Naturally, we want to know how Jack was conceived and born. It’s so exciting and hot — dear reader, your finger will go numb from all your masturbating! So, here we go:

Irene had been sleeping with her dad ever since her mom died when she was thirteen. He fucked her every night, tenderly and lovingly. He adored his daughter and soon became a cheerful, physically affectionate man again. And Irene loved being his little woman, getting fucked and spoiled by him and his huge cock. Every evening, as she lay down in bed beside him, she could feel his rod already straining beneath the covers, ready to bore into her tight, wet pussy until she screamed and trembled with lust.

Oh yes, his cock knew exactly how to find the opening amidst the soft fuzzy down of her pussy and hit her G-spot precisely. He always fucked her for a long time; he had taught her how to trigger multiple little orgasms by using her finger on her clit , but she was only supposed to trigger the big, earth-shattering orgasm at the very end — when he flooded her pussy — so that his ejaculation and her final, massive climax coincided. It was deeply relaxing and satisfying for both of them. Irene especially loved it when he kept his thick shaft deep inside her and moved only minimally, letting her feel every single pulse of his engorged flesh while her own juices ran down his thigh. Sometimes he would flip her onto her stomach, take her from behind like a bitch, and grab her firm breasts while whispering in her ear what a hot little fuck-slut of a daughter she was.

But today — she was about seventeen — today, everything was different. Dad had pulled off a billion-dollar deal and then celebrated wildly with his business partners and buddies. Whiskey, joints, and hookers — truly hot hookers! And now he’s coming home, smelling of whiskey, weed, and the perfume of cheap whores. He staggers into the bedroom where Irene is already waiting for him; she’s torn open the condom packet and is ready. He roughly shoves the condom aside: "I’m the king of the world — I’ve made us millions today! To hell with that hideous rubber; I want to fuck you raw!" She was afraid of getting pregnant. But Dad took her with such a furious, stormy fuck that she nearly lost her senses... Once, twice — and three times — he flooded his daughter’s chafed pussy, laughing loudly and crudely. Then he slumped to the side as if unconscious, falling asleep before he even hit the bed.

Irene wept bitterly. For the first time, Dad had fucked her without a condom; he had flooded her pussy with his semen three times, and she had experienced wonderful orgasms, yet her heart trembled with fear. Although she had rubbed her clit practically raw while waiting for Dad, she clung to masturbation like a lifeline — she couldn't get pregnant from that — and her soul soared up to the angels anyway, snuggling into the armpit of a well-endowed angel and holding fast to his large, stiff cock. In her angel's arms, she felt sheltered, safe, and lovingly embraced. Sighing and trembling, she reached her climax in that angel's arms.

After triggering her orgasm, Irene felt the warm wetness between her thighs. Dad's semen slowly trickled from her raw pussy, forming a small puddle on the sheet. The scent of sex, semen, and whiskey filled the room — proof of the raw, unprotected union she had just experienced. With trembling fingers, she touched her belly, as if she could already sense a pregnancy. Fear mingled with a strange arousal at the thought that his semen was inside her — deep inside, perhaps even on its way to fertilizing an egg.

While Dad snored beside her — his mouth slightly open, an expression of pure contentment on his face — Irene could not sleep. She got up and went to the window, gazing out into the dark night. Her thoughts were in a whirl — what would happen tomorrow? Would she need to get the morning-after pill? Or might she even be carrying his child? The idea filled her with a mixture of fear and strange anticipation. She was his little woman, his lover, and perhaps soon even the mother of his child. With a soft sigh, she returned to bed, snuggled up against her sleeping Papa, and pressed her face to his chest, while her fingers wandered back down to her still-moist, semen-filled cunt.

Irene knew she was carrying her father’s child. Papa had been shaken for a few days by his roughness toward Irene, but now he continued to fuck her without a condom — she was already pregnant, after all. Pregnancy hormones sent her into a frenzy; she masturbated all day long and drove Papa through one orgasm after another at night, until he collapsed to the side, utterly spent and half-unconscious. He gave it his all — he was losing weight — but he was determined to give his child a beautiful, fulfilling pregnancy, even if he exhausted himself to the point of death. Yes, he was a good Papa — conscientious and loving toward his only child, his daughter-lover-child-cunt. By day, he successfully chased after money; by night, he joyfully and breathlessly plowed the furrow of his little daughter.

Irene needed more. She called up all of Papa’s friends, invited them over for tea — morning and afternoon — and let herself get fucked until the guys ran out of breath. She fucked dozens, hundreds of his friends, and she never got enough of fucking and jerking them off. Her pregnant belly was like a magnet for the cocks she took inside her every day. Sometimes three or four men lay beside her in bed at once, their hands roaming over her round belly as they took turns thrusting into her wet, greedy cunt. Irene especially loved having two cocks inside her at the same time — one in her pussy and one in her tight asshole. The bliss was indescribable as she was filled from both ends, all while feeling the life growing inside her.

She became the most insatiable slut in the entire neighborhood. The mailman, the milkman, the handyman — they all got to stick their pricks into her dripping slit and cum to their heart's content, even the shy curate. Irene organized full-blown fuck-fests in her house while Papa was away at the office during the day. She would lie naked on the rug, legs spread wide, letting one cock after another slide inside her. Sometimes, when a particularly large number of men were present, she would get on all fours and let herself be taken from behind — dutifully, one after another. Her belly swelled more with each passing day, yet her craving for flesh didn't wane; quite the opposite. She couldn't get enough of the sensation of being filled, or the scent of sweat and semen that permeated the entire bedroom.

Even when no man was around, she jerked herself off incessantly. Her fingers constantly found their way to her swollen clit , which had become hypersensitive and chafed raw due to the pregnancy. In the supermarket, she would reach under her skirt unnoticed while sorting apples with her other hand. In the car at traffic lights, in the doctor’s waiting room, even while talking to Dad on the phone — she was constantly massaging that tiny bud of pleasure, which would rise up into a stiff spur beneath her touch. Sometimes she rubbed herself so intensely that her thighs trembled and sweat ran down her forehead; she would moan softly, imagining dozens of cocks penetrating her. Her bed was constantly wet with her juices, and she had to change the sheets every day — that was how often she rubbed herself to sleep and again upon waking. Even in her sleep, she dreamed only of fucking and masturbating, often waking with trembling hands between her thighs as a secret orgasm coursed through her body.

On the afternoon of a sunny Monday in May, she gave birth to her baby — Dad’s child. She was overjoyed; the pain was over quickly as she pushed the infant through and out of her cunt. With a sobering realization, she noticed that the boy was special. He had a hooked nose, just like Mario, the waiter. With a racing heart, she calculated whether Mario could be the father. Yes, it was possible; she had often waited for Dad at the coffeehouse and would frequently have a quick fling with Mario to pass the time. Mario was a fool, of course; he didn't know about condoms and had refused to wear one even when she tried to slip it on him. Mario was a Sicilian "natural man" — and natural men don't use condoms; the very idea!

But her gut told her that little Jack couldn't possibly be Mario's child. The midwife had said sympathetically that the child would develop a humpback — by puberty at the latest. The midwife had an eye for such things. The biggest surprise for Irene came when she examined little Jack’s cock. Yes, the lad was his dad’s child, for sure. She must have pulled back the foreskin a hundred times, admiring the head. Yes, this was an heirloom from his father — her dad. Dad, too, had had a much bigger cock than any of his friends; after all, she’d fucked hundreds of them and never encountered a tool even remotely as large.

Old Jack suddenly flashed into her mind. An ancient gnome, barely a meter tall, bald and with a large hooked nose; he had a hunchback, too. He carried a gnarled driftwood cane but never actually used it. He would beg café guests for a euro and then drink a shot of schnapps at the counter. Irene rummaged through her purse but found nothing more than a single one-euro coin. Sheepishly, she handed it to the old gnome, took him by the hand, and led him into the back room while Mario kept watch. Her heart leapt when she unwrapped the old man’s disproportionately large cock. And, by God, the guy could fuck like a god! But he was clearly a bit unhinged; he kept rambling about a young girl named Irene — his mom — claiming he had returned from the future just to fuck her while she was still a young girl; it was his heart’s greatest desire. His guardian angel — who loved jerking him off — had obtained special permission from the reception office of Heaven, a special permission for him to travel back in time. The old gnome’s eyes would glow as he spoke of his guardian angel jerking him off on the sandy beach and smiling as he came all over her breasts. Irene laughed and gave him a playful smack: "You’re damn lucky, Jack, because my name happens to be Irene, too. But I am certainly not your mom, you horny little imp!" She must have let him fuck her in the back room a hundred times; he was truly excellent at the job. — Her heart nearly stopped. Could her little Jack have been fathered by old Jack!?

As Irene held her son’s small, delicate cock in her hands, she felt an old, familiar heat rising within her. She couldn't resist gently placing her lips around the tiny head, which began to swell at the slightest touch. The thought that this little miracle would one day grow into a magnificent rod like her dad’s made her so horny that she pressed her fingers against her own pussy — still swollen from the birth — and fingered herself furiously while pressing little Jack against her breast. She knew she would feel that little cock in her mouth often over the years, stroke it with her hands, and perhaps even — one day, when he was big enough — let him thrust it into her wet slit. The thought made her so incredibly wet that she would have let herself be fucked right then and there, had there been a man nearby.

