Chapter 1: Foreword

This is a very personal document. It is an autobiography. Maryon Swelt is a very real person, and she has written her very own very real story, just as it happened to her. This is not a work of fiction.

In the several letters we have exchanged with Miss Swelt since we received the manuscript of He Seduced His Little Sister, she has made her thoughts and her motives quite clear to us.

We have taken the liberty of quoting some of her comments from some of her personal letters so Miss Swelt's aims will also be clear to you, the reader. Miss Swelt has written:

"It was not easy for me to write this book, dealing as it does with some of the most intimate passages of my life. It was... and still is... embarrassing to recall these frighteningly- exciting sometimes shameful times of my sexual awakening.

"In the past decade the morals of our citizens have gone through strange and drastic changes... and I have grown with them in the same manner... to a golden realization that the world of sexual experience is a great, expanding globe whose pleasurable horizons can never quite--hopefully--be reached.

"In the hopes that repressed persons may read, learn, as I have, I have attempted to record my sex experiences from the age of ten until now--I am twenty-one.

"To make it easier for me, I have elected to write my story in the third person. Also, frankly, I found it less embarrassing to write of myself in this manner.

"All is true..."

Ten Years Old

Maryon had always adored her brother Michael, five years her senior. Almost as soon as she'd been able to toddle she'd taken to following him around, a habit about which he'd had mixed feelings, finding her devotion flattering on the one hand and a pain in the ass on the other. The Swelts were not a very close family at any time--Burt had long since found Lois, his wife of an early-aged marriage, something of a bore, and she, him, a boor. Their attitudes, carefully unvoiced in front of the children, nonetheless were sensed by them, so that Mike and his sister unconsciously drew more companionship and the sustenance of reassurance from each other than might ordinarily have been the case.

Burt spent more and more time as the years sped by in 'afterhours' development of his sales. He worked on commission for the Metropolis' Lincoln dealer, often working through Saturdays to demonstrate an auto to one of his special customers, one of those who regularly traded-in each model year. The fact that most of his clients seemed to be middle-aged women of means had once perturbed Lois and been the source of considerable friction between them, but by now she had accepted the position with--the rationalization that he was successful, and did provide a good enough income for his family. Lois had invented her own romantic notions of the world, using her medieval fantasy to explain to herself why she had no right nor business to go poking her nose into the 'man's world' which existed merely to provide 'ladies' with the means for their ease, comfort, and sustainment. Lots of Lois' words, written, uttered or merely thought, were set within 'quotes', or italicized.

While Burt equally dwelt in a world of unreality and insubstantiality, his mind a constant fabrication of half-truths, flatteries, and flimsy sales-pitches, their worlds were far apart. In the matter of the children's names he had compromised with her in the case of his son, her artistic Michael being easily convertible to plain, mannish Mike, but by the time his daughter arrived he'd thrown up his hands and let Lois decide on the artsy- chintzy Maryon Alysun.

Lois tended to be off in another land altogether when it came to dealing with her offspring, and though Burt tried hard, awkwardly and unsuccessfully, to be pals with his son, he fussed over Maryon whenever the opportunity arose, as though guilty, or perhaps trying to make her over into a different girl than the one he'd married.

The youngster looked forward with delight to the infrequent occasions when he was home and she out of bed, but in his absence turned her attentions to her brother, making him an extension of his father, though, of course, she didn't realize this, then.

Most of the Swelts' neighbors in the tract-home suburb of Glenville were younger, more keenly upward-mobile, childless to be free of restraints while the men climbed and their women pushed. Michael, at fifteen, spent much of his time at his friends' homes in close-by areas, free as a bird on his bike, but Maryon, who by nature seemed to be introspective, and a lone wolf even at ten, spent most of her time dutifully around the house, amusing herself with her dolls and her books, half-ignoring the fluttery flow of words her mother trailed behind her at such times as she wasn't being hypnotized by the tube's view of the world as Illustrated by the soaps.

Reaction to her mother's constant reiterations for her to 'act like a little lady' and 'mind her manners' and 'not act the tomboy' came through in the way she treated her own dolls, admonishing them in the same phrases on the one hand, and on the other taking a devilish enjoyment in acting out for them the unlady-like, unmannerly and tomboyish that earned them their reprimands. Despite the fantasy worlds of her own she was able to create with her imagination, her family of mannequin actors, and the spaces between the words of her books, she secretly envied the toys--as she considered them--of her brother, and it was chiefly this repressed longing that involved her for the first time in the strange, fascinating-and-frightening, mind-molding magic of sex.

