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In Town for a Funeral

It was hot and I couldn’t sl**p. When I crawled under the sheet on the couch an hour earlier, I had stripped down to nothing but my boxers. But now I couldn’t find a comfortable position. I lay on my back, the sheet pulled down to my waist with one leg bent at the knee protruding from the sheet. I was nearly naked, but I was still uncomfortably warm.

It was about the minimum amount of my body I could cover with the sheet and still be decent. Not that being decent mattered all that much. I was the only person sl**ping in the living room of the big old Charleston antebellum mansion. Everyone else in the f****y had been assigned a bedroom, or at least a share of a bedroom. Actually, I was probably better off than the others. They may have had a bed, but it was likely ten degrees hotter upstairs.

It was late July of 2010 and the whole extended f****y was in town because my great grandmother, who owned this old Georgian pile, had recently passed away at the age of 102. I had only met the old gal once, and that was when I was less than a year old, so I had to take peoples’ word about her.

I was here principally because my mother had insisted that we attend the funeral. When I objected to joining her on the trip, my mother had reminded me, “Andrew, your great grandmother was very rich, and the trustees of her estate are going to have a lot of discretion in deciding how to sprinkle the money around the f****y. It’s important for us to show up and make a good impression.” My mother and I lived in California, while most of the rest of the f****y still lived in South Carolina. I guess we were what you call “estranged” from our f****y. But now there was money at stake—or so my mother thought.

As I lay there battling the demons of humid heat and insomnia, my mind did just what the mind of any twenty-year-old male would do in such circumstances. It turned to sex.

Meeting Flo

I had met my cousin Flo that afternoon for the first time. First cousin, second cousin, third cousin twice removed? I didn’t have a clue. What I was sure of though was that she was drop dead gorgeous. Flo was probably ten years older than me. With the three-inch heels she wore she nearly matched my six-foot height. Her face had

classic beauty—high cheekbones, a light, smooth complexion, a pair of big, round brown eyes, and small pouty lips. You could just lose yourself in those eyes. She had long, thick, strawberry blonde hair that hung with a soft curl to the top of her breasts.

And her breasts. Oh such breasts! They were full and round, covering much of her chest. It was all I could do to pull my eyes away from those gorgeous breasts and look her in the eye as she shook hands with me. It’s one of the hardest things men have to do sometimes—looking a beautiful woman in the eye when your every fiber wants to stare at her tits.

Below those gorgeous breasts her body tapered to a narrow waist perched atop full hips. She wore a floor-length skirt that covered her long legs. It d****d so that you didn’t have to use your imagination to see the shape of the globes of her ass. I couldn’t see her legs, of course, but my imagination filled them in as long and tapered.

When she shook my hand, hers was warm and soft, and as she withdrew it, her fingers lingered ever so lightly on my palm, the faintest caress, or so I thought. Then she was gone, dragged off to meet other shirttail relatives she probably didn’t know.

At dinner she and I had been seated at opposite ends of a large table, so conversation was out of the question, but I was sure at one point in the evening that we made eye contact, and she smiled this very soft and still very warm smile that said . . . Well, I don’t know what it said, but in my twenty-year-old mind I was sure it was good.

As I lay there in the heat, my raunchy imagination conjured up Flo standing before me slowly stripping her clothes off as I sat before her in an overstuffed chair.

In my fantasy I was fully dressed including coat and tie. Flo wore the same long dress I had seen her in when we had met and a sheer white blouse that buttoned nearly to the bottom of her throat. I could easily see the white lace bra that encased her beautiful breasts through the diaphanous blouse. Her long hair was coiled atop her head, a change from our actual meeting.

As I watched, she released her hair and shook it out so that it fell on her shoulders and almost down to her breasts. She pushed her hair out of her face and back over her shoulders. Then looking at me with a soft smile she released a button and then a second button on the blouse, disclosing just the barest hint of cleavage. Then another button. Now I could see the top of her lacy white bra and the swell of her breasts. My cock began to stir beneath the lightweight, gray wool slacks I wore.

Pushing an errant lock of her blonde hair out of her face, she cocked her head and smiled again as she toyed with the next button on her blouse as though asking, “Shall I?”

I nodded my head and licked my lips in response. As she released the button, Flo leaned forward so I could see most of her breasts, albeit still encased in the lacy white bra. Her large areolas and prominent nipples showed through the thin material of the brassiere.

She released the last button holding the blouse together and pushed it to the sides of her breasts. Then she used her fingertips to pinch each nipple through the thin material of the bra. There was the sound of an erotic gasp, and she threw her head back and around, her long hair flying as she reacted.

As I spun out this fantasy, I could feel my cock growing and seeking to escape from the prison of my boxers. I reached beneath the sheet and stroked it lightly through the fabric. It jumped in response, rapidly approaching full erection. No, I thought. I can’t masturbate here. What if someone comes down the stairs and catches me? I pulled my hand away, unable to resist a parting soft stroke of the underside of the head, which had somehow escaped from the confines of my boxers. My cock jumped in response, but my fear pulled my hand fully away. Okay, okay. I wasn’t going to stroke myself to a climax, but that sure as hell wasn’t going to stop me from pursuing my fantasy of watching cousin Flo strip for my benefit.

Returning to my fantasy, I watched Flo, standing tall and straight, turn away from me. As she turned her hands that had been tormenting her nipples dropped to her sides. Then she reached back and caressed her ass through the thin, soft material of the floor-length skirt she had worn earlier in the day—the one that perfectly d****d the firm globes of her ass. I had noticed earlier that Flo wasn’t one of these women with boyish hips. She had a full round ass; not fat and flabby mind you. Just something you could get a firm grip on when you needed it. As she fondled herself, she leaned forward pushing her ass out towards me. So fucking erotic!

But it was just for the moment. She straightened up and used her hands to pull the tails of her blouse from the skirt. Flo arched her back as she shucked the blouse off her shoulders and arms and let it fall to the floor, exposing the skin of her exquisitely toned and tanned back and broad shoulders. Then, still facing away from me, she raised both hands to the catch on her bra. She toyed with it for a moment, as if undecided. Then she looked back over her shoulder at me with a smile and raised eyebrows, as if to ask, “Shall I?”

When I nodded my assent, she released the catch, but instead of letting her bra fall immediately, she reached around with her hands and cupped her tits and the bra cups encasing them. The straps fell off her shoulders catching on her elbows. She turned at the waist toward me so that I could see a hand holding one side of the bra in place and cupping the breast it held. There was a mischievous trace of a smile as Flo dropped her hand and let the bra cup fall away on the side turned toward me. I could see the side profile of her breast with her engorged nipple standing stiffly away from the areola. I so wanted to suck on it and tease it with my tongue.

My now fully erect cock jumped of its own volition at the details of my fantasy, and notwithstanding my best intentions my hand drifted down below my waist and began to slowly stroke the head of my engorged cock. A drop of precum emerged from my prick and I swirled it around the end of my hard-on. The sheet had dropped off my knee to the side so that I was now lying naked on the couch but for the boxers from which my cock protruded. As I returned to the details of my fantasy, I still didn’t want to let myself cum, but I just didn’t have the will power to keep my hand from slowly stroking my cock.

Flo turned away from me again and once more dropped both hands to her sides, letting her bra fall to the floor. Now she was naked from the waist up. Her hands reached behind her to briefly fondle the globes of her ass again and then returned to her tits. I couldn’t see exactly what she was doing because she still had her back to me. But based on the movements of her elbows, I was sure she was massaging her breasts and occasionally pinching her nipples. I could tell when she twisted her nipples because she would shake her head, her long hair flying to the side and back as she let out a quiet gasp.

By now I had pushed my boxers off and let my fully erect cock completely escape to the tender mercies of my right hand. I was still entertaining the fiction that I wasn’t going to masturbate in my grandmother’s living room, not that anyone watching me would have believed that.

After a few minutes of masturbating her tits, my fantasy Flo upped the ante. She reached back with both hands and released a catch at the back of her skirt and a zipper below it. She pulled her hands away and shook her hips and her head, her long hair flying from side to side. The skirt fell abruptly to the floor, revealing a pair of long, sexy legs that more than matched my imagination of earlier in the day. She stepped carefully out of the pool of cloth her skirt had become, hooked it with the toe of one of her tall, spiky pumps, and flicked it towards the rest of her discarded clothes. Finally she turned towards me, now wearing nothing other than a black thong, her tall heels, and a smile.

My fantasy was stunning and my cock was an iron bar. I had given up the pretense that I wasn’t going to cum. But I wanted to take my time about it and continue to spin out my fantasy. I slowly stroked my cock, using the ample precum as a lube each time I slid my hand up and over the head.

In my fantasy Flo stood before me, her legs spread apart and her hands on her hips. She was wearing only her spiky heels and a simple black thong barely covering her cleanly-shaven sex. I turned now to my own role in the fantasy. Up until now I had imagined myself sitting in an armchair, fully dressed with my legs crossed, passively watching Flo strip before me. As I watched her hook a finger of each hand into the straps of her thong, I uncrossed my legs and reached down with one hand to softly stroke my rigid prick through the fabric of my clothes. I realized that a few drops of precum had soaked through the lightweight material of my slacks leaving a small dark stain in the fabric.

That seemed to get Flo’s attention. She pulled one hand away from her thong and raised her forefinger to her lips and then sucked it as she cocked her head to one side, staring at the lump I was stroking in my trousers and the obvious stain at its head. I moved to release my belt. Seeing my movement, she oh-so-slowly withdrew her finger from her mouth, savoring it as though it were a cock being withdrawn. Her fingers returned to the strap on her thong and she stood twisting her hips as her fingers pulled the thong down and away from her hips. Watching her was erotic as hell.

