So, where’s my tousled-headed little girl?"

Michelle, also acting calm and cool, said with a smirk, "Tyson’s showing her his balls." She smiled up at me, took a step a away from the door and folded down the hem of her light blue soccer shorts—which were already sitting very low on her bony hips, and then looked up through her darkly lidded eyes at me.

Unable to bridle my surprise, I stuttered, "ex’cuse me?"

"You know, he’s got some used soccer balls out in the shed he’s gonna loan her so she can practice at home." She said this as she stuck both thumbs under the band of her soccer shorts and pulled them out just a bit. "What were YOU thinking, Mr Banefield?" Her eyes gleamed as I felt my own pulse quicken. Here was a little lass who might be worth getting to know—and from the looks of it, she just might be a secret-keeper!

"You girls! You’re all tease with no please!" I said as I opened the door and started to get out. However, Michelle had other ideas and she suddenly pushed the door shut. She grinned, stuck her tongue out at me and smiled.

"Do you have any water, Mr. Banefield?"

I looked at her, somewhat exasperated at her game-playing, but replied, "Sure." I reached over to the cup holder on the dash and took the half bottle of Arrowhead Spring Water and offered it to her.

"Thanks." Her fingers lightly grazed mine as she took the bottle from my hand. I had thought she would just pop it open and take a long swig, but instead, she stuck the bottle between her legs, embedded right in the crotch of her white shorts. The tip stuck out lewdly like some big plastic penis, and then asked, "Don’t you think it’s hot?" I didn’t answer, but neither did I take me eyes off of her as she crossed her arms, grabbed the bottom of her jersey, and pulled the jersey over her head and flipped it onto the ground. She batted her eyelashes at me, and just stood there in her thin white sports bra looking at me, looking at her. I hadn’t started to drool yet, but I was getting there. Her tits were pretty big for a little girl. The size of big pink grapefruits—they were definitely more than a handful, and they were now standing up round and firm beneath the thin material of her gray sports bra. She then grabbed the nose of the bottle between her legs and pulled the cap out. The saucy wench was proving she was both a tease and could please. She popped it open, looked coyly up at me, and then lifted the bottle and squirted the contents all over her face, shoulders and chest.

"Oh god, that feels so good. I really needed to cool off—can you see how hot I am?" She lifted the sports bra away from her chest by the hem and flopped it back and forth as if she were fanning herself, all the while casting her dark-eyed glances my way.

Stunned by her sense of forwardness, all I could do was mumble, "Hmmmm, I do see some heat."

Slowly coming to my sensesI opened the door, and Michelle stepped back as I slid one foot down onto the running board, leaving my right leg fully extended under the dashboard. There, within the leg of my pants was another hardening leg—my third leg, as my nasty bitch at home liked to say. I looked down at it and then over at Michelle. Her eyes, slitted and black with desire, were now fixed upon the nasty bulge in my pants. It had thickened up nicely, and was now the shape of big-boy bratwurst ready for a bun. I dropped my gaze and could easily see that her nipples were now standing up and cheering under her very wet bra.

"Ohhhhhhh, Mr. Banefield, you’re a naughty old man, aren’t you?" She stepped forward and placed herself between my legs, placing her hands on my thighs and looking expectantly up into my eyes. Hers, as black as obsidian orbs, were lit with the dark lights of an infernal desire. She ran her fingers up my pant leg, slowly, doing a little finger dances as if she were playing my flute, and taking each note higher and higher.

I grabbed her hand by the wrist and stopped her, "Shit, fuckin’ shit! Michelle, I may be naughty boy, but for one so young, you got big gobs of bitch in you." I placed her hand directly on my dick which was now stretching the stiching of my pants; it wanted so badly to come out and play.

"Canna I see?" She said, as her soft mouth hung partly open. She looked needy, like a black haired, black-eyed wench that had grown used to having meat for dinner. Michelle needed it. Her hand fumbled with my zipper.

"Hey, hey, let’s drop it a notch." I brushed her hand aside, and slid out of the truck. I suddenly realized just where we were and how open everything was. This was a bit too dangerous—even by my demented standards.

Michelle pulled back, a smirk on her face, as if she’d taken me down. I’d be changing that soon enough, I thought.

"Don’t get me wrong, I WILL BE fucking the holy shit out of your tight cunt very, very soon, but right now, I gotta get my little girl. You know where she is?" Michelle’s eyes never left mine. There was a sense of pleading and challenge in them.
"Yeah, I guess, but you betta be prepared. You might not like what you see." Michelle pointed to an out building across the field. As I turned to look over the hood of the truck, Michelle sauntered up next to me, and when I turned back around, she was looking up at me and then reaching up, she planted a soft, tender, and delicate kiss upon my cheek.
"That was nice." I looked down at her. Our eyes held onto each other’s for a few seconds, and, as we lingered there, I began to think that there might be more to this waif of a girl than that of being a just another teenage-cock-teaser, but, we’ll see. I still had to find Scarlett.

More to come…







8 comments

READERReport

2008-01-09 09:31:34
hmm, i need a wife like that

READERReport

2007-06-29 10:10:59
cant wait for the next part

READERReport

2006-10-04 00:44:24
Blegh

READERReport

2006-09-29 04:41:26
i like it, keep the pace slowly, don't just start another dumbshit story with just 5 lines of nonsense.

READERReport

2006-09-27 17:11:47
chapter 3 more productive?

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