No, the sturdy midwife had said she wasn't allowed to even think about fucking during the first few weeks. If the Devil tempted her, she should simply use her finger. Irene played dumb — how exactly do you use a finger against the Devil, and how does that work? The midwife didn't waste any time; the next woman in labor was already waiting. Decisively, she spread Irene’s labia and stroked her clit until she reached orgasm. Irene — who had never before let a girl or a man stroke her to climax — soared to seventh heaven, to her familiar angel with the hard cock. The midwife nodded with satisfaction as Irene began to stroke herself — "for the first time" — and hurried off; the next patient was already waiting. Irene stroked herself in bliss; now it was official — the midwife had given her permission to masturbate. Masturbation lost its secret status; it was now officially her answer to the devil inside her body.

For weeks, she used her fist on Papa and let him ejaculate deep into her throat, just as the midwife had suggested. He growled and grunted; it was certainly better than masturbating himself. He would wait patiently until he was allowed to fuck Irene regularly again — with a condom, of course. Irene became a master of manual stimulation. Her fingers found every nerve on his engorged shaft; she pressed exactly the right spot on his balls while her other hand massaged his glans until he trembled and cried out. Papa especially loved it when she stroked him with both hands while taking his cock deep into her mouth and circling her tongue over the tip. Sometimes she stroked him for hours until his whole body shook with tension and he begged to be allowed to finally come. When he did ejaculate, she caught every drop of his warm semen, licked it off her fingers, and swallowed it with a look of pure enjoyment, all while little Jack suckled at her breast.

But Irene couldn't be satisfied with just Dad. When he was at the office during the day, she would invite the mailman, the milkman, or the handyman over, letting them jerk her off and, later, fuck her too. She loved the way strangers' hands touched her labia and clit, the way they brought her to orgasm while little Jack slept in the cradle beside her or at her breast. Sometimes she would masturbate while watching a man jerk off; her fingers would find her clit and massage it until she came, trembling and moaning. The weeks following the birth became a time of discovery, during which Irene learned that there was more to pleasure than just fucking — there were countless other ways to reach ecstasy. She would jerk men off and be jerked off in return until little Jack woke up crying for milk; then she would nurse him on her breast feeding him while her other hand kept working between her thighs, ready for the next climax.

Yes, that was the beginning of Jack’s journey — conceived in his father’s arms and brought into the world by his mother’s voracious lust. But Jack’s story was far from over. As he grew up, it soon became apparent that he had inherited not only Mario’s hooked nose and hunchback but also his father’s extraordinarily large cock. Even as a young boy, his unusually big member stood out; it grew larger with every passing year, until by his teens it already exceeded the dimensions of a full-grown man’s.

Irene was as proud of her son as a mother penguin. She would often jerk him off when he came home tired from school, her fingers wrapped tight around his thick shaft while she told him stories about her many lovers and female sex partners. Jack listened, fascinated, as his mother jerked him off until, trembling and moaning, he ejaculated onto her chest and teats. "You're a real man," she whispered to him then, "just like your dad." And Jack beamed, knowing that Grandpa was his father — and always would be.

At twelve, Jack lost his virginity to Jenny — Mom's sister — and subsequently to his own mother. It was a hot summer day when Irene lured him into her bed, her hands roaming over his body until his cock stood hard and full. "Show me what you learned with Jenny," she whispered; and Jack, who had so often dreamed of fucking his mother, thrust into her — deep and firm — while she cried out and reached for him. From that day on, they fucked regularly while Dad was at work, their bodies united in a sin that felt as natural and instinctive to them as breathing.

From the time he was a child, Jack knew he was different from the other boys, and Mom was probably right that he was special. The teachers at the Marxist kindergarten were modern and open-minded. One day a week, the children went to a privately run indoor pool where they were allowed to swim naked. One thing immediately struck the children: Jack’s penis was much bigger than the other boys’. The teachers made sure that the children explored their sexuality as autonomously as possible within the group. The girls were allowed to touch and examine the little penises; some of them had been disturbed witnesses to real adult sex — mostly within the family — and they weren’t supposed to let that turn into a trauma. That’s why they were actually allowed to touch the little penises and play with the boys, who, while they also examined the girls’ little slits, found a child’s pussy boring — sooo boring. A little slit — and then what!? The caregivers exchanged shy, bashful smiles when Jack lay on his back like a pasha and one girl after another jerked him off. Of course, he’d shown them how to do it in secret, and when he did it in front of them, he’d cum — something the other boys couldn’t do yet. The caregivers weren’t sure whether they should intervene while the girls were jerking him off, but in the end, they didn’t.

Little Jack often stood in front of his mom’s big full-length mirror and looked at himself. He had beautiful, curly blond hair, which his mom wouldn’t cut until it hung down past his shoulders. Jack looked at his nose. It was quite a distinctive feature, but he didn’t associate it with the fairy tale about Dwarf Nose. Although the other children eventually christened him Dwarf Nose. Mario, the little Roman, also had a hooked nose and was glad to pass the hated nickname on to Jack. Jack had a small hump on his back; it didn’t hurt or anything, but it grew larger over the years. And then there was the cock — the magnificent thing, as Mom called it. The Viennese use “pfrnak” as a derogatory term for a long nose, but Jack called his cock “Mr. Pfrnak” for a very long time because it was the kind of word that made you twist your tongue — something the Czechs are so wonderfully good at. And Mom loved Mr. Pfrnak — that much was certain. When Mom showered him, she’d pull his foreskin back and kiss Mr. Pfrnak right in the middle of his red forehead, and Jack would laugh because it tickled so nicely.

"Yeah, Mom gave him a shower, and he asked her why girls don’t have a 'pfrnak' at all. Affectionately, she showed him her pussy, explaining the labia and the clit, which girls use to pleasure themselves." "Oh, the little guy understood that very well,” he said. “He’d already spied on her many times when she pleasured herself at night with her finger or that big soft-rubber dildo.” Mom blushed just a little bit. “Yes, that’s right — that’s what girls really like to do with their clits.” Jack had grown a little bit every year, but much more slowly than his friends. He didn’t care — his fist could punch just as hard as they could, and that was all that mattered, not those few centimeters.

Mom seemed happy that he could already ejaculate. Yeah, she jerked him off every morning in the shower and explained to him why she did it more than just once. The point was to empty his cock, to get rid of the 'old' cum; otherwise, it would rot and then stink like a billy goat. Jack nodded, because he loved it when Mom jerked him off so gently and so much. She put a lot of effort into jerking him off; it was obviously exhausting, and she was sweating like crazy. He’d done a little research, but very few moms bothered with their sons’ 'old' semen. Actually, it was just Ferdinand — he was already 13, and his mom jerked him off secretly under the kitchen table after breakfast, before he went to school. Jack thought his mom was much better; she was naked in the shower, and he could always watch her — how nicely her heavy breasts jiggled and bounced while she jerked him off. Ferdinand didn’t have that.

A major turning point came when Mom’s youngest sister, Jenny, came to stay with them for a few weeks. Jenny was engaged to a filthy-rich businessman and was set to become his fifth wife — the others were gone, though Jack never found out exactly what had happened to them. Now there were three of them in the shower stall, which was actually the only place in the house where they couldn’t be overheard. Jenny and his mom, Irene, whispered a lot, mostly about sex. And Jack made himself invisible and hung on their every word. Mom and Jenny talked about strange things that were actually paradoxical. Why Jenny wanted to marry an old man with a tiny, shriveled dick. It had something to do with Grandpa, not money only. He’d once grabbed Jenny and had his way with her — years ago. And Jenny had run away from him — it was disgusting to fuck your own dad. Mom looked away as Jenny said, almost reproachfully, that Mom had always been a patient little lamb in Grandpa’s hands and not a rebel like herself. And no, she never let Dad get near her again — she wasn’t some slut like Mom! Mom said she should mind her own business, and besides, she didn’t want to talk about it in front of him (Jack looked around to see who this “him” was). When the three of them had showered together for the first time, Jenny was totally surprised that Mom did it for him with her hand. She grinned crookedly as Jack splashed his semen on the tiles.

"How often does he do it?" Jenny asked curiously. Mom grunted, "Usually I do it three or four times, then his dick is empty." Jenny nodded; emptying his dick — that was okay. Then Jenny asked, "Why doesn't he — Jack, of course — why doesn't he do it himself?" Mom looked up. “Of course he does it himself, too. All day long, and at night he cums all over my butt cheeks, the sweet boy. That’s fine, little sis.” Jenny pressed further, asking how many times a day he did it? Mom shook her head dismissively. “I don’t know, maybe 15 or 20 times — it doesn’t matter at all.” Jenny seemed surprised, Jack wondered; did she really know so little about how and how much people enjoyed doing it? Mom rubbed her wrists and paused. Jenny said that if she wanted to, she could try it, too. Mom nodded wearily — her wrists were already hurting. So Jenny did it for Jack, and she was actually just as good at it as Mom. In the time that followed, the sisters took turns, and Jack stared alternately at Mom’s large breasts, which swung like bells, and at Jenny’s small, virginal breasts, whose nipples were very pointed, but which jiggled only a little bit.

It was a very beautiful wedding. Heinzi, Jenny’s new husband, was a short, chubby man, but he was very friendly to everyone and gave each child a twenty bucks for their piggy bank. Heinzi was a short, plump guy who sweated profusely. Jenny was a head taller than him, but in the wedding photo she bent her knees slightly so it wouldn’t be so noticeable. Jack played with his cousins, and they all whispered excitedly about sex — what else? Jack was the only male cousin, and he didn’t say much, so he was allowed to listen. He probably wouldn’t tell anyone, anyway.

At home, Jack asked who this Lothar was that Marieke had been talking about. Mom pondered for a moment, then said that Lothar was her dad. Jack grinned. Mom asked what there was to grin about. “Mom, you’re doing it with me, and Lothar’s doing it with Marieke. Even in the shower, because her mom doesn’t shower with them — she bathes alone, for hours on end.” Mom’s forehead creased deeply. “Lothar?” and Jack said, “That’s what I’m saying!” Mom shook her head and was in a foul mood the whole evening. She talked on the phone with Marieke’s mom for about an hour, but she couldn’t get anything out of her — she didn’t know anything of the sort. Mom took Jack to task. “First of all, it’s very improper to blab secrets. What you, Jenny, and I do in the shower stays in the shower — you don’t go around peddling it or telling everyone about it.” Jack hunched his shoulders. “I didn’t say a word to the girls — they were just chattering the whole time about which boys they made squirt, how, when, and how often — those stupid geese!” Mom kept looking at him.

"And second," Mom continued, "jacking off in the morning shower is one thing, but when that lousy Lothar shoots his load into Marieke’s pussy, that’s something else entirely. You don’t do that to a young girl, you hear? A girl like that could get pregnant way too young from fucking — that wouldn’t be right at all.” Jack stuck his thumb in his mouth, as he always did when he disagreed with Mom. “I think,” he said, “she’ll only get pregnant if he cums really deep inside her, right? And second, Marieke grinned and said she’d seduced Lothar on purpose and snatched him away from Mom — she was as proud of that as a peacock is of its feathers.” Mom looked at him intently. “"First of all, even a tiny little spurt is enough to get someone pregnant, young man — you should know that by now; I’ve explained it to you over and over. Deep or not deep — it makes absolutely no difference, young man!" Jack knew she was a little annoyed because he was defending Marieke.

"Helping your son get off isn't a crime. But fucking his own daughter and maybe getting her pregnant — that could land that fine gentleman Lothar in prison for a very long time. He knows that, and it doesn't matter whether Marieke, that little minx, knows it too. That doesn’t matter at all in court. It also doesn’t matter whether she seduced him or he seduced her. He’s the one who’ll get the punishment, not her — one way or another.” Mom thought for a moment. “I don’t know yet whether I should tell her mom or not. She’s no saint herself — that fancy mom has her own little affairs, I know that for sure.”

Jack had something on his mind; he wanted to uncover the secret of all secrets. “Mom, you’re 35 now, and if I do the math right, you had me when you were already 21. Right?” Mom nodded, slightly surprised by the sudden change of subject. Then her face clouded over, for it was clear what her little one was up to. She shrugged her shoulders. “You’ve asked me a thousand times about your father. He was traveling with a circus — a dwarf magician and hypnotist. I was head over heels for that little man, and then I got pregnant, and the circus moved on. I don’t even know his real name, and maybe he hypnotized me to have sex with me and get me pregnant. I was never mad at him — just that he never showed his face again.” Jack grinned. “Mom, his name was Hendrik Magnussen, from Norway, and yes, he was with the Roncalli Circus — a magician and hypnotist. He died in Paris three years ago. It’s all on the internet; you just had to look it up.”

"Mom, I can smell a big lie with my super nose. Besides, the circus was in Italy back then, and you always look down to the left — into your 'liar's corner.' I’ve told you a thousand times that I don’t believe a word of it, Mom. You hardly ever lie to me, but why on this question, which is kind of important to me?” Mom stood up. “I’m going to the kitchen to put the tea on — would you like a cup, too?” Jack watched her go. “Yeah, go ahead and run away — keep your secret, at least until I figure it out.”

Oh yes, Jack had a very specific suspicion, and Jenny’s comments pointed in the same direction. Grandpa stopped by about three or four times a month and stayed overnight with Mom — and why not? Every time, he did the same silly trick and pulled a silver coin out from behind Jack’s ear. A beautiful silver coin — it said “25 euros” on it. Jack collected them, even though he wasn’t a coin collector in the strict sense of the word. And of course he pricked up his ears, because Mom and Grandpa were always making such a racket or laughing loudly in the bedroom. And once, when they were all at the nude beach on the New Danube, Grandpa showed up later. Jack, already growing suspicious, took a closer look at Grandpa — were there any signs? Grandpa had a straight back, no hump like he did. He had a round head, all bald. These weren’t any signs. But Grandpa also had one of those pointed ears at the top — like 'Mr. Spocks' ears — and he had that, too. And Grandpa also had a nose — maybe a Roman nose — not a Jewish one like his. But Grandpa’s penis was long and thick, just like his, only a little bigger. Jack angrily threw rocks into the Danube, even though that was certainly not allowed. “Imagine if two million Viennese threw rocks into the Danube — there’d be an island made of ‘Staner’ (stones) there,” Mom had grumbled. She had a right to grumble — wasn’t Grandpa his father, after all?

Loki, the god of deceit, lies, and treachery, took his time spinning his web around Jack. He began spinning that web at the other end of town, in Jenny’s marriage bed. Jenny was coming over more and more often at noon, and he had to leave the shower stall because Jenny wanted to cry on Mom’s shoulder all by herself. Still, our little gnome was eavesdropping. If you want to hear something, you just have to be smart about it. The ventilation vent was the solution. Jenny was crying because Heinzi was a really lousy fucker. Yeah, cumming in her mouth — he liked that. But when it came to really mounting her and making her a baby, the hero chickened out. Mom comforted her little sister. And Jack’s cock made itself known. He stomped into the shower stall and asked Jenny if he’d do it for her — Mama had been really lazy this morning. Mama’s glare pierced him, but he didn’t care. He wanted to feel Jenny’s slender fingers on his cock and on his balls, period.

Jenny sniffled a little more and did as she said, of course. She sat there looking like a wreck. “Jack,” she looked up, “Jack, don’t you think a husband should give his dear wife a baby, or not!?” Jack nodded so hard that his big head wobbled on his thin neck. “Of course, Jenny! You just have to let him fuck you and cum inside you — a single drop is enough, Mom said.” Mom stared stubbornly at Jenny’s hand as she jerked him off. Jenny laughed hoarsely; her voice was raspy from all the crying. “I’d let him fuck me, Heinzi, day and night, if only he could get it up!” Jack looked a little sheepish. “If he’s not hard, you have to make him stiff with your lips and tongue, Auntie!” he exclaimed. “Every kid knows that!” Jenny nodded, annoyed. “And you bet I know that, my sweet little gnome. Of course I know that. But he just wants to cum in my mouth and not fuck me — he just won’t do it, that scumbag!” Mom cleared her throat, wondering if this was really the right topic for a 14-year-old.

Jack whispered, “It won’t work without fucking, Auntie. You know that, right!?” Jenny nodded. “I want a baby so badly, Jack, and it won’t work without fucking — you’re absolutely right about that.” Jack now played his trump card, the Joker. “You could fuck me, Aunt Jenny — I’d do it for you! And I’d love to cum inside you! But not in your mouth, Auntie.” Mom and Jenny stared at him, each lost in her own train of thought, of course. Mom jabbed her index finger into his chest. “You don’t joke about things like that, young man! My sister is crying her eyes out, and this fine young gentleman is making jokes! Behave yourself — that’s not how I raised you!” Jack grabbed her index finger. “I’m not joking, Mom! I feel sorry for Auntie — I really do! And if it’s really just about fucking, then I’d be more than happy to help!” Mom turned pale. “You can’t even fuck yet, boy!” she snapped at him. “Then what’s this about Ludmilla, Mom?” he lied. Mom turned as white as a sheet. “Ludmilla? From the third floor? The former Primadonna of the State Opera? — My God. Jack, she’s already 72!” Jack had the upper hand. “73,” he corrected, brazenly making it up as he went along. “And her wrinkles — even the ones down there — don’t bother me, Mom.” The bomb had been planted, and he had set it off.

Jenny had listened in silence, but she wasn't crying anymore; she had let go of his cock. She wanted to say something, but Mom beat her to it. “Jack, honey, could you please leave us alone? I’d like to talk to Aunt Jenny in private.” Jack nodded and left — to his listening post by the vent, of course.

"How dare you, Jenny!" Mom exclaimed in a half-whisper. "You're turning that little cripple's head. And don't you dare say you didn't have exactly that in mind!" Jack swallowed hard; Mom rarely called him a cripple, even though the word was already overused and worn out at school. It just showed how upset Mom was. Jenny said, “I just meant…” but Mom cut her off. “And you’d plant a cuckoo’s egg in your Heinzi's nest? What if that gets out?” Jenny’s thoughts were certainly not on Heinzi. “He’s almost 15, Irene. He’s got a cock like a stallion. And he can shoot out liters of cum. If that doesn’t count for anything…” Her voice trailed off. Mom sat down next to her. “And what that does to a 15-year-old’s soul — are we wisely keeping that a secret? He could be harmed; I’m not concerned about his semen, sweetheart. I’m only concerned about his well-being, about his innocent soul.” Jenny let out a neighing laugh. “Just listen to yourself, Irene. Your Jack is fucking that ancient Ludmilla and is even enjoying it. He’s fucking that fat Pospischil from the first floor and that hot-and-wet Weber — that slut from the floor below you. And he’s currently working on getting little Suleika into bed — the one who belongs to the Turkish guy in the basement. The very same Suleika who has to do it with the Turkish guy, her own dad, even though it horrifies her! No, you don’t know anything about Jack, about his life, about his soul. He hasn’t been a kid for a long time — he’s become a young man, and he’s starting to fuck his way through the neighborhood! That’s just the natural order of things, Irene!” Jack wasn’t surprised; Jenny had memorized all his lies.

Mom was now on the verge of tears; Jack could hear it in her voice. “Oh, where have those good old days gone, Jenny? The days when he’d lie across my lap, suck my nipple between his lips, and let me do whatever I wanted to him? And now you’re taking everything away from me — my sweet boy!” And now Jack heard Mom crying bitterly. She was crying for his youth, for his innocence, which had been lost in a sea of lies.