By now, in my fantasy, I had my cock fully withdrawn from my clothing and I was stroking it as I watched Flo’s thong fall to her knees and then to the floor. She hooked it with the toe of one shoe and kicked it away. Now she stood before me, her legs spread apart so I could see the gleam on her wet pussy lips. One hand rested on a hip, and the other had returned a forefinger to her mouth. She sucked the finger seductively as she watched me stroke the rigid cock protruding from my pants.

Then reality intervened. I heard a door creak upstairs, and within moments I sensed that someone was walking down the broad staircase to the living room. My fantasy Flo disappeared, and my fantasy and my real masturbation came to an abrupt halt. I reached down and pulled the sheet back up so it was now covering all of my body, and I retrieved my boxers from the floor and tucked them between my hip and the couch. No time to put them back on now. I could feel my erection fading like a rapidly deflating balloon.

Who was coming down the stairs? Had I been seen? No, it was too dark for anyone to see me. I was still scared. All sorts of terrible things could happen to me if I was caught masturbating by one of my conservative relatives. I can tell you, there was no thrill of the exhibitionist in this—just fear of getting caught.

Now I could hear someone moving across the room. There was a soft thump followed by a woman’s voice exclaiming, “Shit!” Then there was silence for a moment. Someone had painfully kicked something unseen and now she had stopped moving completely for fear of doing it again.

Then there was a light, like the light provided by a cell phone in flashlight mode. The light was shining away from me so I couldn’t see who was holding it. She moved on through the living room and disappeared into the kitchen on the far side, apparently unaware of my presence.

A light came on in the kitchen and I heard the telltale sounds of someone mixing herself a drink. Ice clattered into a glass followed by the sound of a cork cap being pulled from a liquor bottle. Perhaps my Great Grandmother’s favored brand of gin? Then the opening fizz of a bottle of carbonated mixer. Tonic perhaps? Hmmm. Gin and tonic at 2:00 a.m. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sl**p. I wished I had thought of having a gin and tonic—my Great Grandmother’s drink of choice, so I had been told.

The light in the kitchen dimmed a bit, as though my visitor had left a bank of lights on but turned down a rheostat. She wanted to give herself enough light to get back across the living room. Now I saw her come walking more confidently out of the kitchen, backlit by the light left on in the kitchen.

Who was it? A woman, with long hair that hung down around her shoulders. She wore a short white nightgown that stopped well above her knees. It must have been very thin material, because even the limited light from the kitchen shown through, silhouetting her body beneath it—long trim legs, broad, but not excessive hips, a narrow waist, and broad shoulders. I remained frozen beneath my sheet, not wanting to disclose my presence. By this time my dick, now safely hidden beneath the sheet, had shrunken to a harmless shadow of its formerly rampant self, but my boxers remained tucked between my hip and the couch. I could feel a pool of pre-cum f***ed out by the retraction of my hard-on accumulating on my stomach and groin.

The woman walked carefully across the living room, retracing her path of a few minutes earlier. I held rigidly still, not wanting to betray my presence. When she was only a few feet from me, she stopped. She looked around, still apparently not seeing me. She took a sip of her gin and tonic, standing as though considering a decision. Whoever she was, she had great legs.

After another sip of the drink, she turned away from me and walked a couple of steps to an armchair facing me. She set the drink on the table next to the armchair as she sat down in the chair. Now she was sitting maybe ten feet away, facing me directly. There was enough light coming from the kitchen so that I could see her cross her long slender legs.

I was still petrified that I would be discovered sl**ping naked on the couch, so I retained my frozen position.

She reached over to the table, picked up her drink and took another sip. When she put it down she picked up another object and set it in her lap. Suddenly there was light coming from her lap that illuminated her face and chest. An e-reader! She was going to sit in the armchair reading something while she consumed her gin. Now I really was trapped! The light spread faintly throughout the room and I was confident that if she looked carefully, she could see my reclining form on the couch.

But wait! The person illuminated by the light of the e-reader wasn’t simply some random member of my extended f****y. It was Flo. The light illuminated her long, strawberry blonde hair, her beautiful eyes, and most important of all, her gorgeous tits, barely concealed by the thin nightgown and now unconstrained by any form of bra.

My god, she was even more beautiful than she had been earlier in the day. I could see right through the thin fabric of her nightgown to her dark areolas and nipples. I remained frozen under my sheet, but unlike earlier in the day, I felt free to stare at Flo’s beautiful tits. I lay petrified for at least five minutes watching Flo read and staring at her tits, so poorly concealed beneath the nightgown.

Even though I remained terrified of being caught, I could feel my prick slowly returning to life. Not fully erect, mind you, but more like a soft log lying on my stomach. I wanted to stroke it, but I was still afraid of being caught.

Then I noticed something. She had uncrossed and re-crossed her long legs several times over a five-minute period. Each time the hem of her nightgown crept higher. By now the nightgown appeared to be nearly up to her hips. The e-reader was not casting light in that direction, so I was unable to see if her sex was exposed as she tossed her legs around. I was sure it was, but oh for just a bit more light from the kitchen!

As I watched Flo read, my cock slowly recovered until it was as erect as it had been during my earlier fantasizing about her. It was raising a tent in the sheet that so poorly covered me.

Fortunately Flo seemed oblivious to me—focused intently on her e-reader. She reached over, picked up her glass and took another sip. The gin was half gone now. She set the glass back on the table. Instead of returning to her lap, the hand strayed to her thinly covered breast. She dragged the back of her hand softly across an erect nipple.

The hand returned to her lap, but it was obvious she had other plans for it. Flo picked her head up and looked carefully around the room as if to convince herself she was alone. Did she see me? Apparently not. She returned her eyes to her e-reader and squirmed her hips in the chair. Now she put both feet on the floor, her knees comfortably apart. The nightgown remained bunched at her hips. After taking another cautious look around the room she slowly raised her hand again. This time it did not go to the glass. It went to her breasts. She cupped a breast and began to slowly massage it through her nightgown while her eyes went back to her reading material.

What the fuck? Flo was masturbating her tits, I thought. I wonder what she is reading? Porn? Fuck! How hot is this? My cock was like an iron bar now. Oh, how I wanted to reach down and stroke it. How could she not see it holding the sheet up like the center pole in a circus tent?

Now the e-reader was lying in her lap and both of Flo’s hands were massaging her tits. Occasionally she had to put a hand down to turn a page on the e-reader. When she did I could see the protruding nipple of her breast pushing her nightgown up in a little tent, a miniature version of what my cock was doing, except her nipples pretty much held still. My cock was regularly twitching on its own, which made the sheet jump. To make matters worse, I could feel the sheet slowly sliding towards the floor. It tugged a bit further every time my cock twitched. If this kept up I would soon be lying naked on the couch with a huge erection standing straight out from my balls. How could she not see me? Just then Mother Nature intervened with a gust of wind that caused the old house to creak. The noise startled Flo, and she dropped her hands from her breasts and swiveled her head around looking for someone else in the room. Finally satisfied that it was just the wind, she reached over to the table for her drink. As she reached her tablet slid to the floor with a clatter. She quickly surveyed the room to assure herself that there was no one who had heard the noise. Satisfied, she leaned forward to pick up the e-reader.

As she leaned forward, her face aimed at the floor, I took a gamble and reached down with a hand to get a grip on my sheet, but somehow my hand wound up on my cock. How do these things happen? Did it result from the stunning view I had of her tits illuminated by the fallen e-reader? They were almost falling out of her nightgown.

That’s when she saw me. As she picked her head up to rise back to her sitting position, I saw her pause. She was looking straight at me. No question but that she realized I was there. She stared straight at me for a long moment, and then returned to her sitting position. Her knees were more tightly pressed together than they had been before, but the nightgown remained bunched about her hips.

She sat for a moment, obviously thinking about what to do about the voyeur on the couch opposite her. Even with my fist wrapped about the base of my cock, it twitched again moving the sheet with it. She saw the motion. Her e-reader was throwing enough light on her face to let me see a brief smile flicker across her lips. She reached across and picked up her drink and sat sipping on what was left of it while she stared at me.

Eventually she smiled, a soft Cheshire cat smile, more for herself than me. She set her e-reader on the table and stood up, still looking at me. Then she walked to the kitchen carrying her now-empty glass. She turned on more lights in the kitchen increasing the visibility where I was as well. I could hear her making herself another drink. While she was gone, I freely stroked my erect cock, and I guess I got a little too into what I was doing, because I suddenly realized she was back, standing in front of the chair with a replenished drink. She had left the additional lights on in the kitchen, so I was well illuminated, as was she. Now she was really smiling, almost laughing, and I realized that I was the source of her humor.

While I had been jacking off in her absence, I had let the sheet slip to the floor. Now I was lying on the couch naked with this enormous erection in my hand. Flo was standing a few feet away sipping from her drink and watching me. Because of the increased light from the kitchen we could see each other quite clearly.

After staring at my cock for a few moments, Flo set her drink on the table. Then she gripped the hem of her nightgown and pulled it over her head so she was as naked as I was. So I guessed, she wasn’t going to run away because she had found her naked cousin jacking off in the living room.

She sat in the armchair again, but this time instead of discreetly crossing her legs or holding her knees together, she lewdly spread them, hooking a knee over the padded arms on each side. Then she began to slowly masturbate. One hand was stroking her labia, occasionally sliding a finger or two into her cunt, and briefly flicking her clit, while the other hand alternated massaging each of her tits and pulling on her erect nipples. Occasionally she would reach over and pick up her glass for another sip of gin.

Since there was no pretext of hiding my conduct, I sat up, slouching just a bit and facing Flo as I slowly stroked my cock. I was so aroused, but I didn’t want to cum before she did. For a long time we both masturbated with a slow steady rhythm while we stared into each other’s eyes. Nothing was said by either of us. It was obvious that we were both holding back to prolong and enjoy the moment.

Flo took another sip of her gin and then held the glass out, silently offering me a drink. I stood and walked the few steps between us, my cock bobbing with each step. When I reached her, I was standing with my knees just in front of the cushion of her armchair. Her legs remained lewdly spread over the arms of the chair and her hips were pushed forward in the chair so that she was just inches from my thighs. She handed me the glass, and I took a long pull on the gin. She hadn’t bothered with any tonic this time! As I was drinking, I felt her slurp my cock into her warm wet mouth. Oh fuck! I almost lost it right then.

I guess she could sense that I was on the edge. She pulled her head back, sucking lightly as she retreated. Then she reached up and retrieved the glass from me and leaned back in her chair, taking a long drink that emptied the glass. She rubbed the empty glass, still cold from the ice cubes in it, over her nipples. Each time she threw her head back and gasped. I continued to slowly stroke my dick as I watched her. It was getting much harder to hold back.

She set the empty glass on the table and resumed her masturbation, this time with both hands on her sex. Three fingers of one hand were fucking her cunt and the other was swirling about her clit. She looked up at me, her face showing the same strain of resisting her impending climax that I was feeling. She silently mouthed the words, “Cum on my tits.”

I responded silently mouthing, “Now?”

Her head swung back and forth as her impending climax took control. She managed to whisper a response to my question, “Fuck yes! Now!” It was more a low growl than a whisper. Then her back arched as her climax took control. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and her hips bucked repeatedly against her hands.

By now I had both hands on my cock. I could feel the cum rising from my balls. As I watched Flo thrash in her orgasm, I pointed my cock at her tits and let the cum squirt from the head of my prick as I climaxed. One, two, three long shots? Fuck I don’t know. I just knew I was squirting as much cum as I had ever produced and it was spraying on her glorious tits.

It felt like forever for each of us, but it was just a few seconds I’m sure. When we finished, Flo was slouched naked in the chair with her warm legs now pressing against my thighs. I was leaning over her, my hands on the back of the armchair and my prick still dripping a few drops of cum onto her chest.

Flo groaned and reached up with her hand to my slowly softening prick. She pulled me towards her and used her mouth to suck the last few drops of cum from my prick. While she did this she smeared the cum I had sprayed over her tits across any portions of her chest I had missed.

Eventually she let my prick escape from her mouth, and I stood and staggered back to the couch where I slouched staring at her.

Flo stood and pulled her nightgown back over her head, letting it drop over her cum-glazed tits. Then she picked up her e-reader and began to walk away. After a few steps she turned and looked back at me. She smiled and spoke the first really audible words I had heard, “Meet me in the Carriage House tomorrow at 2:00.” Then she was gone, disappearing into the darkness as she ascended the stairs.

Who is Flo?

I slept soundly for the rest of the night. Awakening as I heard people began to stir upstairs, I quickly pulled a pair of jeans and a T-shirt on and stepped out to the pool house where I had been told I could shower. By the time I returned to the house, I found the kitchen a beehive of activity as a major breakfast was being prepared for the f****y, most of whom were drinking coffee in the huge formal dinning room. I spotted my mother and joined her with a cup of coffee.

Of course I had no intention of telling her of my late night tryst with Flo, but I had to learn more about who this mystery woman was. “Mom,” I said, “I met a cousin yesterday that I never knew about.”

“Well, that’s not so surprising,” she said. “This is a big f****y, and we don’t see most of them very often. Since most of them live in the South and we live in California, I suspect there are a lot of relatives here that you’ve never met.”

“Yeah, I suppose so. But I met this woman yesterday. She’s about ten years older than me. She told me her name is Flo. Do you know how I am related to her?” Please let her not be a first cousin I was thinking.

Mom looked a little shocked. “Flo?” she said. “Really? Are you sure? Who told you her name was Flo?”

“She did,” I responded.

“That’s surprising. What did she look like?”

I described her, downplaying the details that made her so attractive to me.

“Hmmm.” Mom frowned a bit and was silent. Finally she spoke. “Let’s take our coffee out on the porch where we can talk without the whole f****y listening in.”

We walked out to the large covered porch where we sat side by side in a pair of rocking chairs. Mom took a sip of her coffee and then spoke, “Andrew, its very unlikely that you met anyone in this f****y named Flo, and if you did, you should refrain from telling anyone about it.”

“Why? What’s wrong with that name?”

“Well, there has only been one member of this f****y named Flo, and she so seriously disgraced the f****y that no one has used the name since. It’s a name we never mention in this f****y, much less apply to our c***dren.”

“Really,” I said, now seriously curious. “Who was this Flo and what did she do?”

My mother looked uncomfortable. She took a long time deciding how to answer. Finally she sighed and said softly, “Flo was your great grandmother.”

“Great grandmother? Do you mean my great grandmother that just passed away? I thought my her name was . . .” I actually had to pause while I tried to remember. “Her name was Lucinda, wasn’t it? Yes, I’m sure that’s what you told me, and that’s what I have heard others around here say—Lucinda. No one has said a word about a Flo.” None of this was making any sense to me.

“Your great grandmother’s full name was Florence Lucinda, but when she was young she went by Flo.”

“So let me get this straight,” I said. My great grandmother—your grandmother—was named Florence Lucinda, and at some point she dropped the Florence and became Lucinda. Why?”

Mom looked even more uncomfortable now. “It had to do with my grandfather.”

“Charles?” I had never met my Great Grandpa Charles. “You’ve always told me he died many years before you were born.”

“Well, that’s right. He died shortly after my mother, Samantha, was born.

“You mean Grandma Sam?” I asked interrupting and using the nickname I had always used for my late maternal grandmother.

Yes, but here is what you have never been told. Grandma Sam’s legal father was Charles, but he was not her biological father.

“Whoa, let me get this straight. Great Grandma Lucinda was married to Charles when your mother, Samantha was born, but someone else was her biological father? Who?”

“She wasn’t going by Lucinda then. She was Flo.”

“Okay I get that, but who was Grandma Sam’s biological father and why wasn’t it Charles?”

“Oh, I guess I should have told you all this years ago.” She looked very pained. “Charles had a twin b*****r named Cranston. Cranston and Flo had an affair, and Cranston was Grandma Sam’s biological father.”

“Really, and that’s why Flo had to change her name to Lucinda?”

“There is more to it than that.”

I waited in silence for the rest of the story.

“Okay, I’ll tell you the rest of it. A few months after Samantha was born, Flo and Charles had a fight. Apparently he walked in on Flo and Cranston as they were having sex. A shouting contest ensued. Flo got mad and told Charles that she and Cranston had been having an affair for a long time and even told him that Cranston was actually Samantha’s father. Flo never could keep her mouth shut. Then Charles challenged Cranston to a duel.”

“A duel? You mean like pistols at twenty paces?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yes. I know. People didn’t really do that by the late-1920s, not even in the South. But Charles was an odd character. Sometimes he was still living in the antebellum South where a man’s honor was everything. Cranston thought it a joke. He played along, assuming his twin would back out at the last minute. No one backed down and they were both killed.”

I just looked at her with my mouth open. “Wait there’s more,” she said. “As you can imagine from what had already happened, Flo was very promiscuous. She was barely twenty then. She had come to Charleston from a plantation in Mississippi. Later the f****y heard fantastic stories about how she had grown up there. For the first couple of years after Samantha was born and the b*****rs died, Flo cut a wide swath through Charleston society. More than a few marriages were ruined by her. Not only was she promiscuous, but she liked to brag about it, too. She was beautiful, promiscuous, and the concept of discretion was a foreign notion to her. Apparently that was the way she was raised.”

“Before they killed each other, the twins father, Andrew, had already given substantial gifts to each of his two sons. Charles’ will bequeathed everything he had to Flo. Furthermore, since Cranston had no heirs, everything he had passed under his will back to Charles, or to Charles heirs if he was deceased. This meant Cranston’s share went also went to Flo. The f****y was appalled. A tramp had married into the f****y and was going to inherit a huge part of the f****y estate.”

“Eventually your great great grandfather, Andrew, went to Flo and told her that he would hire lawyers to contest both wills. He was prepared to spend any amount of money to cut her off from everything if she didn’t straighten up and act like a respectable member of the f****y. Furthermore, he wanted her out of Charleston for some indeterminate period of time until the immediate scandal could blow over, and when and if she did come back to Charleston, she was to go by the name Lucinda. Flo was to disappear.”

“So what did she do?” I asked.

“She agreed to do as Andrew asked. Then the f****y packed her and all her belongings up in the dead of night and moved her to one of their plantations in Georgia, down towards Savannah. The story fed to Charleston society at that time was that she had run away.”

“What about Grandma Sam? Was she packed up and sent to Savannah, too?”

“No. The f****y treated her as Charles’ daughter—not Flo’s daughter. They kind of ignored Cranston’s role in the debacle. They kept her in Charleston, where she was raised by her grandparents. The story they put out about the b*****rs’ death was that they were murdered by a pair of black convicts escaped from a Georgia prison. Conveniently, the killers were never caught. Many years later, after Andrew and everyone in his generation had passed, Flo returned to Charleston. But she returned as Lucinda; not as Flo.”

“And every one bought all that?”

“It worked at the time of the duel, because they got the sheriff to cooperate on the story, and no one in Charleston society was going to ask any questions about Flo’s disappearance. They were just happy to see her gone. When Flo came back as Lucinda, enough time had passed so that most of Charleston society had forgotten who Flo was, and the f****y was deliberately vague about who Lucinda was. Also the f****y gave a lot of money to everyone’s favorite charities, so no one dug too deeply into Lucinda’s background. Eventually she became the grand dame of the f****y, mostly by outliving everyone else. The main thing most of the f****y knows is that the name Florence is off limits.”

“So, really? Flo comes back as Lucinda, and no one recognizes her or remembers her?” I asked, my voice incredulous.

