Warning : All my stories are pure FANTASY. None of them are real, nor do I wish them to be - the purpose of a fantasy is to be what the reality isn't, what the reality shouldn't be. Any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is purely incidental, and in most cases is the result of an overactive imagination. I don't know, nor do I think I wish to know, anybody engaging in incest.
My name is Svornacajeck Hepjamenckif, and as you must have probably guessed by the unpronouncable name, I am Dutch. I share a very unique relationship with the young woman who is my wife and consequently, the mother of my children. But before I elaborate any further, it is essential that I lay the background before you. I submit to the necessity.
When I was around sixteen, I knocked up a girl who would become my first wife. She had a twin, identical to the extent of their being carbon copies of each other. Even their visible moles were the same - but where my wife had a rather circular mole on her left ass-cheek, her sister had one on the other cheek.
In those days, land was often shared between neighbors so as to utilise the resources fully. That was how Helga and I came into contact - she was my neighbor. An outhouse was erected between her house and mine, and this became our house. Helga's sister Zelga and I were good friends, until one fateful day when a rain caused her to take refuge in my house. Helga was at the local hospital, expecting to deliver at any moment. Somehow, Zelga and I ended up in bed together - it was only a one-night stand, but it was enough, as I later discovered. By then, though, Zelga, aware of the repercussions our actions might bring, ran away.
She blamed her pregnancy on the fictitious fellow she had eloped with.
And even though she was her sister's closest confidant, Helga never thought it strange that Zelga had never mentioned anything to her. She never knew that I had fathered a child in her twin as well. I was practical enough to hide the truth from my wife, in the best interests for me, my wife, our families and our baby boy. Even then, for some time, I was wracked with guilt for what I considered had been my cowardice in facing the music. Gradually, though, I came to realize that Zelga had done the right thing; I was in love with her sister, not her. A marriage borne out of commitments is a surety for failure.
Now we move twenty-one years ahead. My headstrong son brought home a bride from the Highlands, a beautiful and well-mannered girl who offset our ignorance of her parents with her bright nature and innocent eyes. To be quite honest, what finally turned my wife in her favor - you know how mothers are always so intensely critical of any girl their sons bring home - was that she looked similar to the younger version of my wife. My daughter-in-law settled in like a charm.
About a year into the marriage, my son decided that he wanted to quit the old farming occupation and move on to more dynamic areas like commerce. To avoid any confrontations between his 'old-fashioned' father and himself, my son moved with his wife to the house just down the street; we were still living close enough to bring the other running over with just a single holler, and it afforded the necessary distance between me and my son. He must have inherited his headstrong nature from me...
It was around this time that his work started to get expansive, and he had to make long trips to distant places. With my wife's blessing, my daughter-in-law would spend these periods with us. At first, the two women would go out for the day, shopping or gossipping or both, but as his trips became more frequent, his wife started to have second thoughts about taking so much freedom with us. Helga was increasingly immersing herself in her religious activities, a trend that I found disturbing. After all, we hadn't even touched forty! My relations with my wife started to get strained.
Meanwhile, my daughter-in-law and I were striking up a good rapport with each other. She was vibrant, enthusiastic and open, attributes that I found surprising since she still maintained the docile outlook of a countryside belle. Without even realizing it, we began to be attracted towards each other. Her devotion of me, although along expected lines of propriety and tradition, was very flattering and I seemed to be the perfect man for her to waste her time with as she waited for her busy husband to pay attention to her.
As the days went on, Aarnja, my daughter-in-law and I became very close. She said I offered her the security that she wanted as a lonely wife - and I replied that she was the bright sunlight that had brought some life back into the world of a very old man. Playfully, she punched my arm. "Come on, Daddy, (she always called me that, much to the amusement of Helga) you are not that old. In fact, you hardly look a day over forty."
"I am not yet forty," I remember roaring.
Together, we rolled on the ground in laughter. That was when Cupid struck - for me, that is. As I took in her happy face, the pout of her lips, the brown eyes and the youthful body, I was aware that I hadn't been so appreciative of any other female since... I married Helga. I felt jealous of my own son, for he had a very beautiful bride who still adored him, while I was going into my twilight years with a woman who already looked like she was sixty and behaved like she was eighty. I stared at her for a long time, until she felt compelled to break into my reverie.
"Why were you looking at me like that?" she asked with a smile. A smile does wonders in beautifying a face - few faces are still left unappealing when there is a smile on them. In the case of Aarnja, I did not believe the smile could improve upon the perfection. My wind went out in a long sigh as I realized I was wrong.
"Nothing," I said, "But just remember me to compliment my son on his beautiful selection of a wife." I had never been one to hold back a compliment.
"Oh," and her smile grew wider. "So you think I am beautiful?"
"Undoubtedly! But I thought enough people would have told you that already - most of all, my dear son."
"Your son," she replied reluctantly, almost clipping off the words, "Never ever tells me. He is too busy with his other - beautiful women."
I was shocked - no red-blooded male could leave this Madonna of beauty for anything, least of all for the very same characteristic that she was so rich in. Then I remembered the old adage of beauty lying in the eye of the beholder. As we gazed over the quiet lake that watered my land, I could sense the hurt in her - the wound I had irritated must have been paining her too much, for I saw, for the first time in my life, this woman cry. I placed an arm over her shoulder, protectively, wanting to comfort her.
