A Taste of Incest – Pumpkin , Candy

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Author’s note: The following incidents are probably mostly fictional. All sexual participants in these unconnected standalone A TASTE OF INCEST spankers are living humans aged 18+. Views expressed are not necessarily the author’s. Your constructive comments are welcome. This is an entry in the 2014 Hallowe’en contest. If you like this, join the 1%ers and VOTE!


An Taste of Incest: A Taste of Pumpkin
(too many cooks spoil the pie)


“What the fuck are you doing? Put that down! No more!”

“But it’s not sweet enough! It just needs a little more…”

“NO! It’s for pie, not candy. Are you trying to kill somebody?”

“Will you two just shut up? Just pass me the filling – the crusts are ready.”

The three contrary sisters had argued all their lives. They had no reason to stop now while preparing pumpkin pies for that night’s family Hallowe’en party. Stress and sweat, and a too-hot kitchen and too many clothes, and too many swigs of pumpkin vodka, all combined with their traditional bickering and one-upping to produce a perfect storm of frustration and resentment. And when the storm breaks and thunderbolts fly — watch out!

Too much stress and sweat and frustration, yes. Tempers flared and boiled over.

“You want the filling? You can HAVE the fucking filling!”

Alicia scooped up a handful of the sweetened mashed pumpkin glop and flung it at Beth… who ducked just in time. The gooshy orange paste landed on Carole’s ruddy face instead, dripping down onto her bounteous bosom, staining the white blouse above her flour-dusted apron.

“What the fuck!? You bitch! Look what you did!”

Carole grabbed a half-quart Pyrex measuring cup full of heavy cream and aimed its contents at Alicia, who ducked… but not in time, and not far enough. Her blonde head, wide shoulders, and thick tee were drenched in warm thick cow juice. She screeched.

Beth’s harsh laugh was cut short when Alicia brushed at the cream and splattered it onto her, followed by a handful of the pudding-like pie filling.

Oh yeah, food fight!

The three destroyed their day’s work by smearing ingredients onto and into each other. Throwing, shoving, sliming, and splashing whatever was at hand: flour, sugar, milk, oil, dough, crumbs, nuts, ripe fruit, spices — everything but containers and utensils and other solid objects.

The three were soon covered with sticky sweet slop.

Beth and Carole had a history of ganging-up on their older sister. They continued now, shoving her down onto the floor and sitting on her, with Beth straddling her shanks and Carole plopped on her torso, her knees pinning Alicia’s arms.

“Hey! get off me,” