Keep It in the Family Pt. 15

"Are you sure you want screwing, Mrs Kowalski?"

"Of course, I fucking do," I replied, sitting back on the couch with my legs open, so he could get a good look at my cunt, which was already wet.

"Well, alright. You know our rules forbid us to actually fuck a guest, but I can promise to give you a good screwing."

Huh? I didn't quite get it, even less when a second man with another sort of trolley came in to the room behind the breakfast trolley. After the door had closed, he reached into his cart and pulled out what looked like a smaller type of power tool, but with something that looked pinker and softer at the sharp end.

"Yoghourt, maple syrup or honey?"

"Um ... yoghourt, please."

I had no idea what this was about, except I'd ordered yoghourt, oatmeal and honey, fresh fruit and pancakes with maple syrup. The guy dipped the tip of the tool in the yoghourt, but it was only when he shoved it up my ass and turned it on that I realised what was happening.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Well, you said you wanted screwing, and that's Bob's screwdriver he adapted. So, Mrs Kowalski, you are being screwed, aren't you?"

"But this wasn't what I had in mind -- I was expecting you fuck my cunt with your cock!" I yelled, feeling that I'd be properly tricked.

"Serves you right, darling. You've been asking for it all week, and you did say you wanted screwing on the breakfast form, didn't you?"

My shouting must have woken up Chrissy and Charlie, who were standing watching and laughing. But then they added insult to injury, as Chrissy bent over the desk, and my husband rammed his cock up her pregnant pussy. What's more, I knew my fucking bitch of my twin sister had deliberately positioned herself so I could see him entering her.

"Ah, well, we thought a saw would be better in your cunt," the second man, Bob presumably, said, reaching into his cart and pulling out a much larger tool, with what was very obviously a larger dildo where the saw should have been.

Actually, I was starting to enjoy whatever was going round and around in my anus. It seemed that they'd fixed some sort of small dildo where the screwdriver blade should be, and it had ridges running down it, so although it was only turning inside my asshole rather than going in and out, it was really getting me going.

"Honey," I said, before I was asked, guessing what he was intending to do, and vaguely remembering that honey was supposed to have antibacterial properties.

He dipped the dildo in honey, catching the drips on a finger and licking them off with his tongue, then he slid the sticky dildo straight into my vagina. This wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but when he turned the tool on, the dildo started pumping in and out of me, with nice long strokes, the way it was intended with the saw blade.

Shit, I really was starting to enjoy it now, as Bob held the screwing tool in my ass, and the sawing tool in my vagina. I'd just started to wonder what the room service guy was planning, when he spooned yoghourt over my tits, a rivulet slowly running down over my belly, to join the sticky mess of honey leaking out of my cunt as it was joined by my cum, and running down to join the yoghourt around my asshole.

"A good sanding for your tits, we thought, Mrs Kowalski," he said, as he pulled what looked like some sort of orbital sander out of the cart.

Fortunately, it had a soft, fluffy head rather than sandpaper. He turned it on, and started working the yoghourt into my breasts, paying especial attention to my nipples. Fuck, it really was delightful. My tits were getting massaged like never before, and the fluffy material kept pulling against my rock hard nipples, giving them delightfully pleasurable tugs. The saw ramming the dildo in and out of my vagina kept sending bolts of excitement shooting through me, and the screwing in my ass was sending delicious waves of pleasure through me.

I looked over at my husband fucking my sister, and the sight of his cock stretching her pregnant cunt sent me right over the top. I came.

"FUCK!"

"You really are a slut, Mrs Kowalski, the room service guy said. I haven't even used the last tool."

As I recovered my senses, as much as I could with the dildos still working both holes, and my tits being massaged by the sander, I looked up, and saw the server with a much smaller tool in his hand. Shit, it was small polisher, the sort people used in model making, and it also had a soft, domed tool on the end. He put it on my clit and turned it on. Oh fuck, it was almost as good as the mains-powered wand I'd tried, which always made me come in no time at all.

"Go on, screw that bitch of a sister," Chrissy yelled, and I could see she was getting close herself.

"Yeah, fuck my slut-wife's cunt," Charlie gasped as he came, and I could almost see his spunk filling my sister's vagina as his balls pulsated.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I came again myself, as I watched my husband's spunk oozing out from my sister's cunt as his strokes slowed, she yelled out as she came, and his cock started to soften. I thought that was going to be it, but I was wrong. Charlie and Chrissy walked over towards me, and my husband forced his limp cock into my mouth. Well, forced is an exaggeration, because I loved the taste of his spunk mixed with my twin sister's cum, and I had it opened ready for him.

"We'll hold the tools for you. I know you can't touch her, but you can jerk off on her face, can't you?" my sister said, pretty much what I'd have done myself if I hadn't had my husband's cock in my mouth, and been enjoying the tastes so much.

Charlie and Chrissy held the tools in my holes, on my tits and my clit, and the guys got their cocks out and started jerking off next to my face. God, I was now practically into a continuous orgasm, as the tiny sander drove my clit wild, combining with the gorgeous feelings coming from the manipulation of my two holes, and the wonderful warmth filling my breasts.

"Shoot your spunk in my mouth," I managed to say, before I lay there with my mouth open, my hips going up and down as I came again, watching the clear pre-cum collect on the openings of their cocks.

Fuck, first Bob came, ropes of white spunk shooting out of the end of his cock. The first got my eyes and nose, then I felt warm liquid in my mouth, before another series of ropes hit me from the room service guy, going in my hair, my ear and in my other eye. What was it with men? They had the luxury of an aimable tool, unlike women, but they seemed incapable of keeping their pee in the toilet bowl, and their aim when they came seemed even worse, as more spunk was all over my face than in my mouth.

There was soon even less, as Chrissy bent over and kissed me on the lips, licking the spunk from them, then using her tongue in my mouth to collect what little had hit its target. And the fucking cunt still had the sander on my clit, so I came once more. Goodness know how many more times I would have had to come, but I was saved by Bob's phone ringing, and he said it was reception wondering what had become of them.

All of a sudden, the tools were switched off, the ones in my holes were pulled out, leaving me gaping. They were all put into the cart, and the two men shot off, leaving me covered with yoghourt, spunk, honey and cum.

"This really is a most delightful breakfast, darling," Chrissy said, scraping a crescent of fresh melon over my face to collect the lines of spunk, while Charlie rubbed a strawberry along my cunt to collect the sweet mixture of honey, yoghourt and cum.

I tipped the oatmeal on my belly, drizzled some maple syrup over the top, and between us we used the fruit and pancakes to eat breakfast off my naked body.

"I do love you, Sis, and even you, Charlie, you cheating bastard," I said, smiling. I might not have got fucked by room service, but it certainly had been fun.

I'm afraid it made a bit of a mess of the couch, though, but what the hell. When we'd finished, we showered together to clean ourselves off. For the first time in days we got dressed in normal clothes, which felt very strange, finished packing our bags, then checked out, ready for the flights back home.

******

It was all a bit of an anti-climax, going back home after the Caribbean, though actually that hadn't been quite as spectacular as I'd hoped. To start with, my Mom had been fucked by a lot more men than me, so my ambition to be the Family Slut was shattered. Not that on reflection I'd really have wanted to have been fucked by every one of the men, the way that she was. I loved being gang-banged, it's true, but shocking though it may be, once I'd been fucked by five or six men, diminishing returns seemed to set in. Once my cunt and ass were full of spunk, things started to get a bit repetitive.

Not only that, but things had got a lot rougher than I really liked. It's was mostly my fault, of course, upsetting my Mom and her sister's family. But making love to Dad was so special it would always stay in my memory. Actually, rather than many more gang bangs, I'd have liked more intimate sessions with just a few of the family, where I could enjoy their bodies for the first time, and have them enjoy mine.

Things at home were a bit dull as well. Chrissy and Jade were steadily getting bigger bellies, and Jade seemed to have lost some of the edge of her nymphomania with the baby inside her. Either Tony was keeping her occupied, or he was busy building the business, and working on the family tree with Professor Alex. Either way, he definitely wasn't fucking me as much as I'd have liked. Michael and Laura were busy in their new positions, and Lucy, Chloe, Jude and Jason were all back at college, starting to take their exams.

Easter was late, else I'd have been kept busy with church business, so I was bored. I loved fucking Chrissy and Charlie, but he was trying to seduce Brian's new secretary much of the time, and as each day went past, my pussy shouted louder that she wanted a new cock in her. I was hoping that my role as Family Historian might have led to trips to new family members who'd fill that need for me, but nothing had come about yet.

Then it hit me. Why not go and see if I could find Rosemary's son? I was still feeling guilty for the way I'd behaved, but if I could end Rosemary's uncertainty, even if it only confirmed for sure that her son had died, I'd feel I'd made up for it. And maybe Dad would make love to me again, the way he had when we'd made our peace?

I called Mom to get as much information as I could about where her parents lived, and any ideas on where exactly the nunnery was. I set Tony searching the internet as well. In the meantime, I threw myself back in to editing and loading more clips to the streaming site, especially now that enough time had gone by for a paternity test, so we could announce Tony as the father of Jade's baby, and release footage of the wedding. In addition, we'd been given footage of Mom, me and Chrissy getting gang-fucked at the family event, albeit with a few of the faces pixelated out.

I was feeling exhilarated as I drove off in Tony's Mustang, which I'd persuaded him to lend me. Well, I was paying for it by letting him fuck me more often, but that was a win-win, wasn't it? He'd identified three possible communities of nuns where Rosemary's mother may have taken her. One had closed, which was going to make it tricky to get any information, but the other two, although smaller, were still operating.

I had a feeling that Rosemary's parents wouldn't have wanted her too close, so after a night in a cheap motel, I took a gamble and drove to the further of the two options. I was lucky. It took me a while to persuade the nun who answered the door to let me in, but eventually she showed me into a dark room, and after a few minutes an elderly nun joined me.

"Good morning. I'm Sister Euphemia. How can I help you?"

I explained that I had come to try to find out what happened to my Aunt's baby son, after she had been taken in. To start with, I just got stonewalled, and told that she had no recollection of the person I was talking about, and their policy was not to give out any information about people who had taken refuge there. Not even the letter signed by Rosemary, giving me authority to act on her behalf, got me anywhere.

"Well, that's a terrible shame, Sister Euphemia. I've been commissioned to write a book on the family history, and I was hoping I'd be able to leave out the bits about how badly you abused the young, pregnant girls who came to you. My aunt has read about the nunneries in Ireland, where they found the bones of tens of young babies who the nuns had killed rather than had adopted. And now I come to think of it, you were one of the nuns that my aunt specifically mentioned as enjoying watching her shower."

This last bit was an invention of mine, but it hit home, Sister Euphemia's face going absolutely white.

"I was brought up in a religious family, and it will be painful to have to reveal the horrors that you nuns inflicted on these young girls. Still, if you can't help ..."

"Well, maybe something is coming back to me. I can't imagine why on earth your aunt would think we killed the babies. No, I think I may be able to recall who you are talking about. Let me just check my records. What did you say the father's name was?"

I told her that Rosemary had told me she didn't know the father's name, then the nun left the room. She was gone for quite a long time, making me worry that she wouldn't return, but eventually she came back, and gave me a name and address on a piece of paper. She told me that they named the boy Wayne, and that this woman, who had two girls already, but had wanted a boy, had taken him on. I asked if she could search for a copy of the birth registration, and email a scan of it to me, so if the trail went cold, I'd at least have evidence to give Rosemary.

If this had been in the city, I'd have taken a bet that the woman wouldn't still live at the same address, but out in the tiny little country towns people tended to stay put, and again I was lucky. When I knocked at the door of the cottage whose address I had been given, a woman answered the door. She was probably a bit older than my mother, but had put on more weight, and had a world-weary look to her.

"Oh yes, I remember Wayne, all right. He was always a bit of a handful. It wasn't that he was bad, but in those days he was what we'd have called a bit simple, I guess, though goodness knows what it would be called in these days of political correctness. He was bright enough at school, but he was easily led, and he was always getting into trouble. The other boys would tell him to do things, shoplifting, setting fire to peoples' mail boxes, throwing stones through windows -- all in themselves quite minor, really, but he was always getting caught.