“Well, at least fifteen years had passed, and she not only changed her name, but she had changed her hair color from a strawberry blonde to jet black. There really was very little resemblance. She also had a husband, Jack, whom she had married while she was in exile. They had brought three c***dren back with them. They were Jack’s c***dren by his late wife. Jack was from a prominent Savannah f****y, and there was some question in Savannah about the circumstances of Jack’s first wife’s death and the short period between her death and Jack’s marriage to Lucinda, but that all passed from interest when Lucinda and Jack left for Charleston. So when Flo came back she looked different, had a different name, and a respectable f****y.”

“What did Flo look like?”

“I asked Grandma Sam about that once. She told me that she had never really known Flo, given that she had left her with the f****y as an infant. She only knew her as Lucinda. The duel occurred shortly after she was born and when the f****y shipped Flo off to Georgia, they kept Samantha here in Charleston. She was raised by her grandparents until she was about sixteen when they sent her off to boarding school in Connecticut because she wasn’t getting along with her new f****y from Savannah.”

“But one time when I was, oh, I guess about twelve or so, I was digging around in my mother’s room without her permission, and I found wedding pictures of Flo and Charles. She was absolutely beautiful.” My mother proceeded to describe in detail a ten-year-younger version of the woman I had met as Flo the night before.

“So you see, that’s why you couldn’t have met a woman named Flo last night. There aren’t any in this f****y, at least since not since your great grandmother Lucinda died. So unless you met a ghost . . .” she finished with a chuckle.

“Yeah,” I said. “I must have been mistaken about the lady’s name. I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“You must have been,” my Mother agreed. “Let’s go in and have breakfast before it’s gone.”

“One last question, though. What happened to Jack? I’ve never heard of him?”

“He died a few years after Samantha went to Connecticut. He had a fight with a field hand from one of the f****y’s lowland plantations and was killed. No one would ever tell Samantha what the fight was about. The sheriff hung the field hand. As it turned out, though, Lucinda inherited most of Jack’s f****y’s plantations in Georgia through him. Somehow Lucinda always came out on top.”

“Grandma Sam was always bitter about Lucinda’s ability to always come out the winner.” There was a trace of bitterness in my mother’s voice also.

An Afternoon in the Carriage House

By two o’clock, everyone had headed out to one of the f****y’s nearby low country plantations for a dinner. Lucinda had spent a lot of time at this plantation, whenever she was not at the townhouse in old Charleston. It was also the plantation where Jack had been killed in the fight with the field hand. I begged off, claiming I had an upset stomach. Everyone was happy to leave me behind, fearing I was coming down with the flu.

The Carriage House was an outbuilding that sat on the side and behind the big Charleston mansion. It had originally been built, as its name implies, as a place to store carriages and the horses that pulled them. The first floor had been converted to a very large garage when the automobile replaced the horse drawn carriage. The building had a second floor that had originally been used to store tack and other equipment needed to work and groom the horses and maintain the carriages. After the automobiles had replaced the carriages, the upper floor had been used for servants’ quarters, but by 1940 or so, the servants had all moved to their own homes in other parts of Charleston. Since then it had been empty and unused, or so I had been told.

At two o’clock I walked quietly into the garage. It was empty, all the cars having been used to take the f****y down to the picnic. I stood looking around for a moment, wondering if I had simply dreamed the whole experience the night before. Maybe my mother was right. There was no Flo. She was just a very vivid wet dream.
Then I heard the old floor above me creak as someone moved about. Okay, maybe she wasn’t a wet dream. I looked about and saw a door on the far side of the garage. When I pushed on the door, it opened with the creak one would expect in a hundred and fifty year old building. There was small square landing built with old pine boards and a set of narrow, steep, stairs that led through the gloom towards a faint light source above. The stair treads were old, made of the same ancient pine as the landing. They were cupped and worn from more than a century and a half of use.

I could still hear someone moving about upstairs. It had to be Flo. “But who is Flo?” I asked myself. My mother had jokingly suggested that I had met my great grandmother’s ghost, but I was not a believer in ghosts, especially ghosts with the substance Flo had seemed to have when she had been sucking my cock the night before. But, still . . . the match between the woman I had met as Flo and my mother’s description of the young woman whose wedding pictures she had seen so many years ago was uncanny.

The floor above creaked again. “No, it can’t be,” I told myself. “I don’t believe in ghosts. Flo is just a f****y member who doesn’t know or doesn’t care about the old story about Flo the slut.”

My confidence restored, I began to walk up the stairs. Naturally they creaked and groaned, announcing my presence well before I got to the floor above. I pushed another door open that let me into the room. It creaked, just like every other door on the property. This was not a place for sneaking around.

The room I entered was large and brightly lit with daylight streaming through several windows. The windows were fogged with age, so no one could really see through them, but they let plenty of light in. I had expected an empty space, but it was furnished with a number of pieces of late nineteenth century furniture, including a double bed and, most importantly, a couch on which Flo was reclining. She was naked beneath a long flowing gown. Made of a gossamer material, it was a garment that covered everything and concealed nothing. My god! She was even more beautiful than I had had found her to be the night before.

“You made it,” she said with a smile that lit up the room. “I was afraid you might not show up.”

“After last night . . . why wouldn’t I show-up?”

“I was afraid that all those stories your mother had told you about the evil Flo and her suggestion that I was a ghost would . . .” She paused and twirled a lock of her long strawberry blonde hair around a finger. “Well, I was just afraid she might just have scared you off.”

How does she know what my mother told me, I wondered? We were alone on the porch.

Ignoring my uncertainty, I asked, “So are those stories true?”

“You mean about Great Grandma Lucinda?”

“Yes.” I said. “And about Great Grandma Flo?”

She sat up and crossed her long legs. The gown, which appeared to be fastened only at the neck, split and fell to each side of her legs. Oh god, what sexy legs! I could feel my cock growing beneath my Levis.

She tipped her head slightly to one side, thinking about my question. After a moment’s thought, she said, “Yeah, mostly. There’s more though, that she didn’t tell you because she never knew it.” She patted the couch next to her, inviting me to join her.

“And how do you know so much about Lucinda, or should I say Flo?”

“Are you sure you want to know?” she asked. “Why don’t you just come over here and sit down. I can teach you a lot more interesting things than just confirming a lot of old f****y gossip about your great grandmother.” As she repeated her invitation Flo uncrossed and re-crossed her legs. The movement pulled her diaphanous gown even further apart so I could now see most of her breasts. It was mostly just lying beside her, fastened together only at her throat.

I took a step towards her and then I paused. “Just tell me,” I said. “Are you Great Grandma Lucinda’s ghost?”

“Hmmm,” she said. “Everyone has a ghost, don’t they?” She unhooked the single catch on her gown and let it fall off her shoulders. The sleeves seemed to just melt away from her arms. Now she was naked, with the gown lying behind her on the couch.

“But are you her ghost?” I asked, holding my ground. It was incredibly hard to stay focused on anything but Flo’s stunning body, but I was doing my best.

“Come here and I’ll answer your question,” she said, patting the couch next to her again.

I stepped up to her crossed legs. Her foot was rubbing against my shin. Flo uncrossed her legs and put her feet on the floor on either side of my legs. I could see her pussy lips through her thin light colored pubic hair. They were swollen and glistening from arousal. “Come closer,” she said. She reached forward and put her hands on my ass and pulled me another step closer. Her hands were warm on my ass.

“Not a ghost,” I said to myself.

Now she was leaning forward, her face inches from my belt buckle. “Are you my . . .” I said as I tried to repeat my question.

“Shhhh.” Flo brought her hands up and began to release my belt and the Levis beneath it. “I promise you that you won’t care.”

“But . . .”

Now she had released my cock from my pants and the boxers beneath them. It was every bit as hard as it had been the night before, sticking straight at her face as she stroked it lightly with both hands. She used one hand to pull her hair back and leaned forward, ignoring my protest, as she slurped my cock into to her mouth.

Oh fuck! That felt soooo good! She just kept sucking me further and further into her mouth until I felt the end of my cock hit the back of her mouth. Then she adjusted her head in a way she clearly had done many times before, and I felt my prick slide down her warm wet throat. Oh god, I thought! She was right. I don’t care.

Flo pulled her head back, sucking hard on my prick as she withdrew. There was a pop as she finally released the head. It bobbed up, brushing her nose as it went by. She looked up at me smiling. “See, I told you, you wouldn’t care?”

I briefly asked myself how she knew I didn’t care. Did she read minds? Do ghosts read minds? Then as she pulled my prick back down and began to suck it into her mouth, I decided that I really didn’t care. I put my hands on the sides of her head, entwining my fingers into her thick, beautiful hair, and I began to fuck her face. I repeatedly pushed her face all the way up to the base of my prick as its head slithered down her cunt-like throat. Then I heard her say, “That’s it fuck my face.”

But she couldn’t have said that because her mouth and throat were filled with my rigid cock. A voice in my head said, “She is a ghost,” followed almost immediately by, “and she’s right. You don’t care.” It was a male voice I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t my voice and it wasn’t Flo’s voice.

Now, I heard her voice in my head, “See, I told you wouldn’t care. Now cum for me Cranston.”

And so I did. I came and came and came. I still can’t understand where it all came from, but I know where it went—straight down Flo’s throat.

After she had milked the last drops of my climax from my cock, I collapsed next to her on the couch. Now she spoke aloud again. “See Cranston, I told you wouldn’t care. You don’t need to know these things, do you?”

“No, I guess not,” I said with a gasp. But there was one little detail that I couldn’t quite ignore. How the hell did she know my name was Cranston? Cranston was my middle name and I never told anyone about it.

We were silent for a minute or so and then she spoke up, “Cranston, I have a question. . . . Do you eat pussy?”