It happened on a Saturday morning, a couple of weeks before Christmas, 1961. Dad was out at work, intent on getting as many sales commissions as possible before the holiday season, and Lois had swept out to do some Christmas shopping. Michael had left early on his bicycle for parts unknown and Maryon had been left to her own resources for a few hours.

She was restless, and some demon in her urged her to explore the house, poking into corners and closets in the hope that she might discover the hiding place of the presents that would be hers in such a short time. But children's lives are half-made up by the drives of curiosity and impatience, and so she made her tour, clad in her pajamas. Ten minutes of keen searching netted her nothing, but some excitement still gripped her, making her feel reluctant to resort to her reading or her dolls... and television completely bored her.

In her parents' bedroom she idly stood before the mirror and looked at herself. Her long and curly blonde hair hung in straggled ringlets and without thinking she reached for her mother's hairbrush and began smoothing out the snarls. Before long it had fluffed out prettily and she put back the brush, sitting tall on the dressing table stool. Her clear blue eyes speculated as she tilted her head to one side, then her fingers reached for a lipstick and, filigreed gold top off, applied the crimson pencil to her chubby, full lips, imitating her mother's often-seen gestures, pushing out her lips, drawing them tight against her pearly teeth. The result, after a few minutes of concentration, didn't seem at all bad to her, and a wisp of tissue soon cleared away the slight smudge at one comer of her shining, rosebud lips. She looked at the other paraphernalia on the glassed table-top, and decided that to attempt to touch up her eyes would be too difficult. A thrilling spirit of excitement sparkled those clear blue eyes now, and brought pink color to her smooth, fair cheeks. She slipped off her stool and stepped quickly to the clothes closet, intent on dressing up in the silent, secret house. A bright red satin sheath, a cocktail dress, not often worn, caught her attention and she reached up to slip it off its hanger, then hurried back to the mirror. She pulled the cord of her pajama bottom and then slipped off the buttoned top before impatiently tugging the pants down her long, slim, coltish legs where she kicked them from her ankles. Her body only just beginning to fill out with roundness, her blonde hair hanging full about her bare shoulders so that it tickled, small pink lips, bare of hair, shadowed between her smooth round thighs, she stood naked in front of the mirror and stepped into the dress. The touch of the silk on her bare skin put goose bumps of pleasure on her warm flesh as it slid up her slender frame. She struggled to put her arms into the straps and awkwardly reached behind her for the zipper, tugging the back of the dress around in its fullness.

It was way too big for her in all directions, and hung from her lean shoulders like a crimson, sheening sack, reaching to just above her ankles. Even when she slipped into a pair of Lois' high shoes the thing looked silly, and a belt snapped around her waist did nothing to improve her looks. Shivers delight ran through her small body when she whirled the dress out about her, but she thought to herself that the picture of herself in the mirror was quite ridiculous, and was disappointed. Presently she let the dress slide to the floor, and struggled to hang it back up in the closet, wrestling the stool over to stand on it.

Picking up her pjs, she wandered back into her own room, the cool winter air hardening her little nipples so that she fingered them on her flat chest. She decided to get dressed, and, in a sudden moment of daring, took out her party dress, the fluffy blue dress of satin and lace, with a stiffened skirt that she was only to wear on special days, the next occasion to be the Christmas party. Discarding the box it was in, she pulled it down over her golden head and tugged till it was in place, its wide, lace- trimmed hem several inches above her dimpled knees, for she'd grown some since she'd worn it last. A pair of white silk, elastic topped and legged panties snugged quickly up over her slim hips, and she pulled on a pair of white, ribbed knee stockings, and flat-heeled patent-leather shiny black shoes.

Back to Mom's bedroom to pose and posture in front of the big mirror, admiring herself in the dark folds of glossy satin, the blue setting off her eyes... a run to her own room for a matching thick satin ribbon for her hair, and a few last hasty brushes at her hair, and Maryon was satisfied.