"We lived with it, because he was otherwise a nice lad, and my daughters enjoyed him as a brother. Too much, as it turned out. I caught them ... um ... comparing their ... private parts, and it wasn't just looking. That was when their hormones were just kicking in, and I could only see it getting worse, so my husband and I agreed that for our daughters' safety, we'd have to find Wayne another home."

There were tears in her eyes, as she told me how her local pastor had found another pastor and his wife a few counties away who hadn't been able to have their own children, and had taken on a series of difficult adolescents, all with success. I thanked her, and headed off to the new address, worried that if I found Wayne, he wouldn't be the sort of son Rosemary would be proud of. The combination of 'simple and troublesome' seemed a bad one.

I managed to find the town, and as I was pulling up to the house next door to a church, I saw a pastor, who had obviously just left the house, walking towards the church. I hastily parked, and ran after him.

"Oh yes, Wayne," I remember him, the pastor said, sighing. "We took him on after he'd got into a lot of stupid trouble, and um ..."

"Yes, I know about the girls."

"Ah, yes, well. We got on fine with him for a couple of years. The change of school seemed to be good, and he did well, although he always looked a bit empty and naïve. But ... well ... my wife was having a shower one day, and she noticed a ... well ... sort of spy hole, I guess. I tackled him, of course, but although he denied it, we knew he had been watching her ... naked ... and, well ... she was never going to feel safe with him around, so I'm afraid we had to find somewhere else for him."

He said that he'd asked around, and there was a sheriff another couple of counties further north whose wife was a probation officer, and was used to dealing with troublesome adolescents going through puberty, and they'd agreed to take him. No, he hadn't done anything to follow up on what happened afterwards.

It was a long drive which took me into the edge of Idaho to find the next family who had looked after Wayne, I guessed from around fifteen or sixteen. I pulled in to the sheriff's building, and was shown into an office where a man who was probably sixty, but looked older, with thinning hair, and a spreading paunch was sat behind a desk. When I asked him about Wayne, he gave out a big sigh, and rubbed his hand across his eyes, the way people do when asked to relive difficult memories.

"Ah, Wayne. We thought things were all fine. I managed to keep him out of too much trouble, and he was doing well at school. Unfortunately, it all fell apart after his high school graduation, when he was just over eighteen, though it still wasn't clear what he was going to do afterwards."

"So what went wrong, Sheriff?"

"Well, apparently my wife had started to notice some of her panties disappearing, although she hadn't said anything to me. Then Wayne came back from the prom in a high old state. It seemed there'd been alcohol around, although everyone was underage. I was out on a case, and when my wife got home she found Wayne's car parked outside with the engine running and lights on. When she went inside, she said she found Wayne masturbating into a pair of her dirty panties.

"As it happened, I came back a few minutes after her, and when I followed the yelling to Wayne's room, I found my wife trying to pull her panties off of him, while he had his hand around her holding one of her breasts. And he was, you know, dripping down her leg."

This was all beginning to sound a bit of a familiar story. "So, you threw him out?"

"Yeah, well, it didn't seem I had a lot of choice, did I?"

"And has your wife got over this experience?"

"Well, that's just it. Only a few months later she left me for some city-smart attorney, and then people started coming out of the woodwork and telling me she'd been screwing around on me for years, the bitch! Then I couldn't help wondering whether I hadn't been too hard on the boy, as maybe it wasn't just him at fault."

"Okay, so what did you do?"

"I felt pretty guilty, so I started calling my buddies in other counties to see if they'd heard of Wayne. In the end, I hit lucky. He'd gone north, taking a series of short-term jobs, mainly of farms. In the end, he ended up on a ranch in Northern Montana, run by an old guy. Dawson was his name. He'd got too old to look after it properly, and it had got real run down. Now, Wayne may have looked simple sometimes, but he clearly wasn't, because after Dawson took him on he brought the ranch back to life, and when Old Man Dawson died, he left the ranch to Wayne. He's still there now."

"Have you talked to him, apologised, maybe?"

"No. I guess I still aren't sure of the rights and wrongs of things. I feared that Wayne would get himself into more trouble with women, but apart from some sort of ruckus in what I'm told was a whorehouse, years ago, nothing else has happened. The sheriff up there tells me he's never married, or apparently had much to do with women, just turning the place into one of the best in the state."