Unspoken Pleasure by Erotica

Who's Your Daddy? EP1

The following story is an incest story set on an island near Nantucket - | hope you enjoy it... | had fun writing it!

The Island Summer

The sun was high in the deep blue sky as | sat watching from the outdoor terrace of Emma's Café as the old car

ferry slowly approached the dock of Eastport, a hundred eager passengers lining its newly painted, white rails. |

could see the two of them now, waving, happy, broad smiles on their faces, their bodies so ripe, their breasts

taut against their wind blown shirts, their hard firm bums and thighs stretching their silk shorts.

The annual migration from the cities to our island had started, a migration that annually transformed our sleepy

Atlantic island of one thousand people into a bustling, crowded tourist destination.

I knew the locals, who had spent the winter on the island, trying to rest up for the frantic three months of

summer when another five thousand people, mostly Bostonians and New Yorkers, descended on the island,

would be both elated and disgusted by these arrivals.

Elated because they knew these mainlanders allowed them a standard of living unthinkable to their ancestors,

those tough, hard men and women who had struggled to wrestle a living from the sea for three hundred years

before the tourists had arrived.

But angry and disgusted also they simply didn't like these foreign mainlanders, these bossy, rude, crude know-it-

alls whose orders they had to take from Memorial Day til Labor Day in order to earn their living. These people

who regarded them as little more than simpletons and treated them as if they were their slaves.

| was one of the few people who knew and interacted with both groups, both local and summer people, moving

easily between the two solitudes. My family had been here for generations, my island house sat on a land grant

issued to the Von Scouries' more than two hundred and ninety years ago. Every local knew my family, our history

and even though | now spent nine months a year on the mainland, they all regardedas one of them.

My nis James Roderick Von Scourie and | had been born here sixty-three years ago, in the shouse |

chto every summer, a house built on the foundations that my great, great, great, great, great

grandfather had first put down so long ago. The present house dated from about 1875, and although it had

endured many additions and modifications over the years, expensive alterations that had made the house as

modern as any on the island, no one would ever mistake my house for one of those millionaire's monstrosities

that had sprung up everywhere on the islands.

Ours was a long thin island, one of a group that stretched outward from Nantucket and my old house sat on its

less habited south coast, the last private property before the State Wildlife Refuge that took up the last three

miles on the western end of the island.

I had been back for three weeks now, and had been eagerly anticipating the arrival of this very ferry for every

day I'd been here - it was of course carrying my two favorite girls in the world.

| had always watched the two girls over the years, had watched them growing up, watched them running on the

beach, watched them slowly mature, each summer watching them slowly metamorphose from girls to young

women. | can't wait any longer, | thought, as | watched the two skip down the gangplank from the ferry, chatting

and giggling as they went, their Mom and Dad trailing slowly after them.

| could see the joy on their faces at being back on the island, their fancy private school and their elegant house

in the big city forgotten. They had always preferred casual dress and manner | knew, continually challenging

their father's patrician family's sense of decorum and correctness. Taking after their Mom, | thought smiling,

quickly glancing at the beautiful Mrs. Butler who trailed behind them.

| can still easily remember the first day Miss Brigitte Nilsson, an innocent looking eighteen year old Swede, who

had just finished first year at Bryn Mawr, had walked down this sgangplank she was descending now,

giggling on the arm of William Butler the 3rd, scion of one of Boston's most distinguished families.

That year he had just graduated from Harvard law, a nice boy/man who had the world at his feet, but he'd had a

bemused look on his face that day, as though he couldn't believe that the goddess at his side had chosen to

accompany him. | could see that even twenty-syears later he still seemed surprised that she was with him.

And even as my eyes returned to their young daughters and watched as they in turn jumped the last step onto

the cement pier | couldn't stop the image that flashed almost painfully through my brain - the girls mother

standing naked on the deserted beach, her straw colored hair dancing in the breeze as she dipped her toes in

the surf, her perfect, pink tipped breasts dancing on her chest as laughing, she kicked a rivulet of sparkling

water toward me. Christ it's already twenty years since that day, | mumbled to myself as the girl's parents

stepped onto the pier. Watching | saw the old Rolls turn through the gate and edge toward them, and couldn't

help smiling as the car lumbered to a stop and 'Old John' slowly emerged. Jesus, he must be close to eighty, |

thought, the handyman and driver for the family as long as | could remember, one of those constants in island

life that somehow defined it.

