Shipwrecked

She began to shiver uncontrollably. He realized they needed heat. However, there was no possibility of a fire. He reached for her hand.

"We must all lie together using our body heat to warm us." Barton lay down behind his mother. She was also shivering. He extended a hand. " Lie down behind me."

Cynthia hesitated. Her Victorian training said this was improper. "Father, I..."

"Damn it girl lay down. It's this or death." The command of her father's voice was irresistible. Cynthia lay down, spooning her father, wrapping her arm around his body. The warmth of his body eased her chills. His closeness caused a familiar aching in her privates. She watched her father spoon her grandmother and throw his arms over her. Exhausted they all fell into a troubled sleep.

Cynthia awoke in the dim confines of the cave. Just outside the opening the moon glistened off the wet leaves of the trees. She raised her head. She lay behind her father with her arm thrown over his waist. His lower body seemed to be moving. She rose on one elbow. Curiously, her father's crotch was pressed against her grandmother's behind. His hand was inside the sleeve of her chemise holding her breast. In their sleep they ground against each other.

A 20 year old female's sex education in 1860 was limited. Her grandmother was her sole tutor in all things. Grandmamma Allen taught her that men were naturally polygamous and women naturally monogamous. Curiously, clandestine girl talk with other girls her age in the village revealed they were taught it was their duty to have sex with their husbands whether they wanted to or not. Her grandmamma said that with the proper partner it could be enjoyable.

Since she had no siblings, the concept of incest was foreign to her. She was not exposed to the juvenile fumbling of a sibling. She took the affectionate embraces and kisses between her grandmother and her father as a natural part of family life. Often on mornings when her father was home from a voyage, she observed him emerge from her grandmother's bedroom and walk down the hall to his own.

When she asked about this, her grandmother first admonished her that family matters must stay in the family. She went onto say it was normal for mother and son to share a bed. When Cynthia asked whether this familial bed sharing extended to her, her grandmother looked at her long and hard. Then she said it was a topic they would discuss later. It was shortly after that her father insisted she no longer sit on his knee but in a chair when he shared tales of his voyages.

Variations of this response were given when she asked about her mother. All she knew of her mother was that she died in childbirth while at sea with her father. Her earliest memories were of her grandmother.

Barton slowly awoke from a troubled sleep. The proximity of Annabelle's body comforted him. His hand cupped her breast and the bulge of his morning wood lay between the pillows of her behind.

"Father, are you awake?"

He quickly removed his hand from Annabelle's breasts.

"Yes, Cynthy. Are you okay?"

Her eyes flicked down. Her grandmother's chemise was around her waist. Her father's crotch was pressed against her bare bottom. She made a mental note to ask about this the next time they had a female to female talk.

"Yes father. Is grandmamma well?"

"Yes! Yes!," Barton said nervously, "she is fine."

"Father, I must answer Nature's call."

"Ahhh yes! Go just outside the cave. Do not go into the jungle."

When she returned from relieving her bladder, she noticed that her grandmother's undergarment now covered her and her father sat with his back against the cave.

She studied him from just outside the cave. She often dreamt of him when he was away. Sometimes she even touched herself when she dreamed of him. Often she awakened from her dream to a warm tingling sensation suffusing her body. It began shortly after she entered womanhood. She would touch herself and the feelings exploded in her body. When she confided this her grandmother, she was told it was normal. She trusted her grandmother even when her girlfriends said masturbation could lead to madness.

As she matured, her view of her father changed. His adventures left him deeply tanned almost like a Negro. His shoulders were broad. Even through his waistcoat, she could see the hard flatness of his abdomen. Many times, she pleasured herself with the image of her father in her mind. Some nights the feeling was so intense that a clear liquid sprayed from her privates and she writhed in her bed.

Barton looked up and saw his daughter standing in the cave entrance. The bright African sun behind her made her chemise nearly transparent. She looked so like her mother.

"Check on your grandmother while I answer Nature's call."

"Yes father!" She watched her father walk from the cave. Though ragged his pants fit tightly across his well muscled behind. His gait was easy, almost catlike.