Mom blew her nose. “Sleep on it, Jenny, and think it over carefully! You’re not just cheating on Heinzi — that would be one thing. No, you’re trying to pin a cuckold’s child on him — that’s in a whole different league. Sleep on it, and think it over carefully!” Jack waited another minute, but then he quickly ran into his room — he didn’t want to get caught eavesdropping.

Jenny didn't arrive until a few days later. She went straight into the shower with Mom, and Jack wasn't called in until nearly an hour later. They'd both been crying — Mom, too; Jack could tell just by looking at her. Jack was wearing only his boxer shorts, and Mom pulled them right down. Jenny said, “Irene has given us permission to fuck — and to cum inside my fuckhole, of course. What do you say to that, big guy?” Jack nodded; he’d stand by his word — he’d love to fuck her and cum inside her if she wanted him to. Jenny grabbed him by the wrists. “Yes, of course I want to, darling. I want to get fucked by your thick, fat cock — it’s almost as big as Grandpa’s. So, take heart and come between my thighs — that’s the way to go!”

Now it was Mom who pulled his foreskin all the way back and slid his cock deep into Jenny’s pussy. Mom sighed; this marked the end of his childhood, the time of innocence. Jack gently stroked the back of Mom’s hand; she was witnessing his first time. He did feel a little wistful — he would have loved so much to have had his first time with Mom, but the train was now on a different track. A shiver ran down his spine; Jenny’s pussy was so tight that he had to strain to push Mr. Pfrnak further in until he hit the end. Jenny beamed at him. “Well, he went in beautifully — he fits perfectly. And now, gently and chivalrously — I’m no whore you can just shove around like a pound of meat, Jack. Be gentle and tender, feel my pussy and get used to it, because from now on you’re going to have to fuck me a lot, my darling. Okay!?” Jack nodded; he would be gentle. He focused on that — and only that. And so he thrust into her, slowly and chivalrously. Jenny’s hand on his buttock guided his pace. Because she was the one who knew exactly how she needed it.

He fucked faster and faster, Jenny’s hand guiding and steering him, his butt cheek acting as the joystick. He gasped and glanced over at Mom, who was watching spellbound. “Mom, I’m about to come!” he gasped, and she nodded reassuringly. He arched his back, the little gnome atop Jenny’s long, slender body. He shot his full load inside her, jet after jet, and Jenny twitched with every spurt. Jenny’s eyes sparkled; she thought about how it had already been a year since the last boy — a blond-curled angel named Michi — had come inside her pussy. Heinzi had only come once or twice; he was definitely lazy in bed. Michi knew what he was doing, but she was his first. And she had been a little fond of him — not enough to marry the penniless boy, but enough to let him fuck her and fill her with his seed all night long. And now Jack was cumming inside her — not much older than Michi, but judging by his cock and his spurts of cum, a real man, a man with a great, big cock. Jenny sat up and looked at Mom. “Okay?” she asked, and Mom nodded wearily. “Take him, little sister, just take him!” Mom whispered, her eyes wet with tears.

Jenny came by every afternoon now; the three of them went into the shower stall, and a routine set in: he fucked her three times, with a short break in between. Mr. Pfrnak didn’t shrink — he had a “meat cock,” as Mom had explained to him. He didn’t need to wait for an erection to be able to fuck; he could just keep going. Unfortunately, Jenny didn’t reach orgasm; no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t push her over the edge. “It’s definitely got something to do with the fact that Dad always watched me while I was masturbating and then took me and deflowered me — that bastard,” Jenny said, casting a strange sideways glance at Mom.

Even though Mom was there, he asked Jenny, “…and Dad fucked Mom too, didn’t he?” Jenny nodded and didn’t look at Mom’s anguished face. Jack knew it was Grandpa — it had to be him. “I think Grandpa kept fucking Mom for a very long time, didn’t he?” Jenny’s gaze flitted to Mom, but she got no help from her. “I’m afraid he’s still doing it, my little boy — still, even today,” Jenny whispered, and a fire glowed in her eyes. “I despised Dad for abusing me, every time I jerked off in my parents’ bed. But Irene loved Dad fucking her — always.” Tears streamed down Mom’s face. Jack felt sorry for her — she was his mom, after all! “I found out about my dad, Jenny,” Jack said. “His name was Hendrik Magnussen. He was a Norwegian — a magician and hypnotist at the Roncalli Circus. He hypnotized Mom and had sex with her while she was under hypnosis, without asking her permission, day after day, until she was pregnant and the circus moved on. He died in Paris three years ago. But somehow I don’t cry for him anymore.” Mom looked up in astonishment — astonished and grateful. Jack hadn’t thrown her under the bus; he’d saved her reputation. She added, “That Magnussen always fucked me on stage; I never heard the audience either jeer or applaud. When I think back on it today, I want to sink into the ground out of shame.” Jenny was hearing about the hypnotist and his depravity for the first time, but it was still somehow better than believing that Dad had gotten Irene pregnant when she was 20.

After Jenny left, Mom pressed his face against her melon-sized breasts. “Jack, that was so sweet of you to save my face, my innocence, and my reputation with that fucking lie. Of course I made up that whole Magnussen story because I didn’t want to taint you too early with all our family shit. And because I was afraid you’d despise me for fucking Dad — back when I was a girl and still do now — ever since I was a teenager. Jenny told the truth. I was afraid of your contempt, Jack.” He hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. “Mom, I’ve suspected it for years, and the fact that you’re telling me the truth now makes me feel wonderful — maybe this cripple does have a soul after all.” Mom cupped his face in both hands. “No contempt?” He shook his head. “For what? For loving someone with all your heart — and, of course, letting him fuck you? No, Mom, I’ve always listened carefully when you’ve taught me a good lesson. Love is something wonderful; it doesn’t grow on trees, and it only blooms when you nurture it. You have to water it with even more feeling and tenderness, otherwise it withers. Those were your words; I’ve framed them in my heart and hung them on the wall — they remind me every day.”

Jack shifted back and forth on his bottom. “What Jenny said — about Ludmilla, Pospischil, and Weber — it was all just nonsense. And that thing about little Suleika — I’m not stupid enough to let a Turk castrate me!” Mom smiled. “You really played her for a fool, your aunt!” Now they both laughed, feeling relieved.

Jack grew serious again. “Mom, tell me — don’t you have a lover, an affair? I really don’t want to find out by sneaking around and spying, Mom.” She looked at him for a long time. “Jack, I swear on my life, I’ve never fucked any man other than Dad — other than Hartung, your grandpa. Your dad.” Jack stared at her intently. “Yes, you’re right, Jack,” she murmured, “I have girl-sex with my girlfriends, but it’s not the same as fucking a man.” Jack nodded; the picture was complete, the circle was closed. “Is girl-on-girl sex nice, or is it just a fumbling mess like you see on the internet?” Mom looked at him quite openly. “Most of the time it’s just sexual greed; most of the time we’re just chasing an orgasm. Very rarely do you feel love — it’s like two friends gazing deeply into a campfire and caring for each other. I don’t think even a single one of us is a lesbian. They just want to escape the boring, stuffy marital sex with their old husbands for a moment — I think that’s the heart of the matter.” Jack scratched the back of his head. “Mom, can I watch, or do I have to spy?”

Mom didn't get upset. "I'd have to ask the girls first — they're not paid prostitutes, after all. But if they give the green light, then by all means, I have no objections. Love — yes, love — you're allowed to see it; it'll do your soul good. Even if that love is just a sexual act. It never works without love — it’s not like jerking off; you don’t need love to jerk off — you can always do that.”

Jenny came over every afternoon; she let him come inside her two or three times and was very happy about it. Every week she took a pregnancy test. Mom said her mom had died when she was 14 and Jenny was 13. Now they were both in Dad’s marital bed, at first just to comfort him. Then he took her virginity and fucked her diligently every night; Dad loved her and loved fucking her. Jenny, on the other hand, was an obsessive wanker; her clit was always bright red and badly chafed. Sometimes Dad would fuck her right in the middle of her wanking session, without Jenny stopping to wank — she didn’t really realize it either way. Mom had watched these situations — a thousand times — with big unbelieving eyes. Daddy watched Jenny like a hawk, dead sly, waiting for her to drift off into a trance of that obsessive wanking. The moment she was completely lost to it, he moved in like a ravenous wolf and just fucked her rigid while she was at it. She didn't have a clue what hit her. She had been so deep in her own trance, completely unaware of the danger, that the sudden intrusion caught her completely off guard. Afterwards, any sense of peace turned to ash; she felt proper humiliated, like a timid lamb cornered by a wolf, left alone with a burning sense of shame. Yes, she always had an orgasm when he came inside her, but she brushed aside the argument, saying she would have had an orgasm either way. Mom realized much later that Jenny despised Dad because of this and saw him as a dick-driven idiot. She herself never felt that way. Jennys face expression was clouded while Mom told all of this to Jack.

For the first time, Jack was allowed to watch Mom make love to a girl. He was immediately fascinated — it was different, very intense, and much more beautiful than all that nonsense on the internet. He looked over at Mom; he wanted to fuck Evelyn, the hot 29-year-old. Evelyn stared at Mr. Pfrnak — yes, she wasn’t about to miss this! She lay back on Mom’s body and spread her thighs invitingly. Jack just looked into Mom’s eyes while he fucked the horny Evelyn. No, she didn’t reach orgasm either, but she had still climbed to the highest plateau, and Mom’s tongue finished her off. Afterward, Mom asked if it had felt good. Jack confirmed it had. Of course, he didn’t love Evelyn; he just loved fucking a pussy other than Jenny’s. “Yeah,” he said, “pussies definitely aren’t all the same — they’re all different.”

Almost every morning, a girl would come over to Mom’s and let him fuck her. Some just once; others liked to do it two or more times. The afternoons belonged to Jenny — she couldn’t get pregnant often enough. Mom shook her head slightly — what virility, what potency her little dwarf had, even though he was only 16. But he didn’t grow any taller, much to her chagrin. She was sad that he would always remain a dwarf. Everyone thought of him as a cripple, as disabled. By God, he wasn’t. He was at the top of his class in high school and was only exempt from gym class. He had a few friends and a real fan club among the girls. He was a perfectly normal teenager; he fucked as many girls as were willing, and of course he fucked their mothers too, if they were up for it. Mom wasn’t happy about it.

She still jerked him off in the morning; she believed the myth about “old” semen. He wrapped his arms around her, and his fingers were on her nipples. “Mom, I want to fuck you so badly — I’ve been dreaming about it ever since I lay on your lap and sucked your nipples with my lips. It’s been that long.” She shook her head. “Boy, you have so many opportunities, so many girls — even some shy moms. You don’t need this; you’re not a mom-abuser — not you.” Jack shook his head, but he didn’t force her to do anything.

Oh, Mom had such great taste in finding new girlfriends for girl-on-girl sex! Jack was always thrilled by how amazing and intense it was to fuck these girls. Each one was more divine than the last. And the more boring their husbands were in bed, the more willing and cheerful they were during sex — active and hungry for more. And then came the bombshell. Jenny was finally pregnant. She’d only fucked Jack during all those weeks — he had to be the father; that much was certain. Mom was the more practical one. She advised Jenny to get her Heinzi to have sex with her right away, no matter what. Because that was the only way she could pin the child on him — the only way she could keep Jack and Mr. Pfrnak out of the picture. Jenny did as she was told and lured Heinzi between her thighs. That way, Heinzi could play the role of the proud father.

Jack was torn between happiness and misfortune in equal measure. His chest swelled with pride; Jenny was carrying his child. But he would never step into the spotlight. He was just the anonymous sperm donor. Jenny blossomed during her pregnancy; Jack had to make love to her and impregnate her until he dropped, even if his seed didn’t take root. He was puzzled — he’d slept with so many girls, so many mothers as well — yet none of them had ever gotten pregnant. Only the constant insemination of Jenny had gotten his seed to its destination; the fleeting flings had no consequences — thank God! — It was a liberating feeling to know he was fertile.

Jenny’s and Mom’s father now visited Jenny regularly as well. The pregnancy and the sexual lust triggered by her hormones put her in a forgiving mood; she forgave Dad, and he was allowed to fuck her as often as he could. Mom smiled, because Dad and Jenny had made up; they loved each other and fucked like crazy. Dad visited her less often now; he was squandering his cum in Jenny’s pussy. Mom felt a tugging in her loins; she simply missed Dad’s regular fucking.

So it happened that she turned around in the shower stall just as Jack wrapped his arms around her from behind and his fingers teased her nipples as they always did. “Do you still want to fuck me, my Jack?” she whispered, feeling anxious — what if he rejected her now? Jack beamed. “Mama, that would make me happy. Are you serious? Really serious?” She hugged her little man, her boy. “Be gentle with me, just love me, and make it beautiful and full of feeling. I don’t want to feel like a whore just because I’m doing it with a man other than Dad now. Make me feel like a princess — a 36-year-old princess from a fantasy story. Okay?” Jack hugged and kissed her. “Yes, Mom, I want to make you the happiest princess on our planet — your crippled page will carry you on his hands!”

Jack pulled a large bath towel off the radiator and laid it on the cold tiles. “Lay down, my dearest princess!” he smiled, bowing deeply. Mom lay down, trembling and quivering inside with anticipation, reached for his hands, and pulled him between her thighs. “Come here, you little hunchbacked page, satisfy your princess like a young god, bless her princely cunt with your seed!” Smiling, he slowly thrust forward. Mom was much tighter than Jenny, whose pussy had suffered from all the jerking off. He sighed with bliss. “Mom, I’ve been wanting this for years! I’ve dreamed about it or fantasized about it while jerking off. And now, now it’s real, alive, and sacred. Yes, to me it feels like a sacred act, definitely!” He thrust into her slowly and reverently. He thrust into the pussy that had given birth to him. The mom who had given birth to him, who had nursed him. Who jerked off Mr. Pfrnak so skillfully like no other.

Yeah, he must have fucked her for about half an hour. Mom was fingering herself the whole time, but she only had little, shaky orgasms. When he raised up a little and said, “Mom, I’m about to come!” — that’s when she had a massive orgasm; she came with every fiber of her being while he shot his load into her in spurts. They held on to each other, still writhing and twitching, until their orgasms subsided. He fell to her side and kissed her nipples. “That was the most beautiful, the most sublime, the most sacred sex, Mom!” he breathed, overcome with emotion. She could tell this was genuine and sincere, not just sweet stupid talk. It was the most beautiful compliment she’d ever received. They would now fuck like rabbits every morning — that much was clear to her.

Mom played the grand piano all day — the one Grandpa had bought for her. And then, out of the blue, someone discovered her. He sensed that the 36-year-old could become the new rising star of the concert world. He arranged a small, intimate concert for just 400 guests in the Great Hall of the Mozarteum. He smiled and chuckled into his beard; there hadn’t been such frenetic applause in that hallowed hall in years. He rubbed his hands together — she’d get a contract and he’d rake in hefty royalties; he would make her big, turn her into a star. He sensed the opportunity of a lifetime. And dollars, of course.

Mom came back from the concert; she was all disheveled. Jack, who had been sitting at his laptop doing research for his schoolwork, jumped up nimbly. He led her to the armchair and hung her jacket in the coat rack. He poured her a cold gin and sat down next to her. “You seem down, Mom. Did the concert go wrong?” She shook her head — no. She sat there for a long time with her eyes closed, sipping her gin and holding her hand to her chest, where her heart was racing wildly. “He offered me a contract, that Mandelbaum. A contract that a real pianist would never turn down. A great contract and an indecent condition — that filthy Jew. No, I take back the ‘Jew’ — you don’t say that, and you don’t even think it. But his condition isn’t just indecent — it’s brazen and downright obscene.” She leaned back, closed her eyes, and pressed her hand against her racing heart. Jack was 17 and in his right mind. “So he wants to fuck you, with his circumcised Jewish cock? No, I take back the ‘Jew’ part, but I’ll keep the ‘cock’ part. So he wants to fuck you, impregnate you, and then what?” She opened her eyes wide. “What? He wants to fuck me whenever His Grace so desires. Until he’s had his fill of fucking — those were his words. Don’t ask such stupid questions, kid.”

Jack calmly poured her another glass of gin. “So what? Back then, you only fucked Grandpa — he was your first and your only one. Now he’s completely obsessed with Jenny and my baby; he only fucks you once in a blue moon — at Christmas, Pentecost, and maybe even Easter. Now I came into the picture; I became your second, Mom. And your happiest.” Jack paused, carefully considering his next words. “And now you have a contract offer — apparently a good one. One that will make you famous and rich, through the work of your own hands. You’d be a complete idiot to let an opportunity like this slip by, especially when this son of David can catapult you into the spotlight. Mandelbaum managed Itzhak Perlman in the U.S. for years — and did a pretty good job of it. So he’s no greenhorn. And he’s after you. Mom, name just one man in our circle who isn’t gay and isn’t after you?” She thought for a moment, mentally running through a list. “You may be right, my little advocate. Men always want to get their hands on you, no matter what else they’re holding.” She looked down at the floor. “If I hadn’t been Dad’s fiancée, I probably wouldn’t have put up a fight if someone had tried to get his hands on me.”

Jack was still holding the gin bottle. “Mom, what’s the problem? It’s no state secret that the children of Israel like to fuck. And it’s also common knowledge that they’re damn good business people. — Mom, stop stapling numbers to our backs. Grandpa gets the one, I get the two, and Mandelbaum gets the three nailed to his back. So what? Please stop counting your men right now. There will be more. Because you'll take my advice: first, if it helps your career, or second, because it makes your pussy itch. Stick to these rules of conduct, and you'll be a great pianist." She looked at him with a mocking smile. “I come home and pour my heart out to my son because I’m devastated. Because I’m supposed to act like a whore. And what does my son advise me to do? I’m supposed to think about my career and spread my legs — for God, King, and England! Or, if I see a tight ass or a magnificent cock, then I’m allowed to, says my son, who doesn’t mind that his mom becomes a prostitute!”

Jack almost dropped the gin bottle. "Whore? Prostitute? — Mom, we need to work on your vocabulary. None of that! Yes, you’re going to sleep your way to the top, just like millions of other girls do. Eyes on Hollywood! How many actresses get the part because they’re oh-so-talented? Ten, five, maybe just one? Mom, wake up. The reality is that movie executives, directors, impresarios, and concert managers want nothing more than to get into the girls’ pants — besides dollars, of course. Mandelbaum is no different from the rest of that filthy crowd. If you were a pimply wallflower, I’d give you different advice. But you’re a sizzling 36-year-old artist — anyone would lick their fingers clean if they could get their hands on you. So don’t be a wimp! You’re a wonderful pianist, not a hussy, and certainly not a prostitute!”

Jack was peering through his little spyhole when Mom went into her bedroom with Mandelbaum. In Mom’s face expression, he recognized Joan of Arc being led to the stake and Queen Marie Antoinette on the cart of shame that took her to the guillotine. He had to hold back his tears, for he felt her suffering. Mandelbaum didn’t waste any time; he pumped obediently and diligently into Mom’s cunt, finally filling her with the seed of Israel. He was sated and satisfied. Mom, who had turned her tear-stained face to the side, for to her it was a desecration she had to endure in order to secure the contract. But Mandelbaum, who had only inseminated her diligently during the first few weeks and whose visits had become less frequent, kept his word and arranged piano concerts throughout Europe. And when Mom was away, she had to find a place for Jack to stay, and she had only two dozen close friends whom she considered trustworthy.