Learning to Eat Pussy

Oh fuck I thought. My great grandmother (my cousin???) wants to know if I eat pussy. She wants me to eat her!

I looked over at her and kind of mumbled, “Yes.”

“Are you good at it?” She looked very serious.

“My old girlfriend seemed to like it,” I said. “She didn’t want to fuck, because she said she was saving herself, but she was happy to blow me and let me eat her.”

Flo laughed. She had a beautiful laugh. “Who was she saving herself for?” she asked.

“Her fiancé,” I said. “Her problem was that she didn’t have a fiancé yet, but she still wanted to have sex with someone. I lived next door, so when no one was home we would go at each other—but just orally.”

Flo laughed some more. “I bet she wasn’t as good as me.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “Not even close,” I said.

“Don’t let it go to your head. You probably weren’t much better. Was she the one who taught you to eat pussy?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess so. Nobody really taught me.”

“I thought so. Let me teach you now.” She looked serious again.

“Okay. So what do I have to do?”

Flo smiled. “Well, first take the rest of your clothes off. You look kind of silly sitting there in a T-shirt with your jeans and boxers tangled up around your ankles and your shoes and socks still on. I like your half-hard cock though. Is it making a come-back?” As she finished, my cock, which was about halfway back to a hard-on, twitched and rolled to one side. “Oh my, yes, it is recovering,” she said. “But you’re not going to need it for a while. I’ve never met a man who can fuck and eat pussy at the same time, at least if there is only one woman involved.”

While she talked, I stripped off my T-shirt and shoes and socks and shuffled off my Levis. Now I was as naked as Flo.

“That’s better. Now you look like you’re ready for your lesson.”

“Here’s the thing,” she continued. “Eating pussy is about using your lips and tongue. Well, and your fingers, too. But even more important, it’s about using your eyes and ears, and your brain.”

I didn’t respond. I just looked at her, but she could tell I wasn’t following her.

“Listen,” she said. “Why do you eat a woman’s pussy?”

“To make her cum?” I said.

“Oh fuck,” she said softly, shaking her head and obviously commenting on my ignorance. “There’s a lot more to it than that. After all a girl can always just get a vibrator and get herself off with that—no man required. When you eat a woman out you want her to be emotionally involved. You want her to wish it would never end and you want her to know, absolutely know, that if you don’t finish her off soon, she is just going to explode.”

“Jeez,” I said. “That’s not what my old girl friend seemed to want. She just wanted my to get her off and then get out of the house before her parents came home.”

Flo laughed. “Silly girl. Well, someday someone who really knows how to eat pussy is going to show her what she has been missing. It probably won’t be her fiancé though, assuming she ever finds one. Fiancés just aren’t good at sex in my experience. It takes a lover, a forbidden one, to really teach a woman about sex.”

Now I was thinking about my mother’s story about Flo and her husband Charles. “So your fiancé wasn’t good at sex?” I asked.

Flo laughed. “He was fucking clueless. He didn’t get any better once we got married either. I really don’t think he liked sex.”

“But his b*****r was better?”

“Ah, ah, ah! Don’t go there. I told you we weren’t going to talk about that.”

“Okay, okay. So how do I eat your pussy and make you scream for more?”

“First you kiss me—on the lips. Here,” she said pointing at her mouth. “We are going to start with basics.”

I leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth, very softly and chastely. No tongue. When I retreated and opened my eyes Flo was looking at me with her eyes wide.

“Oh my, you have talent. Your lips are soft. So like . . . so like someone I knew a long time ago.” She licked her lips with just the tip of her tongue and said, “Again.”

This time she leaned into me and initiated the kiss. It was a long one. She reached behind my head and pulled me toward her as she snaked her tongue into my mouth. There was nothing chaste about this kiss. It was long, it was wet, and it was sensual. When it finally ended we were both a little breathless.

Now it was my turn to stare wide eyed. “How . . .? How do I do that? That was fantastic.”

“You just did,” she responded. “Your tongue was being just as nasty as mine.”

“Really? I wasn’t even trying.”

“I told you. You’re a natural. Now you start the kiss.”

I leaned forward and held her head in both of my hands. Her hair felt so soft. I started the kiss just like I had before, but this time after just a bit I let my tongue slide between my lips and then between hers. Just a little bit at first, but then as the passion of the kiss grew, my tongue became more aggressive, dueling with Flo’s tongue, at times licking her teeth. She pulled back and began using her lips to nibble at my lips, sucking on them and pulling them into her mouth.

I dropped my hands to her shoulders and broke the kiss. But before she could do anything, I dropped my face to the base of her neck, pushing her hair out of the way as I approached. At first I just kissed the hollow spot where her throat met her shoulders. Then I brought my tongue back out and gently licked the spot, and finally I began to nibble the spot with my lips and then ever so lightly with my teeth.

I knew I must be doing something right. Flo was whimpering and tossing her head back, which enhanced my access to her throat. At the same time she had put her hands on my head and to keep me from stopping.

Eventually she pushed me away. After taking a deep gasp of breath and wiping tears from her eyes, she asked, “Where the fuck did you learn to do that?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I was experimenting. I guess it was a success.”

“No shit! I thought you were going to drive me to an orgasm. Fuck, that was hot.”

“Oh good. Let me try the other side. Maybe I can get you there.”

“Not so fast, Cranston. What did I tell you about making love to a woman with your mouth?”

I gave her a blank look.

“I said to take your time. It’s fine to get me all hot and bothered, but you want to keep me there, not tip me over right away. If you expect a woman to want to see you again, the slam-bam-thank-you-mam approach is not the right way to go about it.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right. You did say that. So that means you don’t want me to nibble on the other side of your neck?”

“Oh no. That’s not what I said at all. I definitely want you to work on the other side of my neck, but pay attention to the affect you are having on me.” Then she pulled my face into the other side of her neck for a repeat performance. I kept it up until she was crying out, nearly screaming, and then I pulled back and looked at her as she gasped for air.

“Did I get it right this time?”

“Oh fuck yes. Yes, yes, yes. You got it right.”

I smiled. “Okay what’s next?”

“Let’s move to the bed.”

I just sat and watched her walk naked across the room. So fucking beautiful and sexy. When she got to the bed she lay down on her side facing me with one leg stretched out and the other bent at the knee, her gleaming sex fully exposed.

I sat staring at her. Finally she said, “Cranston.” When I didn’t respond, she repeated, “Cranston, are you coming to bed with me?” Then she held out an arm and hand with the forefinger repeatedly curling in invitation. She took the arm back to her chest and cupped one of her large breasts, holding it out to me. “I want to teach you how to suck on my tits.”

My pulse rate jumped. I had wanted to suck on her tits from the very first moment I met her. I rose from the chair and walked across the room to the bed, my once again fully erect cock bobbing as I walked.

When I got to the bed I stood in front of her, my cock jutting out obscenely. Flo reached out and gently stroked it, causing it to twitch. A drop of pre-cum emerged from the head of my cock. She pulled me forward and rubbed the slippery end of my prick on one of her nipples as she smiled up at me.

“That’s not really what I wanted to teach you, but I couldn’t resist.”

“You’re so bad, Flo.”

“I know. That’s what men have always liked about me.”

She released her grip on my prick and said, “Lay down facing me here, so your face is just even with my tits.”

I did as instructed, barely resisting the urge to begin mauling her boobs.

“No,” she said. “This is about your tongue. We can work on fondling some other time.” She was reading my mind again.

“Lean forward and use your tongue to trace a circle around the center of my tit.”

“No. no. Start farther out. Ahhh. That’s it. A nice wet circle. Ahhh. You have such a soft, warm tongue.”

“Okay. That’s it. Just keep it up, but on each trip around get a little closer to my areola and nipple.”

I did as she asked and it wasn’t long until I was lapping at her areola. She let me go around it a couple of times and then she spoke up. “Ahhhh, so fucking good. Now use your tongue to flick the nipple.”

I did as she instructed.

“Ohhh yeah! But slowly at first. More of a caress. And let some more saliva get on it. I like it warm and wet. Then slowly increase the pace.”

She threw her head back and moaned. When she looked back at me she said, “Oh yes that’s so nice. Now pull the nipple into your mouth and suck on it.”

Before I could follow her latest instruction, she rolled onto her back, pulling away from me. I rose to my knees, following her, and quickly captured the nipple with my lips. This was what I had wanted.

I felt her grab my hand. First she took my fingers to her mouth and sucked on them. When they were slippery with saliva she, she placed the fingers on the tip of her other breast. I got the hint. I basically did the same thing with my fingers on that tit that I had done with my mouth on the first one. First a slow swirling massage coming ever closer to the areola, then a soft fondle of the areola, and finally I began to softly pinch and tug on the nipple. Meanwhile I escalated my attack on the first nipple by beginning to softly nibble on it with my teeth.

At this point Flo was pretty much incoherent. Lots of noise, but no words that made sense. Her body was squirming and I looked briefly down and saw that her legs were lewdly spread, and she had the fingers of one hand pushed into her pussy. The other hand was holding my head firmly against the breast it was m*****ing.

“Don’t let her cum!” I reminded myself or at least I heard it in my head. I wasn’t sure whether I said it or Flo said it or maybe someone else. It didn’t sound like Flo’s voice. There seemed to be a lot of noise in my head. Everyone wanted to help. I pushed back against her shoulders with both hands and pulled my face away from her tits.

She cried out and pulled her hands away from her sex to push her hair away from her face. “You bastard! Why did you stop?”

“You told me to,” I said.

“When? No woman in her right mind would tell you to stop what you were doing.”

I ignored her complaint and leaned forward, tracing a trail from the bottom of her breasts down to her navel. I stuck my tongue in her navel and swirled it about. Then I pulled back and blew hard on her navel. The sound it made was obscene. Now I had her laughing.