For a while, buoyed up by the guilty pleasure of wearing her forbidden clothes, she played a game with herself, pretending she was her mother at a party, greeting the guests, and accepting their compliments on how pretty she looked in her finery. But after a while this, too, palled, and she hunted around for something else to do, something exciting forbidden!

On tiptoe, for some reason scared though there was no one in the house, nor expected for several hours more, she opened the door to Mike's room, which he'd pointedly kept her out of for over a year, now that he was fifteen and almost a man. She made a moue of feminine disgust at the mess the room was in, with clothes strewn over the floor, books littering the two chairs, and a mess of papers and pencils pushed carelessly back and to one side on the old table top which now contained, in its center, a model plastic airplane, some eighteen inches in length and, apparently just completed. Other models, smaller, as she could see, hung suspended from threads thumbtacked into the ceiling. Pushing the door closed behind her, she walked into the room, stepping over the untidy heaps of clothes and around the unmade bed, and made her way to the table. She'd seen the other models before, when Mike'd triumphantly brought a finished project out to show the falsely enthusiastic Burt and the understanding proud Lois, but this plane was a super monster, cream and scarlet and black and silver, carefully painted and decaled. It was an old-fashioned thing, she saw, with two propellers, and idly she turned one of them with a small finger. The gleaming toy fascinated her and she picked it up, a bit gingerly, by the body.

Soon she was prancing around the room, skipping over the clothes, making the plane fly in her hand, her head mentally set in the cockpit, which had a sliding transparent casing over it, and seeing through half-dosed eyes a swooping, soaring view of the world. So entranced was she in this new game that she didn't hear the door open behind her, but her brother's voice--"Put that goddamn plane down, Maryon!"--hit ears and made her stumble to the floor. The brittle, fragile plane shot out from her hands and crashed against a bed leg to break in shatters on the carpet.

A rough hand seized her arm painfully and threw her to one side. White of face, she saw Mike go down on one knee and tenderly collect the pieces. In a fury he crushed them all together and would have thrown them in her face, if something he'd seen there had not stopped him. His face was flushed with anger and he towered over her, too furious to speak, while she cowered, tearful and fearful, not moving from where she'd landed. Swallowing, he let the broken fragments fall to the bed, and slowly sat down.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked his sister. "Where's Mom? How come you're wearing that dress? And... that's Mom's lipstick you've got on, isn't it?"

When the frightened girl didn't answer, he went on: "Oh, you're in for big trouble, Sis, aren't you!? Dressing up like that... wearing that lipstick-that means you've been in their bedroom, and you know you're not allowed there. And you're in here, when you know you're supposed to keep out... and you've broken my model. It's taken a whole goddamn week to build it, too. Oh, you're going to get it, for sure. You are really going to get it."

"You made me break it. I didn't mean to... you made me drop it... you scared me," she got out between silent sobs.

"You shouldn't have been in here in the first place," he said, and sat silent, looking grimly at her.

"Mom's gone downtown shopping," she offered, still not moving.

"Hah! I'll tell her fast enough when she gets back, don't you worry about that."

Fearful reaction against her previous excited pleasure came down on her. "Oh, Mike, please don't tell Mom. I'll mend your plane if you like."

Eagerly she scrambled to her feet and made as if to pick up the ruined model from the bed. He circled her wrist and dragged her toward him. "Oh, just leave it alone, it can't be repaired," he said, tiredly, thinking of all the work he'd put into it. And getting his sister punished wasn't going to get him a new plane, he realized. She might be told to stay in her room for a week, and not allowed out to play, but a lot of good that'd do him. He'd get a bit of revenge in seeing her spanked, though, he thought. Looking at her, scared, submissive, almost shivering, her crimsoned lips quivering, clear blue eyes hazed by tears, a sudden idea came to him. Silly brat was only doing what he'd done often enough, exploring in the empty house And it was his quiet and unexpected entry that'd caused her to trip and so break the plane.

His pretty little sister, and soft and blonde and rosy. And she looked almost sexy dressed like that, in her fine blue satin with the lace at throat and cuff and hem, and her stockinged legs. Kind of cute. And she was afraid of him, and would do anything to avoid punishment by Dad. Well, then, why wouldn't he punish her, make her remember not to mess about with his things any more?

Her chubby little face, framed by the golden ringlets, oddly accented by the crimsoned lips, seemed especially vulnerable, her blue eyes, tear-washed, more than ever eager to seek his favor. Mike swallowed, and relaxed a bit on the bed, sitting back more, spreading his knees. He pulled her, gently but firmly, to stand between his ankles, still holding her wrist.

"Well, now," he began, "you did do all those, uh, wrong things now, didn't you?"

His sister nodded her head briskly, the golden curls softly trembling to the movement.

"And you know at the very least you'll get spanked, hard... till your ass gets red, right?"

Again she nodded, biting her lower lip at the thought of the pain.

"And you can bet you'll be made to stay in your room... maybe they won't speak to you, or let you be spoken to, huh? Well, then, Sis, suppose instead of me telling them, huh..."

This time she interrupted him, her eyes excited, almost jumping up and down with sudden relief, her free hand gripping his arm.

"Oh, please, Mike, don't tell them. I'll do anything..."

He interrupted her in turn. "Well, maybe, but you don't get out of being punished, okay?"

"Okay, Mike," she said, a little wary, a little reluctant, "but what... ?"

"I'll spank you myself, first," he said with a grin. "Not too hard, and then I'll think of something. Okay?"

"Oh--aw, Mike! D'you have to spank me?"

He made himself look severe. "Yes. Oh, don't worry, Sis, I won't hurt you... won't make you cry. Just make you smart a bit's all. So, now," he added, releasing her, "just lay down across my knees and get ready."

Mutinously, though she realized she was getting the best of a bad choice, Maryon came around to His side as he eased himself forward, and prepared to bend over his hard boy's knees in their black Levi's. He looked down at her, seeing the way her stiff satin dress rode up into the air like a sail. "Uh, say, Sis," he said, low-voiced and hesitant, "we don't want you to get your party dress all bent out of shape, huh? I think you'd better take it off."

Something in his tone caught Maryon's ear. Though she was thankful for the slight reprieve, her mind was busy on the rather strained quality of his voice. It wasn't... straight, somehow, she thought as, dutifully, protracting the moment, she stood up and carefully pulled the dress up over her head. It sounded like... like she thought her voice sounded when she was telling a small lie, or covering up for some mistake she'd made. Strange. She didn't feel ashamed at baring herself like this before him. In fact, for some reason, it was nice. Mom had hinted things to her, and she'd heard scraps of tittered conversation among her classmates about boys and girls, but she didn't really know what it was all about. And anyway, Mike wasn't a strange, dirty little boy, he was her brother!

Beginning to feel an excitement of his own, Mike watched as her cream-skinned, lightly curved body revealed itself beneath the slowly upward drawn blue fabric, watching as her dainty little pink nipples, aroused by the rough pull of the dress over them, became visible, hardened. Stretched tall by her efforts, her slender little body arched leanly. Goddamn, I've got a pretty cute sister, he thought, eyeing the taut, translucent white silk panties through which her rosy, chubby cheeks of butt glowed faintly. He'd fumbled with a couple of girls before, but always in the dark, always in quick, guilty haste, and though he knew his sister was far too young to have all of the attractive signs and attributes of sex, perhaps he could learn some of the puzzling realities of the cold abstracts hinted at in the diagrams of sexual anatomy he'd furtively pored over in medical books in the library.

Stripped down to her thin panties, which now she unconsciously pulled tighter up around her waist, thereby outlining the soft fork of her thighs, and to her white knee stockings and shiny black shoes, Maryon stepped toward him again and, half-kneeling, laid herself across his slightly trembling knees, hardening the balls of her bottom in anticipated reaction to his slaps, and not noticing his quivering in her own nakedness. "Not too hard, Mike, please."

He rested one hand on her bare shoulder, beneath the fine golden hair, and let the other caress the rounded fruits of her ass, his heart pounding as the slither of silk beneath his palm sent messages to his brain, finding a queer delight in both the touch and in the thought that he was tormenting her by his waiting. "Just to make you remember it better, this'll be a bare- butt spanking." Before she could protest at the indignity, his hand had slid beneath the elastic at her waist and his splayed fingers took the panties off in one smooth movement, to rest rumpled about her thighs.