As the morning sun streamed through the dirty windows of Agnes’s modest apartment, the old nun flinched. She knew what lay in store for her today ever since Irene, her former lover, had given her the order. “You have to jerk him off three times in the morning and then let him fuck you,” Irene had said in a cold voice as she left Jack’s small, hunchbacked figure behind. Agnes had merely nodded, without enthusiasm, without desire, merely out of an old habit of obedience.

Jack was already in the shower, and to Agnes, the sound of the falling water seemed like an omen of sin. She trembled as she stood in the narrow hallway, wearing nothing but a simple robe. Her heart pounded against her ribs, a wild, panicked rhythm that took her breath away. Sixty years. For sixty years she had avoided getting close to a man, ever since her father had taken her the last time, before her mother sold her to the convent. And now she was supposed to let this... this cripple fuck her?

The bathroom door opened, and Jack stepped out, with only a towel wrapped around his hips. Water dripped from his hunched back, running down the strange contours of his body. But when he took off the towel, Agnes froze. Between his spindly legs, a member protruded that seemed out of proportion to his small body. “Oh my God, good Lord!” Agnes blurted out — it was a cock like that of a stallion! It was mighty, magnificent — a creation that inexplicably defied God’s plan. Irene had told her about it, but seeing it erect now was something else entirely.

"Well?" Jack growled, his voice rough for such a small man. "Mom said you have to jerk me off. Three times." He stepped closer, and Agnes instinctively backed away until her back hit the cold wall. “And then…,” he added more quietly, “then you’re going to fuck me. Or rather, I’m going to fuck you.” With a quick movement, he’d pulled her habit down to the floor, leaving her standing there in nothing but her underwear. Fearfully, she tried to cover her breasts with her hands — breasts that had once been full, heavy, and as big as melons.

Agnes's hands trembled as she reached for his cock. She had hardly ever done it before — only in her youth, when the boys insisted, or the janitor or the vicar did as well. That was before she entered the convent, and even then she did it only reluctantly, letting his seed spurt carelessly onto the floor. None of that was right; it was unchaste and sinful. Truly. Her fingers closed around his shaft, and she was surprised by its warmth, its firmness. She began, slowly and awkwardly, a movement that was foreign to her, one she had to laboriously remind herself of. Jack groaned softly, and that filled Agnes with a mixture of revulsion and… something else, something she didn’t want to name.

The first ejaculation came quickly, warm and copious, and ran over her hands. Agnes flinched, but Jack grabbed her wrists. “Two more times,” he commanded, his eyes glowing with an authority she hadn’t expected from him. She obeyed; her movements became a little more fluid, a little more confident, as the second and then the third wave of his pleasure surged over her hands. She was disgusted by the slime flowing over her fingers.

But that wasn’t all. “Now,” said Jack, his voice having changed — it had grown deeper, more commanding. “Now I’m going to fuck you, Agnes. Just like I fuck Mom every time after I jerk off.” Agnes crossed herself. “Fucking your own mom… that’s… that’s a mortal sin… a sin against God and nature!” she whispered. Jack laughed — the guy just laughed grimly. Agnes wanted to object, wanted to scream that she couldn’t do that — not after all these years, not with this boy who was half her age — no, much younger, maybe 16 or 17. But when she looked into his eyes, she saw something more than just a boy’s demand. She saw her father; she remembered the way he’d looked at her before he took her, and a part of her — a buried, forgotten part — gave in. Just as she’d always given in to Papa — she’d let him thrust his thick cock breathlessly into her little girl’s pussy and had cried out in pleasure after he’d finished cumming inside her. Yes, they were tears of joy, because Dad seemed to like her even more when she let him fuck her willingly and shyly. And then, years later, Mom had caught them in the act and sold her to the convent, driving her daughter out of the Garden of Eden with a flaming sword of vengeance. Since then, no man had ever fucked her again, nor had she ever wanted to be fucked — you didn’t do that with nuns.

Trembling and shaking, she led him into the bedroom, where her simple bed awaited them like an altar of sin. Jack pushed her back, and as she fell onto the bed, she felt her old panties — which she was still wearing — clinging to her hips. “Those have to come off,” Jack said, and with practiced hands he pulled them down over her legs, exposing her gray, hairy cunt. The cunt that, ever since Papa, had known nothing but her own finger or Irene’s nimble tongue. Agnes now lay naked before him, her aging skin visible in the dim light, and she felt ashamed — ashamed of her wrinkles, her sagging breasts, of everything the years had taken from her.

But Jack didn’t seem to mind. He lay on top of her, his body light, his weight surprising, and then she felt him, felt him knocking at her door, felt him pushing his way inside her. A cry escaped her, a mixture of pain and oblivion, for it had been so long, so infinitely long. Jack moved inside her, slowly at first, then faster, and with every thrust a part of Agnes’s past was laid bare, a part she had buried sixty years ago. She felt once again like the girl who had been taken by her father, feeling the same mixture of shame and a strange, dark desire.

Jack fucked her, just as he had demanded, several times, until he was exhausted and limp. When he rose from her, Agnes felt the emptiness, the chill, where his warmth had been just a moment ago. She lay there, trembling, her thoughts a jumble of memories and the present. She had done it. She had sinned, had broken her vow, had let herself be taken by this boy. And yet, as she sat up and searched for her clothes, she felt something else — something she hadn’t felt since her youth: a fleeting spark of life in her lifeless limbs, a hint of warmth in her cold heart.

Jack was already back in the bathroom, and the sound of the shower filled the apartment. Agnes got dressed slowly, her movements stiff and unfamiliar. She didn’t know what the day would bring, didn’t know how to deal with this new reality. But when she looked in the mirror, she no longer saw only the old, trembling nun. She also saw the girl she had once been — the girl who had learned to find a strange kind of comfort in sin with her Daddy. And for the first time in sixty years, she wondered if it was really as wrong as she had always believed.

Lea was standing in the doorway, her little hand still on the doorknob, when she saw the scene before her. The 15-year-old with freckled cheeks and blonde braids had expected to find a friendly, perhaps somewhat stiff old woman who would take her in. Instead, she saw Agnes, clad only in a pair of grubby underwear, running after the hunchbacked Jack, who was just stepping out of the shower. Lea’s eyes widened when she saw what was dangling between Jack’s legs — a penis of a size she would have thought impossible for such a small boy. Her thumb instinctively found its way into her mouth, a habit from her childhood that resurfaced in moments of excitement. Her dad was the only grown man whose cock she knew quite well, and his, unfortunately, was a bit smaller.

Agnes didn’t notice the girl; she was too absorbed in what she was doing. She knelt down in front of Jack — her old knees creaking on the cold tiles — and wrapped her trembling hands around his shaft. This was nothing new to Lea; she’d often had to watch her mother “dance” with various men, but this was different. Agnes worked like a woman possessed, tucking her tongue into the corner of her mouth, beads of sweat forming on her forehead and running into her eyes. For half an hour she jerked him off; her movements became smoother, more confident, and Lea could see Jack’s muscles tensing as he neared climax. Once, twice, three times his semen spurted onto the tiles, and each time Agnes flinched as if it were the first time.

Lea’s eyes widened, and she nervously sucked on her thumb as Agnes walked over to the bed with Jack. The old nun hesitated for just a moment, then she took off her panties, and Lea saw her skin revealed in the dim light of the room — wrinkled, yet radiating a strange warmth. Jack mounted the small, plump woman, and Lea held her breath. She had expected it to be over quickly, but Jack fucked her, and he did so with a passion Lea hadn’t anticipated. For 20 minutes, his hips moved in a rhythm that was both wild and deliberate, and Agnes’s eyes filled with tears. But they weren’t tears of shame; they were tears of joy running down her cheeks as she clung to Jack’s back, to his hump, as if he were her only anchor in a world full of sin.

Then Jack raised up, and with one last, deep thrust, he shot his load into the old hag; his ass muscles tensed with every spurt, and Lea bit her lip to keep from moaning out loud. It looked disgusting and wonderful at the same time — the way the old, wrinkled woman was getting thoroughly fucked by the cripple, the way she arched beneath him, the way she begged for more. Lea’s eyes sparkled with lust; she felt a warmth rising within her, a desire she had never felt before. She wanted that, too. She wanted to be taken by him, wanted to feel that massive cock penetrate her, wanted the tears of shame and lust all at once.

When Jack stood up from where he was laying with Agnes, he really looked at Lea for the first time. A smile played around his lips — a smile that seemed both innocent and knowing. “You’re already here?” he asked, his voice rough but not unfriendly. Lea nodded, her braids dancing around her face, and she felt her heart clench in her chest. She was ready. She was more than ready.

Agnes was breathing shallowly. That night, when her and Jack’s contorted bodies had been crammed together on the narrow bed, she had rubbed her poor clit in the darkness — really rubbed it raw with sheer lust. And now the little girl would be lying next to her on that narrow bed, too, and Agnes shuddered at the thought of tormenting her clit again that night until she went mad, rubbing it raw, the bodies of the little cripple and the 15-year-old pressed against her own.

Lea’s fingers danced over Jack’s magnificent cock, a curiosity in her touch that seemed almost childlike. Compared to his small, hunched body, the member seemed like a miracle of nature, a misfit that was nonetheless perfect. She slowly pulled back the foreskin until the wet glans came into view, glistening in the dim light of the room. She admired it as if it were a jewel she was seeing for the first time.

"Do you want to fuck, too?" Jack's voice was a breath, a whisper that was barely audible. Lea just nodded, her braids bobbing with the movement. “So, have you ever done it before?” he continued, his eyes fixed on her face while his hands lay idle on the bed.

"Yes, with Dad," Lea's voice was also a whisper, as if it were a secret she was only allowed to confide in him. "I seduced him a few months ago. I was tired of being a virgin and just watching when Dad fucks Mom or the neighbor's wives. It looks so raw, so dirty, and so wonderful. I had to have it too — I just had to.” She spoke quickly, as if driven by a rush to get the words out before she could regret them.

Jack nodded, a look of understanding in his eyes that surprised Lea. “I waited until Mom was asleep,” she continued, her fingers still wrapped around his shaft. “Then I sucked his cock until it was hard, and he had to fuck me. Dad isn’t like that — he’s very shy and not a pervert. But he gave in, and ever since then we’ve been fucking in secret when Mom falls asleep after having had sex with Daddy.”

Jack glanced over at Agnes, who was sitting in the wing-back chair knitting socks. Her old hands moved with a routine that seemed almost mechanical, as if she were in a world of her own where only the needles and the yarn existed. Lea grinned, “She won’t notice; she’s focused on her knitting.”

And so it came to pass that Jack slowly and gently fucked 15-year-old Lea. He lay on top of her, his weight light, his touches hesitant, as if he weren’t sure whether he was really allowed to do what he was doing. Lea opened her mouth wide, but no sound came out — no cry of ecstasy, just a silent expression of surprise as he entered her. Jack marveled at how easily the little girl with the blonde braids reached orgasm, how her body tensed beneath him and then relaxed again, like a wave crashing against the shore and pulling back.

They then made love all afternoon, slowly and deliberately, as if in a dream. Jack’s movements became more fluid, more confident, while Lea’s hands pulled him toward her, as if she wanted to draw him deeper inside her, wanted him all to herself. Their breathing quickened, their hearts beating in unison, as if they were one, as if they’d always been that way. Lea now released every orgasm with her finger.

Agnes only looked up occasionally; her needles paused for a moment, and a smile played on her lips. Ah, youth! she thought as she returned to her knitting. Oh, how she loved being pounded by her dad’s cock! Back then, she’d thought Papa’s cock was big, but now she compared it to Jack’s, and his was simply huge and much more enduring than Papa’s. She remembered her own youth, the time before she became a nun, the forbidden kisses and the stolen moments. It was a different time, a different world, but the desire, the feeling — that had remained the same, even after all these years.

The kids’ room was a small, chaotic paradise when Jack stayed over at Lea’s for the first time. Her mother, Juliane — with her sullen eyes and jeans that were always too tight across her plump butt — had hauled the heavy double bed down from the attic. It creaked and groaned under its weight until she set it down in the middle of the room. “And keep your hands to yourselves,” she had hissed, a finger pointing at both of them, before she closed the door behind her and the house was plunged into the night.

The morning dawned cold and gray as Juliane climbed the stairs again to wake the two sleepyheads. She was still angry; Lea had snuck into her bed during the night and fucked Harris, her husband and Lea’s dad. Like a whore — lewd, greedy, and demanding. And he’d gone along with it, that lecherous lout! The door was open just a crack. Through that crack, she saw Jack, already awake, his hand wrapped around his own cock, a morning erection glistening in the dim light. She held her breath. “Oh, Madre de Dios!” she blurted out, a whisper that shattered the silence of the morning. She hadn’t expected anything like this, not from this small, hunchbacked cripple. It was a miracle, a monstrosity, a splendor she couldn’t comprehend. Should she do it, she wondered, breathless, and then looked at him, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open.

Jack just nodded — a small, almost imperceptible nod — and Juliane was immediately at his bedside. Her fingers, rough from cleaning the house, closed around his magnificent cock, and she jerked him off — that magnificent cock that pulsed and throbbed in her hand. It was as if she were hypnotized, as if the world had ceased to exist — just her, him, and this carnal wonder. All sense of direction was lost. Her body, heavy and weary from life, felt so light. She hoisted herself up; her knees buckled, but she managed it — she sat down on his cock, took him inside her, impaled herself breathlessly, and rode him. Her soul glided back and forth between the peaks of pleasure, a state of oblivion she hadn’t known in years. Jack turned her around, onto all fours, and fucked her from behind, roughly and directly, and she loved it, loved the raw, merciless way he fucked her senseless. Finally, he laid her on her back, her legs spread wide, and fucked her in the missionary position, looking into her eyes, and she saw herself, saw the woman she had once been, before life had made her what she was now.

Juliane was exhausted, drained as if she’d just run a marathon. Now she knew Lea’s secret, and yes, she’d gotten a little revenge because Lea had been secretly fucking her dad like a loose whore. Her husband, who sometimes secretly sneaked over to the newlywed neighbor's wife. She got up — her bones ached — and quietly went back downstairs, back to her kitchen, back to her life.

Lea, who had been awake the whole time, winked at him as the door closed. “What a way to wake up,” she said, her voice a soft giggle. “I open my eyes, and what do I see? My boyfriend is fucking my mom senseless — that cheeky guy. So — are you my boyfriend now, or should I just write you off as a one-night stand?”

Jack laughed — a short, rough sound. “Yes, guilty as charged, Your Honor. That’s just the way I am — I fuck pussies, not knot-holes. God made me this way. And as for the other thing, Lea: I’m your boyfriend, your closest friend, not just some random acquaintance or one-night stand. When you’re older, you can propose to me and marry me — I promise, princess!”

Lea laughed heartily, a clear, bright sound that filled the room. “What a romantic fool you are! Proposal! Marriage!” They both laughed, wrestled, and cuddled, and as morning fully dawned, they made love one last time, slowly and gently — a promise only the two of them understood.

Jack felt his happiness.

Lea was his first serious girlfriend, his intimate partner — not one of the many casual flings among Mom’s sex partners, nor one of those dumb girls at school who didn’t realize what was happening until he came inside them.

No, Lea was a real stunner; she was a true fuck buddy, and besides him, she only fucked her Daddy. He could accept that — after all, he fucked Mom or Jenny every day, too.

Jack lay on Juliane’s marital bed, the fabric of the duvet cool against his back. His cock was semi-erect — a monument of flesh and veins reaching toward the room’s gray light. Juliane lay beside him, her body a silhouette in the morning glow, gazing at his magnificent member. Tears seemed to glisten in her eyes as she placed her fingers on his foreskin and gently pulled it back. "What a damn slut I am," she said, her voice a lament. "Cheating on my husband with my daughter’s lover!"

Silence settled between them, thick and heavy like the bedclothes. Jack said nothing. Or rather, he did. A quiet, almost scornful, "...and you think your husband is faithful to you?" broke the silence.

Juliane swallowed; the lump in her throat felt like a stone. "What a nasty question." She ought to have been angry, but the bone-deep weariness following their intense lovemaking wouldn't allow it. "Yes, of course I notice when he sneaks off to the newlywed neighbor. It’s always the same story: first, you guard your virginity until the wedding like a holy relic. But then — then the portal is opened, and you let in every pilgrim and wandering journeyman. It was no different for me, Jack."

His question still hung in the air — a thread she couldn't ignore. "Were there many?" he asked, his voice devoid of judgment, filled only with curiosity.

Juliane leaned forward; her lips brushed the tip of his glans — a gentle kiss that felt like a confession. "I never counted them," she whispered against his warm flesh. "There must have been hundreds. Until I became pregnant, until Lea was born. Then the portal closed again — as if under a spell, or rather, a curse."

Jack knew how the story went. He knew the tale, knew the lies women tell themselves to bear the truth. "You shut your husband out; from then on, your body and your time belonged to the baby."

Juliane nodded — a slow, heavy movement, as if her head were bearing a weight she could barely hold up any longer. "I had hoped his well would run dry, now that his seed had taken root. But no — his volcano seethed beneath the tedium of married life; he spent more and more nights away, plowing the furrows of widows or their greedy daughters, sowing his seed without ever reaping a harvest. I wept bitterly every night — believe me."

His fingers, small and deft, traced the curves of her heavy, melon-sized breasts, snagging on her erect nipples as if trying to latch onto them. "And then you dried your tears and tormented your clit, pushing it to the absolute limit and rubbing it raw until it hurt."

Juliane wouldn't meet his eyes. Her gaze was trapped like sparrows in a cage, beating desperately against the bars. "You're exaggerating, my dear. Well, yes — sometimes, perhaps. But not every night; maybe just every other. And anyway, it’s hardly a proper topic of conversation, if you ask me. We girls do it alone and in secret, precisely because it isn't something people talk about openly."

Jack grinned from ear to ear — a broad, knowing grin that saw right through her embarrassment. "You wouldn't be the first young mom to do it, my love." He paused briefly. "Lea says you’ve become an obsessive masturbator since the birth. After all, you can't keep it *that* secret or well-hidden when there’s a young girl going through puberty living in the house."

Juliane froze. Her fingers, which had just been wandering hesitantly across his chest, went rigid. Every word from his lips was a small, precise jab piercing the thin skin of her lies. She wanted to strike him, scream, silence him — but her body wouldn't obey. It was held captive by the terrible clarity of his words.

"She... she saw that?" Juliane managed to choke out, her voice little more than a croak. Jack nodded. Her gaze wandered helplessly around the room, as if searching for a place to hide — an escape from the naked truth. "I always thought I was so careful. At night, when everyone was asleep, or when she was at school..."

Jack laughed softly, a sound like the snapping of dry branches. "Careful?" he repeated mockingly. "Your doors are thin; your walls breathe out every sound. A soft moan, the rustling of blankets, the damp, rhythmic creaking of your bed... That’s no secret, Juliane. That is your echo in a silent house."

She sank onto the bed beside him, her shoulders slumped as if an invisible weight had settled upon them. "I didn't mean for it to happen," she whispered into the empty air. "Not like this. At first, it was just about finding comfort. A way to get through the nights when he wasn't there. But it became... it became a habit. An addiction. Every night, when the house fell silent, my flesh called out to me, and I obeyed."

His hand found its way back to her breast, though not with the gentle curiosity of before. It was a demanding gesture, one that sought to lay claim. "And now?" he asked, his fingers pinching her nipple hard. "Now that you no longer have to be alone? Now that you can feel a real cock inside you instead of just your own fingers? Do you still need your nighttime comfort, or have you found what you were truly looking for?"

Juliane closed her eyes. A single tear broke free and ran down her cheek, warm and salty. She didn't know the answer. Or perhaps she didn't want to know. Habit was a warm, familiar coat, even if it was woven from shame and loneliness. What Jack offered her was a fire. It could provide warmth, but it could also burn everything to ash. "I still need it, Jack. Every night. And that won't change until my very last breath. My clit — *that* is the real master of the house, not his cock. That’s just a fleeting guest."

"Juliane," he said, his fingers twirling her nipples like dancing Gypsy children, "Juliane, soon Lea will only be sleeping in my bed. She’s not a child anymore, and she’s fucked her dad often enough. She’s growing up. And she needs me, and I’ll be there for her — no longer in your bed, your masturbation den with that carefully hidden soft-rubber dildo."

Juliane froze, her face a mask of sheer horror. "How...?" she stammered, her voice a thin, trembling thing. The words seemed to tear the air from her lungs, leaving her gasping for a breath that refused to come.

Jack laughed softly — a deep, knowing rumble in his chest. "You can't hide a thing — not a single thing — from a teenage daughter," he said, his fingers twirling her nipples like wildly dancing gypsy children — a game of pain and a strange kind of affection. "She’ll even find the key you lost in the park a hundred years ago."

That was it. The final crack in her facade. Juliane collapsed. Her body went soft and yielding, and she buried her face in his armpit, seeking refuge in the small, hunched frame of the man who had just laid her soul bare. "Oh, God," she sobbed, her tears warm and salty as they seeped into his skin. "Lea found everything out — absolutely everything!"

He held her tight, his small arms wrapped around her back, and he felt her whole body trembling. It was the confession she had never made, the judgment she had always feared, and now it was here — spoken by a boy barely older than her own daughter.

"She found the dildo?" she asked softly, and Jack merely nodded, her face still hidden. She couldn't say the words; she couldn't admit that her daughter — her little girl — had seen the soft, rubbery phallus she held in her bed at night when the loneliness was at its peak.

"She even used it a lot," Jack whispered, and Juliane flinched. "She described it to me — how it makes her feel, how it feels inside when you push it deep, until you’re about to burst." His words were like lashes from a whip, striking her exactly where it hurt the most, where she was most vulnerable.

"I didn't want this," she sobbed. "I didn't want her to see that, to become that. But I was alone, Jack — so alone. And he... he left me, abandoned me with a baby and a void I couldn't fill." Jack shook his head. "You wake up next to your husband every morning, see his morning wood every morning, and you're too stuck-up to take care of him. No one left you — except your libido. It’s twisted, perverse, and cruel to you. That’s the truth, Juliane." He stroked her beautiful, full breasts gently.

He said nothing more; he simply let her cry, letting her tears soak his armpit until they ran dry. Then he gently pushed her away and looked into her eyes; there was no judgment in his gaze, only a kind of understanding she had never seen in a man before.

"It’s over, Juliane," he said. "Your secrets are no longer secrets. But that’s a good thing. Because now you can stop pretending to be someone you’re not. Now you can finally start living."

Juliane looked at him, her eyes wide with disbelief. Her tears had dried, leaving only salty traces on her cheeks. His suggestion sounded so simple, so direct, yet for her, it was a leap into an abyss she had feared all her life. "You mean I should just slide his morning hard-on inside my cunt?" she asked hesitantly, her voice a mere whisper of what it had once been before life had hardened her.

Jack shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "Don't gallop, Juliane; give yourselves a little time. Take him into your mouth first; he’ll wake from a beautiful dream to a beautiful sensation in his cock. Let him come in your mouth — take it step by step; don't rush into a gallop."

Juliane swallowed hard. Her husband, her marital bed, her life — everything seemed to be changing in that moment. She had always thought sex was something done in the dark, quickly and silently — a duty to be fulfilled. But Jack’s words painted a different picture: a picture of intimacy, of tenderness, of something she had lost long ago.

"And when he wakes up?" she asked, her voice trembling. "What will he say? What will he do?" She had never had his cock in her mouth; he had never ejaculated in her mouth. Her fingers involuntarily tightened around Jack’s cock.

Jack’s fingers found their way back to her breast, stroking her skin gently as if to brush away her fear. "He will look at you, Juliane, and he will see what he has always wanted to see: a woman who desires him, who wants him — not out of duty, but out of passion. He won't reject you; he won't judge you. He will take you, and he will love you just the way you’ve always longed to be loved."

Juliane closed her eyes, picturing the moment. Her husband — his face in a half-sleep, his body stirring beneath her touch. She felt a warmth rising within her, a desire she had long suppressed. She wanted it. She truly wanted it.

"And if not?" she whispered — her final stronghold of fear. "If he pushes me away? If he leaves me?"

Jack pulled her closer; his lips found her neck, kissing it gently. "Then you’ll be free, Juliane. Free to start over, free to find what you’re truly looking for. But I don’t think it will come to that. I think you’ll be surprised by what lies within him once you finally show him what lies within you."

Jack sat on the edge of Lea’s bed; the old bed frame creaked softly under his weight. The afternoon sun streamed through the window, painting long, golden streaks across the wooden floor. Lea had just told him everything; her words came fast, almost tumbling over one another in her excitement. She sat beside him with her legs drawn up, her hands moving nervously over the duvet.

"And yes, she took his morning hard-on into her mouth and let him come inside her mouth," she repeated, a small, proud smile playing on her lips. "I saw it myself, Jack. I was sleeping on the couch in my parents' bedroom — because that makes it easiest for me to crawl into Dad’s bed at night — and I pretended to be asleep."

She paused and looked directly at him; her eyes sparkled with a mixture of admiration and a strange, new maturity. "And then they fucked — gently and lovingly. Not like before, not so... destructively. It was different. It was as if they had found each other again for the first time."

Jack’s fingers traced the rough texture of the duvet; he said nothing. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t planned what he had done. He had simply acted, driven by an instinct he didn’t fully understand himself.

Lea shifted closer, her shoulder touching his. "Jack, you’re a wonderful boy — the dearest cripple heaven ever sent me," she said, her voice now soft, almost reverent. "You didn't just fuck Mom — no, you helped her find her way back to Dad."

She kissed him on the cheek — a gentle, tender kiss that had nothing to do with the wild, passionate desire of the past few days. It was a kiss of gratitude, of appreciation.

"I think I love you a little bit," she whispered, and then she laughed — a bright, cheerful laugh that seemed to banish all the sadness of the past few weeks. "Maybe even more than a little."

Jack embraced her, pulling her close, and for a moment they simply sat there — two young people in a child's bedroom — while downstairs, a love that was both new and old began to awaken. It was a strange, wonderful moment, a moment proving that sometimes the seemingly most depraved acts can stem from the purest intentions.

Jack cracked his knuckles — a small, dry sound that seemed oddly loud in the quiet room. He didn't look at Lea; his gaze was fixed on the floor, on the golden streaks of sunlight slowly inching across the parquet. "Lea, we should leave your parents alone," he said, his voice calm and devoid of its usual trace of mockery or desire. "Let's allow them to piece together a new life from the remnants of the old one. I won't fuck Juliane anymore, and you won't fuck your Daddy anymore, either. It was right for you and me up until now, but we can see that we’d only be in the way. Let's be smart about this and give your parents some peace, some space. It’s a matter of fairness."

Lea nervously scratched at her pubic hair — a gesture she always made when she was anxious or deep in thought. "You mean...?" she began, though she already knew what he meant. It wasn't a question she was asking, but a confirmation.

He nodded, slowly and deliberately. "Fairness, Lea — fairness."

She thought it over. She thought of the nights she had quietly crept into Dad’s bed, of the way he had held her, the way he had taken her as if she were the only woman in the world. She thought of the warmth of his body, the scent of his skin, the way he would still cling tightly to her after sex, as if he were alone in his big marital bed. And she thought of how her mom looked now when she was with Dad — how she smiled, how she leaned against him as if he were her rock.

He was right. She had wanted to fuck her dad, and she had done it. Thoroughly — night after night. Juliane had wanted to get fucked by Jack’s ramrod, and she had done that thoroughly, too. But now it was time to let go. Time to leave the grown-up games to the grown-ups.

She looked down at Jack, who was still sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands folded in his lap. She placed her hand over her naked pussy — a gesture of solemn vow, of promise. "This is my swearing hand, Jack," she said, her voice firm and resolute. "We’ll do it the way you said. Fair and square."

He looked at her, and in his eyes was a pride she had never seen in him before. He nodded — a small, almost imperceptible nod — and then stood up, walked to the window, and gazed out at the afternoon. It was an ending, but it was also a beginning. The beginning of something neither of them knew yet, but something they would discover together.

Perhaps, he thought, his carefree childhood was over now; perhaps it was time to become a teenager, or a young man.

Perhaps.