“Keep going! Keep going! Don’t stop at my navel for God’s sake! You know what I want. I want you to eat my pussy. Oh fuck, I need it!”

I climbed across one of her legs so that I was on my knees between her legs. I leaned forward with my forearms resting on my thighs, my face a few inches from her pussy. Her hair, strawberry blonde like that on her head, was neatly trimmed but not shaved. It was thin and her swollen labia protruded through it gleaming with the juice that had seeped from her as we had frolicked. She was ripe for the taking, I thought.

“What are you waiting for?” she demanded. “Finish what you’ve started!” She was using her hands to massage her tits and twist her nipples. Her legs were bent at the knees, her feet flat on the bed, and she was using them to lever her hips up in invitation to me.
Just as I was about to lean forward the last few inches, I heard a male voice inside my head, “Wait! Not so fast. Make her beg for it.”

I sat up, leaning back on my haunches, my hands resting on Flo’s knees. Then I reached behind me and grabbed a foot, my fingers wrapped around the arch. I pulled her foot back and up so the leg was fully extended. I rose up on my knees and caressed the side of my face with the captive foot. The skin on her foot was soft and warm. “No!” the voice reminded me. “You should be caressing her foot with your face. Not the other way around. It’s all about her.” The voice wasn’t Flo’s. It was the male voice again. I seemed to have more than one coach.

After stroking the side of her foot with my face one more time, I pulled my head back and used my tongue to softly lick the sole of her foot, starting just in front of the heel and working up the base of her toes. I repeated my tongue’s caress of her sole, and then I used it to lick that little space between her toe pads and the base of each toe. I followed that up by slowly sucking on each toe.

“Oh, you bad boy,” she said. “Where did you learn that? Oh,” she groaned. “That feels so good, just heavenly.”

I hadn’t forgotten her pussy, of course. The voice inside me had told me to take my time—so I was, and she seemed to be enjoying my delay. My next tactic was to begin kissing and licking my way up her leg. I did it as slowly and sensuously as I could, being sure to lick and caress all the little soft spots, on the inside of her Achilles tendon, just below the calf and, most importantly, behind her knee. As I worked my way up her thigh, I concentrated on the soft skin on the inside. Occasionally I pinched it between my thumb and forefinger.

Eventually I reached the junction of her legs. There was a pool of her liquid on the bed below her and her lips were spread wide, her arousal having pushed them apart. I could easily see into the opening of her cunt, that I so badly wanted to fuck. I let my nose briefly brush her distended pussy lips, but kept my tongue in check.

As I pulled back, Flo groaned. “Oh God! You bastard. You can’t stop now. Just finish me. Oh you’re a fucking sadist. Where did you learn to do this?”

The voice in my head (the male voice) said, “That’s it. You’ve got her going.”

I ignored her plea. No that’s not true. I relished in it, and I rose to my knees again, picked up her other leg and repeated the whole process.

Eventually I reached her sex again. I repeated my delay, staring at her gaping cunt and listening with delight to her pleas and demands that I finish her. This time I reached forward and slid three fingers of my right hand into her slippery, warm, wet, cunt. “Oh yes! Oh fuck yes! Now your tongue. Use your tongue. Oh, Andrew Cranston,” she said, using my whole name for the first time. “Use your tongue.”

How the hell did she know my middle name? I never told anyone my middle name, but she had been calling me Cranston for half an hour now.

As she spoke, she reached behind her knees and pulled back on her legs so that she was fully exposed. The movement pulled my fingers from her cunt. I leaned forward resting my elbows on the bed with my hands and arms cradling her ass. Then I used the flat of my tongue to lick one long slow soft stroke from her rosebud to just short of her protruding clit. I slowly repeated my licking as she groaned and cried. She was in ecstasy now.

I kept up the licking for at least five minutes. Eventually the male voice in my head spoke again, “Okay. You’ve toyed with her enough. This is a cunt licking she will never forget. Move to her clit now.”

My tongue took a final stroke up the length of her sex, but this time I didn’t stop when I reached her clit. As my flat tongue brushed over it, she arched her back and cried out, “Oh yes. That’s it. That’s it. More!”

Now I used the tip of my tongue to lash her clit, much as I had done with her nipples. Then I moved to sucking on her clit. At the same time I slid three fingers back into her gaping cunt. Now she had both hands on my head holding it in place. There was no way to turn back now. She would kill me if I stopped.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck! Ohhhhhhhhh! Yes, yes, yes, Oh god, I’m going to cum. OHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OHHHHHH SHIT! FUUUUUUUUUUCK! OOOOOOOOOOOH!” She was shrieking.

As her climax roared through her she arched her back and pulled my face even tighter into her. I could barely breath, but then again, I’m not sure she was doing much breathing either. I could feel the muscles in her pussy clamping down on my fingers, pushing them together and over each other.

Eventually she began to breathe again. The pressure on my fingers began to relent, but it was in waves that kind of matched her sobs. Flo put her feet back on the bed, her legs on either side of me, and I pulled back to my knees and sat watching her trying to recover from her ecstasy.

Fucking Flo—Interrupted

That’s when I heard the voice in my head again, “Now fuck her! Use that big hard dick of yours to fuck her!” It wasn’t Flo’s voice and it wasn’t my voice either.

So I did; or at least I started to. I shuffled forward on my knees and then leaned forward on my arms so I was poised over her torso with my once again stiff cock poised for action at the mouth of her cunt. Then I leaned forward just a bit and began to f***e it into her. She was so tight, still cramped from her massive orgasm of a few minutes earlier before.

“Wait! Oh god! What are you doing? Oh god. Not now. You just destroyed me with that fucking tongue of yours!”

I flexed and pushed a bit harder. Not ramming it home mind you. Just a modest increase in the slow steady pressure I had been maintaining. Now the head was past the entrance and my prick had begun a slow steady drive into her cunt.

As I looked down at Flo her brown eyes popped open wide. “Oh!” she said. “Oh fuck! Oh fuck yes! Goddamn! That feels good. So fucking good! It’s been years!”

“So you don’t want me to stop?” I said.

“No, no! Don’t stop! Just keep doing what you are doing. I’m so full. So fucking full!”

It didn’t take long until my prick was pushing against the end of her cunt. I stopped pushing and lowered my body down on to hers so my chest was smashed against those marvelous tits. We both lay still enjoying the sensations arising from my large, hot, prick stuffing her wet, slippery, cunt.

Then we heard a noise. “What’s that?” I asked.

“It’s the garage door opening! Someone is back!”

“Oh, oh. Is that a problem? Will they come up here?”

“They might. We better get dressed and get out of here,” she said as she pushed me off and out of her. Now we could hear a car idling into the garage.

I quickly had my T-shirt and jeans on (I had no idea where my boxers had gone). As I pulled my shoes on I asked, “How do we get out? The stairs lead right into the garage.”

“There’s another way out,” she said as she strode across the room in her see-through nightgown. Flo walked quickly to an old wardrobe setting against a wall on the far side of the room. She opened the doors of the wardrobe and reached up towards the back corner. I heard something click and then I could see the back wall of the wardrobe slide to one side. I couldn’t see it slide across the wall beside the wardrobe so it was apparent that it was a part of the wall.

“Come on. Follow me, and hurry,” she said as she stepped into the wardrobe. “And close the doors as you come in. She took a step beyond the back of the wardrobe and then disappeared to the right. I followed her in, closing the doors as instructed. Now it was pitch dark. I stepped forward very tentatively making sure there was a floor beneath my feet as I passed beyond the back wall of the wardrobe. I knew she had gone to the right, but I couldn’t see a thing. “Flo, where are you?” I whispered.

“Shhh! Go to your right and mind the stairs.”

I turned to the right and began to feel my way down a narrow, steep flight of stairs. Every so often my face snared a cobweb. It was obvious that this wasn’t a regular entrance to the former tack room.

This was a much longer set of stairs than the ones I had come up from the garage. It must lead below the level of the garage, I thought. I also noticed that it seemed to be bending around to the left. If my sense of direction was correct, that would lead us outside the Carriage House structure.

“Hurry up!” I heard Flo whisper just before I reached the bottom of the stairs. I stepped down a couple more stairs and found myself on a landing where I essentially bumped into Flo. “God, you’re slow,” she said.

“Somehow, I think you have been here before,” I said.

She laughed. “Oh yeah, just a few times.” Her voice was tinged with sarcasm and lewdness.

“Where are we?”

“Out of the Carriage House,” she said, her voice tinged with relief. “That was close. Oh well, that’s why I had it built—for quick exits.”

“You had it built?”

“Never mind. I keep telling you there are things you don’t need to know.”

“Yeah, but I would sure like to know some of them,” I said to myself.

I heard her flick a switch, and I could see a dimly lit tunnel to the right. “Now follow that tunnel, and in about thirty yards you will come to a door. Go through the door, and you will be in the old root cellar of the main house. It’s used as a wine cellar today. Be sure to turn the tunnel lights out and close the door as you go in. The stairs out of the wine cellar will get you into the kitchen.

I could see her now with the dim lighting from the tunnel to the wine cellar. Her body was shown in silhouette through her gown. As she started to turn and head into another dark tunnel leading somewhere else, I grabbed her arm and whispered, “Wait! When will I see you again?”

She turned back toward me, using her free arm to push her now wild and tangled hair from her face. “What?” she said, now speaking freely, as though confident no one could hear us in the dank hole we had arrived in.

“When will I see you again?” I repeated.

She was pulling against my arm that held her, silent as she tried to escape. Finally she spoke. “All right,” she said. “Once more. Tonight. Meet me at 2:00 a.m.”

“Where?” I asked as I maintained a firm grip on her arm.