Maryon felt vulnerable, and as cool air hit her newly bared flesh she knew herself to be goose-pimpling, and for some reason she couldn't put into words, she felt a flash of anger at his further abasement, making her an object of fun, she thought, betrayed by her own body. But Mike's still fondling hand warmed her quickly and the spear of thought sank deep into her mind and vanished there...

Mike, delaying no longer, eager to get on to something else, smacked her six times with cupped hands, three blows to each cheek, producing more noise than pain, bringing forth only a tiny spot of color to the center of each firm sphere, knowing he hadn't hurt her. Maryon, he soon realized, had also figured that he'd pulled back his strength and let her off easily, for while his hand still cupped her, she wriggled herself around, sat up, and threw her arms around his neck to plant a juicy kiss on his cheek. Then, still holding on, she leaned back, regarded him, then unaccountably burst into giggles.

"Oh, thank you, Mike," she said in her outburst of mirth. "You do look funny." She buried her face against his chest.

"Why, what's wrong?" he asked, guiltily, wondering if his face was giving away his intentions. He noticed his hand still nested between her careless thighs where she'd twisted beneath him.

"You've got lipstick on your face," she giggled. Heedless of everything else, she wet a finger on her dainty little tongue and rubbed his cheek until she was satisfied she'd removed all traces from him, then sat back on his knee, her hands now going to her panties where they made a soft white ruffled band against the pale pink of her fair skin. Mike put his free hand about her shoulders, leaned forward and kissed her face, at the same time keeping his hand firm on the circle of silk at her thighs.

"I let you off a bit, Sis, because I like you, you know?" He swallowed, started to speak, flushed slightly, then blurted out. "But that's only the first part of your punishment."

She regarded him for a moment, head to one side, golden ringlets dangling. "What else, Mike," she said, putting her chubby fists on her slender hips.

"Well... well, I want to look at you, like," he said, not sure how just to put it. "Just... just lie back there, like you were just now, only the other way around."

Misunderstanding him, Maryon began to get up, meaning to rest face down across his thighs from the other side, an innocent smile on her crimson lips, but gently he pushed her back, spreading his knees apart a bit more to make her more comfortable, so that her shoulders were flat on one thigh and her own slim thighs across his black-clad one. Making a game of it, she flapped her arms above her head and let her neck bend back till her blonde curls touched the carpet. He quickly slid a hand beneath her ass to support her, and pulled at her silk panties till he clumsily slid them off altogether, pulling each knee up toward him in turn. With her shoes on the carpet and the stockings covering her to her knees, she presented her arched body to his inspection, her fragile hipbones pushing up through the whitened skin.

Maryon had been caught unawares by her brother's request. She didn't quite know what to make of it but acted quickly in a sudden flush of affection and trust. He was her adored big brother and... well, it was kind of exciting, somehow, to be spread out like this. She wondered what he was thinking. Her head became heavy with blood in her upside-down position and, grasping his thigh, she pulled herself up so that she could see down the length of her body, between the hard little cones of her coral nipples, set into the soft spare skin of her saucers of breasts, now flattened out altogether by the stretch of her body, to where a soft hump appeared above the flat horizon of her belly. She wriggled a bit to get more comfortable, and parted her legs further to let them give her more support.

Her brother's face looked strangely flushed, and his eyes excited. Not feeling quite... right, quite nice, all of a sudden, Maryon closed her eyes and turned her face to where she could rest it on the arm that Jay on his thigh, snugging her head against her shoulder.

Mike slowly let his hands and eyes roam over the treasure of his young sister's body, brushing the little nipples with his fingers, tweaking gently at them, pressing them, wondering as he did so why his own hardened under his T-shirt. He let one finger of his other hand circle around her belly-button until she giggled and wriggled deliciously, murmuring that he was tickling her. He changed his circumscribing finger into a brush and let it rejoin its fellows, smoothing down and across her belly, slowly approaching that mysterious, bare mound that thrust up at the crack of her thighs. Not quite bare, though, he discovered as he bent over her, for there was a nearly invisible dust of golden down there, a small triangle of fire, tiny tight curb whose apex pointed down to the naked slot whose edges were pinker than the rest of her. He'd lost track of the proper names of things as spelled out in the books he'd seen... vulva, pubis, labia, vagina--didn't know which was which as exampled by the fair flesh offered him here, but he couldn't possibly forget the usual names, heard without meaning years ago from older boys. He slid one finger in between her hot thighs until it rested lightly over the slit, covering it.

