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Disclaimers: This vacuous stroker’s fictional fuckers are over 18 and shun condoms. Tags: parent-offspring, siblings, fuckfest, bisexual, multiracial. If you object, stop reading. Voices and details may be unreliable. Opinions may not be the author’s. Read prior chapters first. Comments are required. Enjoy!
Stanley Steamer 18: Katrina – The End
Eighteen steamy years later
I keep thinking about Uncle Daddy Stan’s penis. I cannot help myself. It is such a good-looking penis. He is such a good uncle-daddy.
He is likely my real bio-dad but Auntie Mommy Jeri, my real mom and Stan’s real cousin, will not talk about it and says it does not matter. All the brother-sister-cousins here at the Rancho have varied uncles and many aunties. The moms are all aunties. Uncle Daddy Stan is Hawai’ian nobility and Polynesian royalty and he says that is how the traditions work. The Rancho is his place and he makes the rules, so there you have it.
But Uncle Daddy Stan’s beautiful penis, the erectile organ of Archduke Stanley Kamehameha Ovshinsky, looks better than our uncles Lazy or Newton or Dov or Larry or Felipe. Well, Uncle Lazy is pretty impressive, long and red, but Stan stands out, ha ha. That is only part of why all the moms love him.
Of course I knew what their penises look like – all the penises, and all the boobs and vulvas, and every wart and scar and lizard-bite. We swim and lay around the pool naked, run in the dorm and walk in the house more-or-less naked, shower together naked, eat some meals naked, run and walk the trails partly naked, et cetera.
We should usually wear clothes if we go out the front door – that is sort of a rule. The main rules are: No footwear or fights inside; and what happens inside stays inside – do not tell outsiders how we live. None of their concern.
Of course we have more rules. Clean up your messes. Do not fuck with others’ stuff. Do not piss off the elders. And most basic: Do not be an asshole. It is the Golden Rule corollary. Expect others to do unto you what you did unto them. So be nice, or be ready to duck and run forever.
Jeri, my bio-mom, says we have a new tradition at the Rancho. When a kid reaches eighteen, we can browse the moms’ journals – but do NOT talk about them with the younger kids. The journals read almost like what the outer world calls porn. That is silly. ‘Pornography’ literally means “words about prostitutes” and none of the moms were whores.
Not whores – only women magnetically drawn to Uncle Daddy Stan.
Moms wrote in their journals about why they orbited Stan. They said he listens, and he cares, and he acts. And his penis is good. I want that.
I read about the outer world. It seemed crazy before the Trump War and it is even crazier now. Rancho Relaxo seems pretty safe compared to what is out there. We are very lucky people.
It helps that some moms are rich and famous and even royal.
Maybe my craziest grandma is Queen Ursula of Rotaruta. She regularly visits with some prince-uncles and princess-aunties and -cousins and sometimes even King Tahne’e. A little piece of the Rancho, the consular office site by the inner gate, is Rotarutan sovereign territory, so it is like their home away from home, except without an ocean, and security is good here.
Ursula and her maybe crazier older sister Archduchess Teresa are both still extremely fit and commanding. Is GGILF a term? They make some of my sister-cousins look flabby, and NOBODY is flabby at Rancho Relaxo except those two security guards who are sumo wrestlers. But the sexagenarian grandma sisters could pass for half their ages.
We have other grandmas and grandpas but they are mostly sane. Except Luci. How did sane auntie Lorna ever survive with her?
Then there is the Jam Tower in Las Vegas where our rich, famous, musical auntie-moms live when they are not here or touring. It is officially KYJ Centre and is also setup legally as Rotarutan sovereign territory but is even further from any ocean that isn’t all sand. Our uncle-dad Lazlo’s Feherways aero service flies us back and forth whenever we want – if we are not on that week’s shit list.
I read about the outer world, and of course talk to the community kids who come to the Rancho school. I know most of the world is not like the Rancho and most people do not live like us. Even before anyone here was rich, life on the Rancho was different.
I read the moms’ journals. Something happened to someone, and Stan was there to help, and they stayed with him. And not only because of his penis, although that helped, along with his tongue, and his open ears, and his heart.
No, I have not left the subject of Uncle-Daddy Stanley’s penis. Of course not.
I noticed that some of my brother-cousins had a penis that looked something like Stan’s and some did not. The size and shape, yes, and some sort of glow. I want to compare the feel canlı bahis and taste of those that are old enough with Stan. That is not pervo, right?