But it was also evident that she needed to get the burden off her shoulders. And who better to talk to if not her dear 'Daddy', her father-in-law? Slowly, word by word, the sorry state of her wedded life trickled out through quivering lips. She bent her head, resting it gently on my shoulders, and closed her eyes as I stroked the skin below her earlobe. Years of farming experience had taught me that it was one of the most soothing points in the body.
"Nowadays, Markjun doesn't even have enough time to look at me - it's always this trip or that. The words that do come are not exactly loving - he just shouts at me when he misplaces things himself. When I asked him about a corsage with a girl's name on it, a corsage that he had just bought, for it was still fresh, he almost struck me. Then he told me that he couldn't waste his life on me, that there were other women who wouldn't mind sharing - why couldn't I be like them? He wanted me to sit quietly while he was having lovers in every city he visited! He isn't the man I married - he has changed a lot..."
I hugged the sobbing girl. Inside me, something snapped and I decided to make a good husband of the little dick when he came home next time; a few lashes with the horse-whips should do the trick, I thought, as I inhaled the fresh scent of my daughter-in-law. But as if sensing the anger within me, Aarnja pulled her head away and looked at me. "Promise me you won't harm my husband." When I stared incredulously at her, she continued. "I don't have anybody else. And I don't think I can stand it if something happened to you either."
Her pleas tugged at my heart. I felt sympathy for her, but the more I looked at her, the feeling turned into something more concrete, something that is a taboo between a man and his daughter-in-law. My eyes were moist as I met her serious gaze. "You will always have me," I said, conscious that my voice was breaking. "No matter what. I will always love you. I will be there for you whenever you need me."
Her head snapped back as she heard my declaration. She placed her hands on my cheeks, as if studying my face, and smiled weakly. Our eyes met and locked into position, unable to move any more. The world seemed to be frozen still, the slight throbbing of our hearts the only indication that life still existed. She mouthed the word "Thanks", but ended it with a very suggestive gesture of licking her lips. Unsure of what she meant, I remained motionless, still looking into those hypnotic eyes.
As a train moves out of a railyard - slowly at first, then faster as the track is confirmed and secured - her face moved towards mine. Our lips pressed against each other, a hidden power pushing them from both sides. Aarnja did not remove her hands from my face as our bodies drew closer, the soft feel of her skin a contrast against my rough hide. I circled her waist with my arms, pulling her closer until our pelvic regions made contact. The brush of my rough working pants against her cotton skirt was elctrifying. Even though our kiss was an expression of love, I had an erection, something that I've often considered coarsely animalistic. For the moment, though, it felt sincere, pure.
As my hands cupped her buttocks, a slight moan escaped from my daughter-in-law's lips. Almost immediately, like switching gears, her lips started to maul mine furiously. She hungrily devoured my mouth, leaving no fold inside untouched by her probing tongue. After the initial assault, however, her tongue went back to tracing the contours of my mouth again. This time, I allowed my serpent to run riot inside her mouth. I darted in almost as deep as the downward curve of her throat, before drawing back. Even through the skirt, I could feel her heat as she ground against me without any inhibitions now.
Obeying commands that I hardly recognized as my own, my hands slid up her body, beyond the ripe swell of her breasts, to the top of her blouse. Dutch blouses are different in design - in addition to the buttons in front, there are two zips along the shoulders. Confidently, my fingers caught hold of the zips, one on each side of the neck, and pulled them back. My eyes were concentrating on her beautiful face even as I made to divest her of her blouse. I knew she wore a bra from the way her heavy mounds pressed against my chest, those two wonderful projections that so enhance a woman's sexuality.
As my fingers made contact with her bare skin, she gave a slight jump. Her skin was flushed to the tone of a rose, and as she pulled away, I was aware that her breathing was labored, rapid. For a moment, I hesitated - she was still my son's wife. Her loving gaze, however, told me she would never hold it against me if I proceeded. Slowly, without any hurry, I pushed the blouse down her delicious swell, until it lay crumpled at her feet. Her bra was a conservative piece, but even that couldn't suppress the erect nipples that poked through the thick cup. Aarnja started to reach behind her, but I shook my head - I wanted to undress her. Instead of dropping her arms limply to the sides as I thought she would, she started to unbutton my shirt.
She had almost reached the last button when I succeeded in removing the bra. Placing my hands on her shoulders, I held her slightly away from me as I surveyed the work of art - the vision of beauty - that was going to be mine. Her firm tits were topped with buds so smooth and pink they seemed almost virginal. Her pretty navel on the firm stomach stared back at me, and I smelled her delectably sweet perfume. She closed her eyes as my hands started to hike slowly down her chest towards her pebbles. Her hands, though, flew over my body as if they had eyes themselves, and pretty soon, the only thing that hid my nakedness from her was my underwear.
My fingers finally reached those hard nuts on top of her breasts. Even as she moaned, she started to push my underwear down. I obliged by stepping out of the material. Only her skirt remained, and even though I wanted to rip it off, I knew that she would savor it more if I took it off gently. One hand tweaked her nipples and brushed against her skin as the other reached the hemline of her skirt. The fingers slid into the gap between cotton and skin expertly, and got a single grip on both her skirt and her panties. I pushed the last remaining pieces of clothing down her body, past her wet pussy, past those long legs, past her sculptured knees, to the ground. Wordlessly, she stepped out of the pool of her clothes.