“Same place. Above the Carriage House,” she said. Then she leaned in to me and kissed me softly and briefly on the lips. As she pulled away from me she repeated in a whisper, “Above the Carriage House at 2:00 a.m., Cranston.” Then she was gone down the other hallway. At first, a faint trace of white from her gossamer gown and then . . . just gone as the darkness enveloped her. Why was she calling me Cranston?

I stood watching for a moment until I realized there was nothing to watch. Then I turned and walked through the tunnel to the wine cellar. The cobwebs that kept sticking to my face suggested no one had used it in years.

When I finally reached the kitchen, realizing I was ravenously hungry, I dug around in the giant refrigerator and made myself a ham sandwich. As I sat at the kitchen table consuming the sandwich and a bottle of beer, I reflected on the last twenty-four hours. Who was this woman, Flo? Was she some long lost cousin that was defying f****y custom by using the forbidden name? Was she my great grandmother’s ghost?

“And another question,” I said to myself. “Who is this male voice I keep hearing in my head telling me how to make love to Flo? Is it Cranston’s ghost?”

Oh no, I thought as the second idea popped into my head. This way lies madness. There are no such things as ghosts, and if there were, they certainly couldn’t fuck as Flo did.

That brought my mind back to our unfinished fuck. Oh, that was something that had to be pursued. I had to have more of that marvelous pussy that had enwrapped my cock just as the car had arrived below us. Maybe I was fucking my cousin. Maybe I was fucking my great grandmother, and either way it was i****t. But I had to have more of that.

And as far as the voices in my head went, well maybe that was insanity, but so far they were helpful and not threatening. So the best thing to do about them was nothing.

Dreaming of Lucinda

After finishing my sandwich, I felt a need for sl**p. I found a couch in a corner of the library and drifted off into a deep sl**p. As I slept, I dreamed.

It wasn’t a nice dream. I was in the room above the Carriage House sitting in a chair. No, I was tied to the chair. I was naked and I was watching Flo fucking someone else. I had a huge erection, but the way I was tied, I couldn’t touch it. It just stood straight out oozing a drop of precum occasionally and twitching on its own from time to time as I watched my lover fucking someone else.

But it wasn’t quite Flo. Dreams are that way. Almost, but not quite reality. The woman had shiny black hair, just as I had been told Lucinda had. Other than the hair, it was Flo—her face, her complexion, her large brown eyes, her lips, and, oh yes, her perfect body. Even the small mole on her left hip that I had seen earlier.

The black man was tall and broad shouldered. He was muscled, as a man used to hard labor would be. Not a k**, probably in his thirties. His skin was as black as an African’s skin can be. Almost a blue undertone in it.

At first he just stood before her acting deferential. “What do you want, Miss Lucinda?”

“You know what I want, Earl,” she responded. She had an evil smile as she spoke. “I want that big dick of yours. I want you to fuck me, Earl. Just like we always do on Tuesday afternoons up here above the Carriage House. And I want that skinny little white boy over there to watch and learn so someday he can fuck like you like do.”

Earl turned to look back at me and that’s when I saw the enormous erection. I know. I know. That’s a stereotype, and this was just a dream. “But my god it was huge. How was she going to take it?” I was asking myself.

As dreams do, it jumped to another scene with little or no connectivity. Now Earl was lying on his back on the bed, his enormous erection standing tall and straight above his flat hard belly. Lucinda (Flo?) was on her knees above him with her hand wrapped around the giant cock to guide it into her cunt. She slowly began to sink down on him. I could see her grimace as she tried to f***e him in.

“Oh fuck you’re big today,” she said as she struggled to get the head of his prick past her opening. “Fuck, it doesn’t want to go.” Her head was bent forward, her long dark hair hanging down before her face as she looked at Earl’s monster pressing at her entrance.

Earl flexed his hips and Lucinda screamed—a high-pitched scream that probably could be heard in the carriage room below. But now he was in her, and she slowly began to fuck him rising above him and then pushing down, forcing his dick farther and farther into her. “Oh god, Earl. That’s so good. So good. So fucking good.” She sat fully impaled on him, her face hidden by her long black hair. She was massaging her tits and making little mewling sounds as she pulled on her nipples. Earl was silent, but I could see he was flexing his hips regularly, fucking her cunt with his huge dick.

Then the scene shifted again. Now Earl was taking her from behind. Lucinda was leaning over the arm of the big couch, her round, full, butt pushed out for Earl to take, and he was standing behind her, holding her beautiful ass on both sides and ramming that big prick into her. At first it was long slow strokes, but he soon accelerated and before long he was pounding her. You could hear his body slap against her ass each time he drove his prick into her.

Lucinda was screaming as Earl pounded her. Nothing intelligent. It sounded like she was in a more or less continuous orgasm. It couldn’t last long, and it didn’t. Lucinda arched her back, pushing back against Earl for all she was worth while she literally howled as the pleasure at the peak of her orgasm ripped through her. Then she collapsed on the arm of the couch and Earl pulled out of her. He stood holding his rigid prick. It was shiny with Lucinda’s juices. He stroked it just a bit and began to squirt stream after stream of shiny white cum over her hips and back. Then he walked around and sat next to her face on the couch, his wilting cock still looking like a log as it lay over, dripping a few last drops of cum into her dark hair.

My last thought in the dream was how beautiful the contrast was between Lucinda’s creamy white skin and Earl’s inky black skin. Why would I focus on that instead of the unbridled lust I had just witnessed? Dreams are so odd.

Then it was over and I was awake in the dark house. I was hungry again.

I reached in my pocket for my cell phone. It was nearly 1:00 a.m. “Where was everyone?” I wondered. Then I saw a message on my phone from my mother telling me that they had all decided to spend the night at the plantation. She told me I could find plenty of food in the kitchen, and she hoped I was feeling better.

I returned to the kitchen and reprised my ham sandwich of earlier, along with another beer I found in the refrigerator. “Really,” I asked myself as I sat at the kitchen table. “Who is this woman you have gotten yourself involved with. No one else in the f****y seems to acknowledge she exists and I’ve now talked to several f****y members who firmly reject the notion that anyone in the f****y would use the name Flo.”

I took a long pull on the beer as I thought about the events of the last twenty-four hours. “So,” I asked myself very slowly, . . . “Does that mean she is really Lucinda’s ghost manifesting as her younger self?”

“Nonsense!” I told myself. “There has to be a more rational explanation.”

Moving on to an even more disturbing question, I asked myself, “Who was that voice I heard in my head telling me how to make love to Flo? I never made love to a woman like that in my life, and I wouldn’t have without the instructions from the voice in my head. Was I channeling one of Lucinda’s old lovers? Cranston?”

“No that doesn’t happen. Flo is not Lucinda’s ghost and I was not channeling her old lover, Cranston.”

Of course there was a much worse and more frightening possibility. Perhaps I was just having a psychotic break. Maybe this whole experience was an hallucination, and yes . . . insanity did run in my f****y. My mother had always been mildly bi-polar. Her medications usually kept it in check, but from time to time it caused her problems. That was what drove my father away when I was young. Mom had told me that Grandma Sam had suffered from similar problems also.

Also, the descriptions of Flo and her doppelganger, Lucinda, certainly sounded like a person many would describe as mentally disturbed. Two distinct personalities in the same person. One a nymphomaniac slut and the other the stern matriarch of a conservative wealthy southern f****y. What had she experienced while exiled to the plantation in Georgia that had changed her so? Then there was the matter of my dream of Lucinda and Earl. Apparently Lucinda had more in common with Flo than she admitted to the world. But that was just a dream—I hoped. Had there really been a Sam, and was he the field hand that killed my mother’s stepfather, Jack?

My Return to the Carriage House

But the longer I thought about these problems, the more my mind wandered to my upcoming tryst with Flo in the Carriage House. Soon it was time to head down through the wine cellar and over to the Carriage House. My mind was purely focused

on how I was going to make love with Flo. All I could think about was her marvelous body and how good it had felt when I was fucking her. My dick was mostly erect by the time I rose from the kitchen table to head to my assignation with Flo.
The wine cellar and the tunnel were dark and dank, and the back stairs up to the room above the Carriage House were steep, narrow, and creepy. I used my cell phone to light my way. There were more cobwebs, and I was sure I heard creatures scurrying past me in the passageway.

The door from the passage into the old wardrobe was open, but the wardrobe doors were closed. I could see light streaming through the slot between the doors. The doors creaked as I pushed them open, but I immediately forgot about creaking doors and the creepy passageway when I saw Flo reclining on the couch again in the same nearly transparent gown she had worn earlier. There were curtains covering the windows (I couldn’t remember there being curtains earlier, but whatever) and the room was brightly lit with old-fashioned oil lamps. Flo was sipping from a glass of champagne.

“Cranston, you’re finally here,” she said. “I’ve been missing you for so long. Pour yourself some champagne and come sit with me.” She patted the couch next to her as she spoke.

I was silent as I walked across the room to the bottle of champagne. Why had she called me Cranston again? Yes, it is my middle name, but I’ve always made sure no one knew about it. The wine sat in an ice bucket on a small table with another glass at the ready. As I poured from the bottle, I glanced at the label—Bollinger, 1927.

“Is this really eighty year old Champagne,” I asked.

“Umm. . . . Yes. Taste it. It’s marvelous.”

“Where did you get it?”

“From the wine cellar. There are a couple of cases of it back in one of the corners. I think it was left over from Lucinda’s wedding, or maybe from one of the parties she used to throw after her first husband died. But never mind the history of the wine. Come sit with me.”

As I walked toward her, I sipped from the glass. It was marvelous wine. Most wines that old had long ago turned to vinegar, but not this one.

I sat next to her and she leaned against me, one of her large, soft breasts resting on my forearm and a hand on the inside of my thigh. She felt warm against the bare skin of my forearm.

“She was Flo then, not Lucinda,” I said. “When she married Charles she went by Flo, but you referred to her as Lucinda? How come?”

