Culvert Mozart Lane
Copyright© 2025 by CreepyUnclePete
Chapter 8
True Story Sex Story: Chapter 8 - In this true story a mostly good man does a few horrible things; including infidelity, incest, and murder. Starts with Bruce deciding if he should join the Marines or Army near the start of World War 2. Names of the people involved have been changed for obvious legal and privacy reasons.
Caution: This True Story Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Consensual Romantic Heterosexual True Story Farming Historical Tear Jerker War Workplace Cheating Sharing Incest Brother Sister Grand Parent Anal Sex First Masturbation Oral Sex Pregnancy Smoking Slow Violence
Author’s note: the ending is true, and a true tearjerker, quite sad. Includes self-harm. Sensitive people should probably stop reading when the characters go home from Canada.
The middle school graduation ceremony and certificate finally acknowledged Janey was starting to be a woman. I remember standing there in my best linen shirt, the one that pinched my shoulders, watching her walk across that stage. She looked like a damn angel in that polyester gown, though she had that mischievous glint in her eyes that told me she was thinking about something far more interesting than school. When she gripped that piece of paper and looked straight at me in the crowd, she didn’t just smile; she beamed, a radiant, gold-spun thing that made my heart hammer against my ribs.
Suddenly, the memory shifts, and I can almost feel the chill of the Canadian wild seeping through my boots. As a treat to Janey and myself, we packed the old truck until the springs groaned, heading north into the thick, pine-heavy silence of the provinces. Janey was vibrating with a kind of electric energy, her laughter echoing off the dashboard every time we hit a pothole. She was overjoyed, practically vibrating out of her skin, her eyes wide with the prospect of seeing moose in the wild. For her, it was an adventure, a rite of passage. For me, it was a slice of heaven, having the two women I loved most in the world flanking me in a small, century-old log cabin, twenty miles from the closest town.
But the hunger that hit my granddaughter that second evening wasn’t for stew. Nora had spent the afternoon in the kitchen, her back to us, humming some old tune while she stirred a heavy pot of vegetables and beef cubes. The house smelled of rosemary and rendered fat, a domestic bliss that acted like a fuse to my nerves. Janey caught my eye from across the living room. She didn’t say a word, but she gave me a look that would have melted a glacier. She leaned in, her voice a low, throaty whisper against my ear, “Let’s go to the outhouse. Now.”
When we arrived the previous day, Nora was horrified. I, however, thought it was hilarious the outhouse was a two-seater with a screen door. There were no other people for miles, so privacy didn’t matter way out there, or at least it shouldn’t.
Nora was the one who’d practically handed Janey over to me on a silver platter back home, and we both knew she was perfectly fine with us sneaking around as long as she didn’t have to see or hear it. She was in the kitchen, probably daydreaming about the next batch of preserves, and we didn’t have a shred of fear that she’d wander out and catch us. In fact, the thrill of her being just a few dozen yards away, humming her heart out while we played dirty, only made the blood rush faster.
The screen door of the outhouse gave a rusty, rhythmic screech as I stepped inside and pulled Janey in behind me. The air was crisp, smelling of pine needles and old cedar, but the space between us was suddenly white-hot. She slammed the door shut, the latch clicking into place with a finality that felt like a starting gun. We didn’t waste time with talking. I grabbed her, pulling her soft, eager body against my rough wool coat, and she let out a little gasp that was half-laugh and half-moan.
She dropped to her knees on the wooden slats, her eyes looking up at me with a hunger that made me feel twenty years younger. Without a word, her small, nimble fingers worked the buttons of my trousers. She peeled them back with an urgency that was almost violent, exposing my willy to the biting Canadian air for only a second before she captured it in the warmth of her mouth. It was a shock to the system, the contrast of the freezing wind whistling through the gaps in the walls and the scorching, wet heat of her throat.
She shifted, leaning forward and bracing her palms against the rough-hewn wall of the outhouse. She arched her back, presenting her rump to me in a way that would have made a preacher faint dead away. “Breed my butt, Gramps. I know you want to.”
I stepped up behind her, my chest pressing into her shoulder blades, and guided myself to that tight, forbidden doorway, with help from the lube she always carried in her purse.
Suddenly, I pushed. It was a struggle at first, a raw, gripping tightness that felt like trying to force a peg into a hole meant for something much smaller, but as I drove home, she let out a scream of pure, unadulterated joy that echoed off the cedar walls. It wasn’t a scream of pain, but a wild, animal sound of release. I worked her hard, my old muscles straining, hammering into her with a rhythm that felt like the forge of my youth. She was shaking, her fingers digging into the wood of the wall, her voice a series of jagged, breathless moans that filled the small space. I felt like a king in a wooden castle, claiming a prize that no man in the county could even dream of.
I was blinded by the rush, my head swimming with a lust that nearly knocked the wind out of me. I didn’t realize the angle had shifted or that she had slid forward in her eagerness. In a sudden, frantic blur of motion, I felt myself slip out of her backside and, in one fluid, accidental lunge, I slid right into the warmth of her velvet cherry. It was a different kind of heat, softer, wetter, and far more welcoming. The shock of it hit me like a bolt of lightning. Before I could even think to pull back or wonder how the hell I’d missed the mark, the dam broke. I let out a guttural roar and spent every drop of my seed deep inside her virgin pussy.
We both gasped in terror, then silently stared in each other’s eyes. The air in that outhouse turned cold as a winter frost the second we realized what had transpired. I was shaking like a leaf in a gale, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I’d gone and done it. I’d breached the one wall Nora had built around the girl, the one line we’d swore we wouldn’t cross until some distant, impossible day.
I felt a wave of guilt wash over me, thick and heavy as river mud, but as I looked at Janey, her face was flushed a deep, blooming crimson and her eyes were shimmering with something that wasn’t just shock. “Lord have mercy,” I whispered, my voice sounding like gravel grinding together. “Janey, we’ve made a terrible mess of things!”