It was obvious to even Cynthia's inexperienced eyes that her grandmother was not doing well. The wasting disease diagnosed by her doctors was proceeding apace. They recommended this voyage, thinking the clean sea air would aid her recovery. It had not and would not.

As she bent over her, her chemise rode up, revealing her tight slit. When her father returned, he saw her tending to her grandmother. Barton was a worldly man, having shared intimate moments with many women of many cultures. Her pussy seemed so small, so pure. The presence of her almost invisible pubic hair was emphasized by its wetness. He resisted the urge to lean forward and kiss that precious treasure. He cleared his throat.

"Is she okay?"

Cynthia glanced back over her shoulder. Her eyes flicked down to the hard outline against his thigh in his pants. Again she harkened back to snatches of conversation she overheard amongst the slaves. The name they used varied. Some called it a dick. Others a cock. Some called it a licking stick. The last name confused her. She was not sure what it meant.

"She's fine, father, sleeping soundly. What's to become of us?"

The import of their situation came crashing down on her. They were shipwrecked. They had no food or water. The thought of water reminded her of how thirsty she was. "What are we going to do for food and water." She held her hands out, palm up and looked down her body. She noticed a strange but exciting glow in her father's eyes. "And clothes! I can't walk around like this."

Barton stood and briskly brushed the sand from his tattered pants. "I'll go down to the beach and see what is left of the ship. However, I fear whatever was salvageable was blown away by the storm."

Cynthia stood also. Demurely she brushed her chemise down covering herself. An intense sadness overtook her. She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her father's waist.

"Father I'm so frightened." She shivered as the hardness of his cock pressed into her abdomen.

Barton stepped back quickly, his tool twitching at the contact with his daughter. "Don't worry! I have travelled many places and experienced many things. I will get us through this."

Cynthia watched her father walk out of the cave and into the jungle foliage. She glanced down at her still sleeping grandmother then out of the cave entrance. Cynthia moved slowly through the cave entrance. She was unsure of why she was following her father or what she would do.

A sound just in front of her caused her to pause. She cocked her head, straining to hear the sound. For a moment fears of wild animals welled in her chest. Then she heard a very human sounding groan. She crept up to a tree and peeked around it.

Barton Allen stood in a clearing just past the tree with his pants around his ankles. His hand was wrapped around his enormous cock. It moved slowly up and down its length. Cynthia watched in stunned fascination. As a 20 year old virgin, this was the first cock she had ever seen. Her father was pleasuring himself just as she did.

She watched as droplets of liquid leaked from the end, were captured by his stroking hand and deposited up and down its considerable length. Her hand trailed down to her privates as she watched his stroking speed increase. As he stroked his cock glistened more wetly and his breathing grew more ragged.

Cynthia hissed as her index figure slipped between the wet swollen folds of her pussy. She watched her father. As his stroking increased in speed, her finger thrust harder and faster into her hole. She could feel her juices increase, dripping from her crevice and running down her thighs.

Her knees were weak. She extended one arm balancing herself against the tree. The sloshing sound of her pussy was so loud she was sure her father would hear it. Still she finger fucked herself. She watched as her father's back arched. His hand flew up and down his tool. She was amazed at the stream of thick greyish liquid that spewed from his cock.

Cynthia came explosively, spewing a clear stream of her ejaculate onto the jungle floor. Weakened, the jungle spinning around her, she slumped forward against the tree. When she opened her eyes her father was gone.

***

Annabelle sat up. A quick glance around the cave showed she was alone. The events of the last hours flashed through her mind. She recalled the stumbling progress to this cave as though in a dream. In that dream, her son had squeezed her breasts. Her hand came up and touched that breast.

A smile stole across her face. She and Barton successfully hid their incestuous relationship for twenty odd years. Even when she became pregnant, they concocted a story where she went with him on a voyage. While away, he supposedly married and his bride died in childbirth.

Their child, Cynthia, was born on a tropical island in the South Pacific. Mother and son spent several months there. Anna's heart skipped a beat as she recalled nursing their baby on one teat while Barton suckled the other.