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Minutes later Mom and Dad were safely ensconced in the back seat and all the bags safely stowed in the trunk

but the girls danced off, | could see them miming to their parents they'd get hlater. The two seemed to talk

to everyone on the dock and everyone they met as they moved onto Main Street and towards the outdoor

terrace where | sat with my late morning coffee and cinnamon bun.

They left a sea of goodwill in their wake as they proceeded along; they had their Mom's ease and friendliness

that disarmed everyone and even the locals accepted and liked those nice 'Butler Girls' as they were always

referred to, almost as if the two were indivisible.

And yet they were two very different girls, both physically and mentally, their only common trait was their

obvious happiness with each others company. | could see that Isobel, the eldest by a year, the blond extrovert,

the more obvious beauty of the two, was listening intently to her younger sister as they approached me.

Seeingthey cover, "Hi professor," they both sang out, happy, friendly smiles on their faces as they leant

over the waist high rail that separated the terrace from the street.

"Hi Isobel, Samantha," | sang, unable to keep the love | felt for them out of my voice.

We talked for minutes, the girls friendly, comfortable even when speaking to an old man like me, charming me

effortlessly without even a conscious effort. They just plain liked people, no matter their class or age or race, and

of course everyone who met them recognized this niceness almost immediately and responded to it.

"I'm going to stay a minute Izzy," Samantha told her sister, "I need to talk to the professor for a sec," and then

turning toasked, "Is that ok sir?"

Shorter than her sister by maybe two

inches, Sam was still a tall girl at

five-nine and as her long, curly,

auburn hair billowed ar und hertread

in the breezs was &a vated by her

beality, a beauty that had snuck up

on everyone, so that she now exuded

a sexual aura as strong as her older

3 " 3 3

sister. "So where in Boston did you

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find the magical lantern?" | asked as

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she sat opposite me. "What do you

" ea

mean?" she asked, a quizzical frown

crossing her smiling face. The

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"Here | thought my summer assistant was going to be that thin, coltish, giggling, high school teen who's been

prancing around the island for the last four years and now instead, voila, magically you've turned into this

gorgeous young woman," | said grinning. "Gosh, poor Izzy, having to live in the shadow of a beautiful younger

sister."

Every summer | brought withto

the island a student, an English major

from the University, someone who

wanted to be a write, ggmeoneiwho

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Was yy iggiode th Joe' jobs in

exchange for being in my presence, a

chance to learn from the master.

They were always girls, always pretty

and | always eventually slept with

them, the sweet young things oh so

eager to share the bed with the

famous author. The content is on

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chapter there!

Samantha Butler, my next door

summer neighbor had writtenin

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January, asking if I'd consider her for

the position, that SEE lis a

wate, thatshe re to see how

areal author worked. | was pissed off

at first, having had already narrowed

my choice down to two incredibly hot

University of Georgia sophomores,

either of whom | knew would melt

under my tongue, thrash under my

hard cock. The content is on

novelenglish.net! Read the latest

chapter there!

| was pissed off because | knew immediately that I'd give her the job, that | was incapable of refusing her

anything. After a couple of letters and e-mails during the early spring | had offered her the job and now here we

were.

"Yeah right!" she said blushing, but | could see she was happy with the compliment. Shy and studious, Sam had

lived all her life in the shadow of her blond sister and | knew not many men had ever compared her looks

favorably to Isobel. "Like Izzy is ever going to have to worry about another girl. And besides, if | had found a

Genie | wouldn't have wasted a wish on my looks."

"No, no need to," | complimented her, my eyes caressing her, and then asked, probing, "What would you wish for

Sam?" wanting to know every secret of this darling girl.