"Say, Sis, what d'you call this?" He tapped it gently for emphasis, and his voice was low.

Maryon felt color flood her face and arms. Kept her eyes firmly closed, for the first time knowing an exhilarating sense of shame. "That's... that's my hole, Mike," she said, whispering.

"No," he muttered, a bit contemptuously. "That's your cunt. Don't you know that!?"

Again a flush rolled through her, warmer this time, at the sound of the forbidden word... for it was not unknown to her. Only she knew it to be... "That's a dirty word, Mike."

"No it's not, everybody uses it. It's a grown-up word, see. Only grown-ups are allowed to say it. But I'll let you say it to me. As long as you promise never to tell anyone else, hey? So say it, let me hear you say a grown-up word."

"Cunt," she said, softly, not really believing him, but letting the word excite her. "Cunt, cunt! cunt!"

"Yeah, that's right," he said, shockingly thrilled at the sound of her girl's voice lisping the word. "Now, I'll teach you some more, if you don't already know them. What do you call this?" he asked, fondling.

"That's my bottom, Mike."

"Nah, that's kids' talk. That's your ass, your butt, your rear-end. They call each one of 'em the cheek of your ass, see. And these?" flicking her nipples and pinching up the soft, silky skin of her breasts.

"I-I don't know, Mike. That's my chest, isn't it!"

"Hah! little kids have chests. These are your tits, and these are your boobs. Can you remember 'em? Let me hear you say em."

Maryon had heard the words before, but never used them. Or thought of them, consciously. But like all secret, taboo words of the tribes of man, they were burned indelibly on her hidden memory.

"Cunt, ass, tit, boob," she murmured; then, more boldly: "Cunt! Ass! Tit! Boob! Cunt-ass-tit-boob! Cuntasstitboob! Cuntass! Titboob!" She giggled. "They're funny words, aren't they, Mike? When I say 'em like that?"

"That's good, Sis." He bent to kiss her on her left breast, sucking at her nipple as he drew back, sending a sudden delightful tingle from between her legs to her toes, and up to her... tits! Defiantly she said the word to herself. Mike placed the hollowed palm of his hand on her belly, low down, and began to rub it. She arched like a kitten being stroked but, to her sudden disappointment, after a few brushes he left off, and moved a pair of long, warm fingers down to the hot spot between her legs. Feeling good, she relaxed her thighs, tightened momentarily against the alien intrusion, but jerked as he pressed down against the small, firm mound where she'd recently discovered fresh hair to be growing. "Ooh!" she said between her teeth. "That feels funny, Mike. Like-like..." she blushed again "... like I have to go to the bathroom."

"You mean, like you have to take a leak," he sniggered. "I know what you mean, but it's different from that, really. Don't worry, Sis, it'll be all right, I promise."

Fleetingly the little girl wondered how he could know what it felt like. She did know that boys and girls weren't built quite the same, though she didn't know exactly in what way. Maybe Mike'll show me, if I ask him nicely! she excitedly thought, and determined to put the suggestion to him when he seemed to be in a good mood. Meanwhile, she was kinda enjoying this 'punishment' of his.

And meanwhile, Mike was hot and cold at the 'punishment' he was inflicting. If only Maryon'd hold her tongue, and not go blabbing! But then, if she did, she'd not know that her own petty 'crimes' of the day wouldn't be doubly punished. And... she didn't seem to mind what he did with her!

He let his knuckles stroke the firm lean flesh of her thighs and gradually ran his thumb down into the moist, hot area he ached to explore. Leaning his body over her, he peered down as his probing digit eased its way into the lips of her bald, silk-edged cunt. Moving his knee back a bit till it pressed against the hard cheeks of her ass, he brought his other hand sliding down her suddenly trembling body to join the first, and let both thumbs gently prise her flower-like slit apart. It was something like splitting a peach, he thought. Even the down on her skin there was the same. And she was just as juicy inside, he discovered... a little sticky, and with a few kinda little knobs almost like seeds on the soft, red flat part at the top. He ran his fingernail up and down these hard pimples and was surprised when the lips he was holding seemed to thicken and grow to his touch, and he beard her gasp.