“Oh yes, I guess that’s right. I tend to get the two of them mixed up.”

“That’s okay. They were the same person after all.”

“Yes that’s true, but most people wondered about that. Flo was so free and open . . .”

“Kind of a slut from what I’ve heard,” I said interrupting.

“Now Cranston. Slut is such a harsh word. She just needed . . . well, I think you know what she needed.” She smiled at me over the top of her nearly empty champagne glass. It was a lascivious smile. As she spoke she moved her hand up my thigh and lightly brushed my partially engorged cock through my Levis.

“Yes, I think I know what she needed.” I paused as I sipped the Champagne, and she continued to lightly stroke my covered cock. It was getting really hard now. “And I think you need the same thing now.”

“Oh, really. Is that what you think?” she rubbed her tit against my arm as she spoke. “I think you could be right about that, but first I want another glass of this Champagne. Can I get you another?”

I handed her my glass as she stood before me in her translucent gown. She had put one foot on the couch between my legs. It caused the gown to fall away on both sides of her. Exposing her long legs and her sex. I could feel my cock twitch beneath my pants as she rubbed the inside of my thigh with her foot.

“I’ll get your Champagne, but you need to get out of those clothes for me,” she said.

I watched her walk across the room as I peeled my T-shirt over my head and shucked off my shoes and Levis. My socks and underwear had never been replaced since they had disappeared during our hasty escape a few hours earlier.

She walked back towards me holding the two glasses of wine. Her tits were swinging softly beneath the gown. I was lightly stroking my now fully aroused cock.

“Cranston, be a dear and hold these,” she said as held both glasses out to me. I took one in each hand as I leaned back against the couch. Flo pulled her gown open, pushing the material to her sides all the way to her throat, and then she put a knee on either side of me as she climbed into my lap. She reached up and released the catch at the neck of the gown and let it fall away from her as she settled into my lap. My cock was inches from her pussy, and my face not much farther from her chest. She took a glass from my hand and slid forward just enough so my cock was resting against her pussy lips. Not in her mind you, but pushing the outer lips to the side and lying against her slippery, wet inner lips.

“Ummm,” she said softly as she finished her first sip of Champagne from the newly refilled glass, “that’s really nice.”

“Which,” I asked. “The Champagne or my prick rubbing your slit?”

“Yes,” she answered with deliberate ambiguity.

I wanted to fuck her, but the voice in my head told me to take my time.

“How do you know so much about Lucida and Flo?” I asked.

My prick twitched and she gasped lightly as it rubbed her pussy.

“Oh my, that felt nice,” she said, sipping more of the Champagne and ignoring my question.

“Lucinda and Flo?” I said, reminding her of my question.

“Oh. Them. . . . Uhh, I spent a lot of time here when I was younger.”

“Really,” I said, my voice dripping with doubt and skepticism. “Weren’t they a lot older than you?”


“Sometimes? How did that work?”

She shook her head. “Trust me Cranston, you don’t want to know. Just ignore those questions and make love to me. You’ll be a lot happier.”

I sipped my champagne and said, “You know, I had a dream about you earlier tonight.”

“Ooh. Was it sexy?”

“Very,” I said. “But it really wasn’t you. It was Lucinda. I mean she had your face and your sexy body, but she had dark hair like Lucinda, and Earl called her Lucinda.”

“Earl?” she said her voice tinged with a touch of shock. “How do you know about Earl? Nobody knows about Earl, at least no one who is still alive.”

“I don’t. It was a dream. Earl was a big black man—a servant or a field hand. He and Lucinda were here in this room and they were fucking. He had a huge dick. Was there a Earl?” I flexed my hips and the head of my dick nudged her clit.

“Oh fuck! You bastard!”

I did it again and she groaned.

“Earl,” I repeated. “I asked you if there was a Earl.”

“Oh yeah,” she responded stretching out the last word. “There was a Earl.” She was smiling now.

“And did he have a big dick?”

“So I’ve heard,” she said coyly.

“So you never saw it? . . . or felt it?”

“I told you not to go there,” she said still smiling. “You don’t need to know.”

I sipped my Champagne and smiled at her. “Okay. I don’t need to know.”

“Good boy, Cranston,” she said as she leaned forward and rubbed her tits against my chest.

We each took a sip and then shared a long sloppy Champagne-flavored kiss. Each of us had one hand in the air trying not to spill the remnants of the Champagne and the remaining hand wrapped around the other’s head pulling it tight for the kiss.

“I want to fuck you,” I whispered, when we finally broke the kiss.

“And I want you, too,” she answered. “But first I want to hear all the details about your dream about Earl and Lucinda. God, I haven’t thought about Earl in years.”

So I described the dream to her. As I told her the lewd details, she was working her hips up and down so my hard cock was sliding back and forth against her pussy and grazing her clit at the top of each stroke.

When I finished she asked, “That’s it? He only fucked her once?”

“Well, it was a dream. Did he usually fuck you more than once in an afternoon here in the Carriage House?”

She picked up on my use of the word “you.”

“Not me Cranston. It was Lucinda who was always fucking Earl. I never fucked him. Now let’s fuck. Over there on the bed, right where Earl and Lucinda used to fuck.”

As we walked over to the bed I was wondering how many other men Lucinda and Flo had fucked on this bed. She instructed me to lie on my back, just as Earl had for Lucinda. Then she climbed over me, a knee on each side of my hips. Just as Lucinda had with Earl, she used her hand to guide my cock into her cunt. It went in easier than Earl’s cock had gone into Lucinda, and oh fuck! It felt so good. At first we just sat there with my cock fully impaling her. She was leaning forward over me with her big tits hanging down not quite to my chest and her long hair almost hiding her face. I reached up and began to fondle her tits and she groaned. After a moment or two she sat up and spoke. “See, didn’t I tell you this would be better than asking stupid questions about Earl and Lucinda?”

“Earl and Lucinda who?” I said as I flexed my hips and drove my cock further into Flo. “Never heard of them.”

“Oh Cranston, you’re so good.” Flo began using her legs to ride up and down on my cock, slowly at first and then building to a frenzy that ended in a screaming climax for her. After she finished her climax, she fell forward, her large tits mashed against my chest, and her hair covering most of my face. She was still breathing hard, and I could feel her cunt muscles occasionally giving my still-hard prick a squeeze.

When her breathing returned closer to normal I flexed my hips and moved my cock a bit within her still-tight cunt. I did it a couple of more times, beginning to slowly fuck her.

“Oh!” she said. “You’re still hard.”

“I didn’t cum.”

“Umm. Nice. So there’s more?”

“Oh yes,” I said as I continued to slowly fuck her by merely flexing my hips.

“Cranston,” she said. “I want you to fuck me like Earl did. From behind, over the couch.”

“You liked that did you?” I asked as I flexed my hips a little harder, driving my cock even further into her cunt.

“Oh fuck!” she chirped. “Yes. Yes, that’s always good, over the couch like that. It goes in so deep.”

“Well, I don’t have that big dick Earl had.”

“Cranston, your dick is fine,” she said. I flexed again and she murmured, “So fine, always.”

So I fucked her from behind, bent over the couch, just like Earl had fucked Lucinda in my dream, only I didn’t pull out and spray my cum on her back as Earl had done. I timed my climax to match hers and as she pushed back against me, I held her hips and pushed back just as hard against her, filling her cunt with all the cum I could muster. She screamed, just as Lucinda had in my dream and I growled as I felt stream after stream of cum pump through my prick into her cunt. Then I collapsed on to her back. We were both spent.

We staggered back to the bed, where we curled up together and drifted off to sl**p. I slept soundly, without dreams, and when I awoke, Flo was gone, as were the curtains and all of the furniture but the bed. I sat up and stretched, blinking my eyes and trying to remember where I was and how I got here. The sun was just rising and light was streaming in the windows on that side of the room. As I stood naked and looking for my clothing, the evening came back to me. “Oh yes, I told myself. I was here and I was fucking with Flo. But where is Flo, and where is the couch and the rest of the furniture that was here last night.” I turned back towards the bed and realized it was gone now too. All that was left in the dusty room was a small pile of my clothes, my jeans, T-shirt, and shoes. “What the fuck,” I said aloud. “Have I gone nuts? What happened to me here?”

Then I heard a voice in my head—Flo’s voice. “Cranston, just don’t ask those questions. It’s better not to know. Just remember how much fun we had.” There was silence while I digested what Flo had said. Then I heard her again, “Oh and you better get dressed and get back over to the main house. Your mother is looking for you. If you don’t hurry you’ll be late for the funeral.”

I got back into the house in time to grab a bit of breakfast and get dressed for the funeral. The church was full. My mother and I sat in the back. Lucinda was in a closed casket at the front of the church. After the ceremony we all filed past the casket.

As I passed the casket, I heard Flo’s voice in my head again, very softly, “Remember me, Cranston. Please remember me.”

When I got back to California I found a small silver locket packed into my luggage. When opened, it had two pictures in it—on one side a picture of Flo and on the other a picture of a young man. I’ve always told myself it is a picture of Cranston, but it could be Charles. They were twin b*****rs after all. I was always surprised at how much the young man resembled me, but then again he, or his twin, was likely my great grandfather.


As it turned out I wound up owning almost everything. My Great Grandmother willed virtually all of her estate to my mother, as her only living bl**d descendant. Naturally lawyers for the rest of the f****y (all descendants of Jack’s c***dren) challenged the will. Much to my sorrow, my mother died in a car wreck before the litigation wound up. But eventually the courts upheld the will, so as my Mother’s only heir, I got it all.

As I write this I’m on my way back to Charleston to meet with my lawyers and decide what to do with the various assets I’ve inherited. I wonder if Flo is still around?

Updated: October 21, 2016 — 1:23 pm

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