I am not The Oldest but my tranche is close. Zeke is The Oldest but he is usually in Las Vegas with his folks, our uncle Newt and auntie Babs. Our Oldest here is Callista and she is one overwhelming sorceress! As freckled-red and steelworker-strong as her bio-mom Anathea but with a Stan-like face and mind. She is too smart to try to run the kids she helped raise.
We only play small dominance games with our ages. Piper and Pelagia preceded me by some hours. And it is funny – you would not guess they are twins. Pelagia has the Stan look and Piper does not. I heard auntie Pam had a wild weekend then.
Anyway, I am slightly older than Langdon, and Mateo, and others who are mostly in Vegas or Rotaruta. All our other kids are months or years younger, and they were and are plenty of trouble. We were painful monsters too. I suspect some Darwinian basis. You can only breed if your parents do not drown you. Think of it as evolution in action.
Callista and Pelagia and I were best friends, then worst enemies, and then best friends again, and we still are, mostly. Piper and Langdon and Mateo were our best playmates, then a bunch of wild animals, and then shy and wanting to be friends and learn about girls, about what to do with outside girls in our school and in the world. They wanted help! We want bribes. Ha ha.
We started our own new tradition. A little after we were all eighteen, Callista threw a party for the six oldest of us here. Lazlo was out flying and Callista’s bio-mom Anny was out welding so she took us to the big bed in their room. We did all those romantic foreplay maneuvers, kissing mouths and nipples and around there, and then we got to it. What do we taste like?
We girls, Callista and Pelagia and I, got our pussies licked by all boys and girls. Each guy, Piper and Langdon and Mateo, got their penis sucked by all girls and boys. The guys watched us girls do a three-way daisychain. We girls watched the guys circle and blow each other. And everybody 69’d with everybody.
I noticed similarities and differences. Piper felt and tasted different. Stan is very likely not his bio-dad, who Piper claims was a Persian prince. Hey, our grandma is a queen so if he wants to be royalty otherwise, fine.
We went to three-by’s. The three guys together licked each of our pussies until we squealed. We three girls together licked each guy’s penis until they squirted. We all got to know each others’ flavors. All distinct; mostly similar. But we are at least half-siblings, so that was no surprise.
I think I liked Mateo’s cum-flavor best, and Langdon or Pelagia 69ing with me were best. But of course we girls have experience. This was not our first time pussy-licking. But Callista knows how to do anything to anyone. She is so sly.
We got those boys trained to lick pussy. They will be popular in the outer world. Unless they piss-off husbands and boyfriends of girls they steal – then they need to be able to fight or run. It is so Darwinian.
We girls all wanted Stan’s penis. Piper might, too. Or he can get by with Mateo.
Our new custom will be lots of fun as more kids reach eighteen. Tobias, Zelda, and Freya are next. Yum.
===== [autumn equinox 2021]
It was time for the FallDay party. The Rancho celebrates solstices and equinoxes, along with civil holidays and as many other lesser party days as can be justified, like each blue moon, general election, and major earthquake.
Major party days are much like other days but everyone tries to be here for them. We gather as family and closest friends. And we play games.
Our last SpringDay was glorious because the autumn typhoons and Pineapple Express atmospheric rivers watered a superb superbloom. We took BikeE rides up toward Antelope Valley. The desert flats and mountain slopes were thickly covered in blooms as far as could be seen. Will climate shift end this?
This FallDay was hot. Nobody wore more than shorts and maybe light shirts out the front door, and less inside. The younger and community kids skinny-dipped by the Rancho school’s big outside pool – “swim class” was the excuse. We olders and the elders skinny-dipped in the domed pool with wine, snacks, and safe, low music. The day was hot so the music was not.
Callista, Pelagia, and I had plotted on how to get to uncle-daddy Stan’s penis. Another Rancho rule was “no sex in front of the kids” but although we olders were technically not ‘kids’ now, there was still no open sucking or fucking around the pool when we were there. Well, nip-lipping, sure, for aloha – hello and goodbye. But we three could not just walk up to Stan and go down on him. We had to be more subtle.
So we waited till he went into his office. We followed him inside and closed the door. This was Callista’s idea – give him no chance of escape.
His long, thin office had a small exercise bahis siteleri machine at the far end. He worked out and ran a lot. He was in fine shape – with his dark sleek hair, he sure did not look nearly fifty years old. His penis looked well-exercised, too.