Anna adopted the native style, going topless and wearing only a sarong. They even experimented with the open sexuality of the natives. She recalled living in the hale noho or sleeping house. They were tentative at first, their Victorian upbringing restricted their full participation. Over time they joined in the sexual life style freely. She shivered as she recalled the thick black cocks filling her pussy and the exotic taste of a dark skinned woman's pussy.

The exigencies of life forced them to leave their idyllic paradise. There were financial matters dealing with the estate of her late husband, Barton's father. They promised themselves they would return. This voyage, probably Anna's last, was in keeping with that promise.

The sadness she felt was tempered by the fact that she was with her family. She knew the illness would eventually claim her life. It was their hope, she and her son and lover, to explain to Cynthia their relationship before she died.

When they returned from the island, they adopted the role of son and grandmother/companion to Cynthia. In their home, they lived as husband and wife raising their daughter.

Annabelle frowned. It was becoming more difficult to hide their relationship from Cynthia. They planned to tell her during this voyage. Being shipwrecked complicated the situation.

"Good morning, grandmamma."

Annabelle turned and looked at her daughter. She was tall like her father. Her shoulders were broader than average to support her breasts. Though slim hipped, they still swelled more than typical Victorian woman. Though the term was not in common use, in another age statuesque described her 5' 9", 150 pound body.

Her ruddy face was triangular with wide set eyes, broad forehead and an a slightly upturned nose. Her lips were wide full and sensual with a Cupid's bow curve.

"Good morning, Cynthia." Annabelle recognized the distress in her daughter's posture and face. "is something wrong?" Adrenaline surged into her veins. Had something happened to Barton?

"I...I...you have always told me I could discuss anything with you."

"Why yes! Yes you can! Is something wrong?"

Cynthia knelt in front of her mother with her legs crossed Indian style.

"I...I... I have noticed that you and father are close...very close!"

Anna got a lump in her throat. They tried to be discreet. However, their passion was a fire that consumed reason.

"Yes! Yes, darling! Yes we are!"

"I...I have on occasion some mornings seen father leave your bedroom in his night clothes and go to his room. I just wondered...I just wanted...!"

Annabelle reached out and lay a hand on her daughter's thigh. It felt warm to the touch. "We planned to tell you together. However, I believe Barton will understand if you and I discuss it."

Anna took a deep breath. "I am Barton's mother. Your father and I are lovers."

Cynthia blinked. She and her girlfriends whispered about many aspects of sex. One girl hinted that her brother did something improper with her. Her Victorian mind tried but could not conceived of all the ramifications.

"What of my mother? You said she died in birthing me."

"No child. I am your mother."

Cynthia stared blankly at Annabelle.

"I don't understand, Grandmamma."

Annabelle's head dropped to her chest. For several moments she thought, collecting herself. When she spoke she explained to her about passion, about loving someone so deeply that all else paled. She explained about family love and how that was stronger then all else. She finished by saying that she, Cynthia, was a product of a love so deep that society could not understand it.

Cynthia took several moments to digest this new revelation. Her upbringing by her sexual liberated grandmother was unusual for the age. She accepted what she said and asked the obvious question.

"What of me? I have no male sibling to explore this mystery with. I have rejected all suitors because they did not measure up to my father. Who will initiate me into these rites?"

Annabelle lay her head back. She stared at the roof of the cave. The sea voyage that it was hoped would heal her illness had, because of the shipwreck, aggravated it. She knew without the care of her doctors and the medications lost in the storm she would not last.

"There is a book called the Kama Sutra. Your father and I learned much from reading it. Shortly after you were born we also had the magical experience of living among sexually uninhibited natives. Sit next to me and I will describe the things in that book and tell you of the native life style."

When Barton returned to the cave, Annabelle and Cynthia sat facing each other. It was obvious they had an intense conversation. He looked form one to the other questioningly.

"I have told Cynthy about us and the circumstances of her birth."

Barton's mouth opened and closed reflexively. Words rushed to his mouth, were discarded and replaced by others. Finally he stood mute.

Still sitting cross leg staring up at her father, Cynthia smiled. "Grandmamma has just told me of your life on the island. Was it your plan to introduce me to those practices while we were there?"

Annabelle scooted back and rested her back against the wall of the cave. She was tired. However, there was so much she had to do before her time came.

"Cynthia, show your father what we discussed."

"I...what...What are you talking about?"

Smiling nervously, Cynthia rose to her knees. She walked the few feet to her father on her knees. She blushed bright red as she began to unbutton her father's pants.

"What are..." He stopped and looked at his mother. "What is she doing?"

Cynthia's hands trembled as she opened her father's pants. She could see his cock hanging semi rigid. For the first time in her life she reached out and took a man's cock in her hand. It felt warm. She was surprised at how pliant it was even though hard. She roughly squeezed it.

"Not so hard, dear," Annabelle said, "it is sensitive to touch. Stroke it like you might stroke a kitten...or yourself."

"Mother, I'm not sure..." Barton was interrupted by his mother.

"Hush, darling! This is her first time. She is already nervous and scared. Right Cynthy?"

Using both of her small hands to stroke up and down her father's cock, she turned and looked at her grandmother and nodded. "Grandmamma, it feels warm and alive. The fluid dripping from it feels hot on my hand."

"Taste it, dear."

Cynthia pulled her father's rigid cock down to her mouth. She took a tentative lick, sliding her tongue over his leaking slit. She grimaced and shook her head. Her grandmother laughed.

"It's an acquired taste, Cynthy."

"It doesn't taste bad, grandmamma. Just different!"

"Mother, I..."

"Barton, darling, she must be taught. I hoped she could learn while we were on the island. That is not going to happen." Anna returned her attention to her daughter. "Kiss the head, dear. Then let it slide into your open mouth."

As she widened her mouth and felt her father's cock slide into her mouth, Cynthia pulled back excitedly. "Grandmother, this is what the slaves meant when they said it could be called a licking stick!"

"Yes, dear! Now tend to what you are doing."

Awkwardly at first, then with increasing confidence Cynthia bobbed on her father's cock. She felt those sensations she previously only felt when she pleasured herself. Her privates leaked copiously. For his part, he held her head in his hands while looking lovingly at his mother. "Thank you mother."

Tidal waves of emotion washed over Cynthia. She ecstatic that her first oral experience was with her father. While she heard whispers of this from her girlfriends, the actual deed exceeded her expectations. She found she liked the feel of his...in her mind she briefly searched for a word. She decided 'licking stick' as used by the slaves fitted. It felt good in her mouth, her privates, she mentally began to think of it as a pussy, throbbed, her juices flowed freely.

She took one hand from his cock and inserted a finger in her aching hole. She hissed around her father's cock in her mouth. The feeling was intense. She liked having his cock in her mouth and her finger in her pussy.

"That's right, darling! You're doing fine." Anna levered herself to a kneeling position. She walked on her knees to where her daughter was sucking her son. Lovingly, she wrapped her arm around Cynthia's waist. "A little faster, dear!" Anna glanced up at her son and smiled. The look on her son's face told her he was close to cumming.

The corners of Cynthia mouth ached pleasantly from sucking her father. She was amazed when she felt it swell in her mouth. Suddenly she felt a flood of hot sticky fluid fill her mouth. Desperately she tried to swallow. Inexperience and the volume of her father's cum defeated her. Gagging, she pulled back. Suddenly, the flood continued over her face and chemise. She dimly heard her father howl like some animal. Then Annabelle leaned in, grabbed his cock, and wrapped her lips around his spurting tool. She expertly finished what her daughter started. She only stopped when Barton sank to his knees spent.

Annabelle wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. She looked at her daughter kneeling next to her coughing and gagging. "Are you okay, dear?" She rubbed her hand up and down Cynthia's back.

As her coughing and gagging subsided, Cynthia nodded her head. Is it always like this, Grandmamma?"

"That depends on what you're asking," Anna laughed. "If it's cumming yes. If it's the volume, no."

Recovering laying on his side on the floor of the cave, Barton followed the conversation. "It's obvious you two have been talking."

"Yes, father. Grandmamma...mother...is teaching me what I need to know about sex and satisfying a man."

Anna scooted over and leaned against the wall. The least activity exhausted her. "There are other things we must work on. But first I must rest." she dozed off.