He sat at his desk with its keyboards and three data-filled LED screens. He swiveled his comfy executive chair when we came in. “Yes, ladies?”
Callista knelt between his knees and looked into his face.
“You always ask women what they want. This is what we want.”
She bent and put his wonderful penis in her mouth.
“Well, then,” he said, and scooted forward to give her better access. She pumped his penis with one hand and cupped his scrotum with the other.
Like I said, we have a gentle age-based pecking order. Callista is first and so got Stan first. Pelagia is next and sucked him next. Then it was my turn. But I was generous. I let Callista and Pelagia each suck one of his balls while I did that deep-throat thing. I gasped and drooled after awhile and then teased him as best I could, like we see in those real porn videos and games.
I seemed to have done right. He twitched and grunted and came in my mouth. I felt it coming; I caught all his pretty-good-tasting cum in my cheeks.
I pulled Pelagia and Callista closer and shared it with them. It was a lot. We opened our mouths to show what we had. We swallowed. I licked and sucked his penis again to make it ultra-clean. I knew that trick about running the tip of my tongue along his urethra to force out every last drop. He seemed to appreciate my effort.
I did not want to give up his prime penis so I kept him in my mouth. Pelagia and Callista had to be satisfied with kissing his balls, his thighs, and his knees. Nobody went to kiss his feet. We were not entitled to that yet.
Uncle-Daddy Stan finally lifted my head gently.
“That’s enough, hon. Thank you, ladies. I thank you all for a good FallDay present. Now, what can I do for you?”
We let him suckle our boobs and pet our vulvas good-bye and left him to his work. Yes, he worked on holidays. What a pervo!
“Well, that was not too hard,” Callista said. “I guess uncle Lazy is next. Then uncle Dov, if we can get him away from auntie Imani. Or maybe with her.” Callista smiled slyly. She had a plan, I could tell.
But now was time for our naked lunch. Chile verde!
The Rancho has more traditions than rules. Archduke Stan, son of a duke and a queen, likely father and brother of a king-to-be, and total paterfamilias here, likes it that way, so there you have it.
Our traditions sprout and evolve. Kids of any age can walk, bike, or otherwise self-propel as much as they want, or maybe more than they want if they start to look flabby. And kids age ten learn to drive little steam work-carts around the Rancho property. A newer tradition: At age fifteen, any who want to take a powered vehicle off the property must have built it, and it must be a steamer.
Auntie Anathea still cuts up old railroad tank cars and welds giant vaginal flowers for fun and profit. And she teaches safe welding to any kid who wants to learn – and if you want to drive, you must learn to weld.
Our vehicles are not scratch-built. Uncle Dov, when he is here, takes us to an auto salvage yard to pick out good frames, powertrains, and parts. But we dump gas and diesel engine blocks. Auntie Anny teaches how to form and weld metal into steam engine systems. They are not as slickly efficient as the ZEEs in the adults’ vehicles but ours are simple to build and fix.
A closed-system steamer has four parts: Pump, heater, motor, and condenser. Pump the water (a greasy solution, really) into insulated red-hot flash tubes – no boiler, so no explosions. We use heat cells, like fuel cells, so no open flames. Totally safe. Open a valve for pressurized steam to push the piston(s) in the motor cylinder(s). Pipe used steam into the condenser to become water to pump back to the flash tubes. We have to build flash tubes and motor, and buy heat cells, but the rest are only recycled parts – pistons, pumps, and piping; fuel and water tanks; radiators for condensers; alternators for electric needs.
Do not think of old trains. Our steam engines are clean and quiet. Old Stanley Steamer engine systems had only fifteen moving parts. Ours are a little more complex, but not much. Building vehicle bodies and interiors takes longer.
Callista is practical and dynamic. She chose a minivan a big rock had crushed somewhat. She steam-formed a full body from plywood – THAT took work – and set seating in front that met Stan’s safety standards. The back is cargo space, she says, but a spread pad makes a play bed for four or more. She calls it Nepenthe or Penny for short.
I was lazier and maybe dumber. I found a motor-trike whose rider had not fared well scooting under a flatbed trailer. My compound double-action motor and its beehive of flash tubes fit nicely in the cargo box. I had bahis şirketleri to rebuild the munched front end but that was not hard. I call it my Trilobite. That means, Bite Me Down Low Three Times, right? Tri-Lo-Bite, sure. Ha ha.
Piper was laziest. He put the heater unit on the back of a moped and built a simple double-action motor to replace the tiny gas engine. It is ugly, and slow, with little capacity, but it was an easy build. Any passenger must ride in his lap. Maybe Piper had planned that.
Pelagia’s work ethic is one more sign that she and Piper are only half-siblings. She chose a crunched jeep and built a small version of Stan’s spindly Waltzing Matilda, with wire-spoke wheels for tires forty-four inches diameter and four inches wide. She put worm gears in the 4×4 drivetrain, steam-formed a wood open body, and added a simple frame for the ragtop. She likes to drive rough terrain. Twenty-inch clearance makes her nimble Proteus pretty good there.
Tobias, the musical little brother of musical twin aunties Talia and Tanya, is nuts. Or is he? His coax-blade steam autogyro flies but its range and capacity are limited. It is just enough to carry him, a mandolin, and a small bag to the Lake Arrowhead airstrip and those Russian sisters. Twins, sure. And they sing.
Like I said, we play games on FallDay and other holidays. This FallDay, six of we olders decided to play sex games away from the Rancho. We fit easily in Callista’s minivan Penny. Callista let visiting Zane drive the gravel road past Giant Rock; she crouched between the seats and sucked his penis en-route. He was pretty steady. In back, Pelagia sucked her twin Piper and my mouth was on visiting Ashur’s big black guy. They were our half-brothers so it was okay.
We reached a flat spur sheltered by tall mesquite-sprouting boulder piles, and spread a thick soft ground cloth. Our sex game was pretty simple – spin the screw-top wine bottle. Take a swig, spin it, and go down on the target for one minute. Then two minutes. Then however long it took. And then the next bottle, and fuck or 69 with the victim.
Zane was the designated driver so he only got cola, poor guy. Well, some of us took pity and blew some swigs of wine into him. He stayed pretty steady. His penis and semen felt good inside me. All the guys did. (Ashur was bigger but not necessarily better.) Everyone’s tongues worked, too. Nobody whined about my efforts so I guess I did okay.
Yes, it was all a game, and everybody won. Those are the best games.
We returned to the Rancho before sunset. Either the arrival alarm did not ring or security overrode it because we are obviously family. We parked in front and left our outerwear at the door. We reached the domed pool – and the adults were playing sex games, too. Maybe they just ignored the alarm.
I guess they were not worried about Uncle-Daddy Stan’s supersperm that auntie Mariana ranted – I mean warned – about because most of the women were taking one-minute penis rides on reclining Stan and uncles Larry, Dov, Lazlo, Newt, and Felipe. Langdon and Mateo were there too, the lucky dogs.
It was like phallic musical chairs with no losers.
Auntie Megan played her melodica, aunties Kaylee and Nikki sang, and their infernally angelic music drove everyone mad with lust. They stopped every minute or so for each penis to have a new vagina dropped on it. Women not fucking at the moment fed their boobs to the laid-back men. It looked like fun.
We six exchanged glances. Ashur, Piper, and Zane lay on empty lounges, erections aimed skyward. Waiting women flocked to them. Callista, Pelagia, and I fed our boobs to whatever mouth wanted us and we let ourselves be fingered and licked, but I knew we did not want to risk supersperm. Not yet. Maybe Callista has a plan for us to safely fuck Stan later. She always has plans.
Our moms and aunties licked us. They knew just how to please their girls.
The adults and we olders were well-sucked and -fucked but clean and tidy by dinnertime. Aunties Kaylee and Nikki had mercifully quit their erotic singing. The community kids had gone home. Our 16’s and 17’s had done well on kitchen duty, making good food and plenty of it. The youngers had cleaned and set the tables on our picnic area’s thick turf, tables that formed a big U. Bug lanterns chased the sunset.
Uncle Daddy Archduke Stanley Kamehameha Ovshinsky stood at his place at the bottom of the U of tables; superstar singers Nikki Krishnon and Kaylee Yakamura stood at the ends. The other mostly-naked dozens of our family kept their seats. Stan spent about fortytwo seconds saying how good it was to be here this FallDay, one of our four biggest holidays. Then his baritone, and Kaylee’s soprano, and Nikki’s mezzo voices joined to work magic on Aloha Oe. We all cried before digging into the food, drink, and family chatter.
Tobias will be just eighteen by WinterDay. I bet Callista has a plan for him.
The End? For now.
Author’s note: This story by Hypoxia Smurf is copyright (c) 2018. I try to get details right, even what I invent. Constructive comments, fantasies, and bribes are desired. If you like this tale, join the 1% and VOTE!
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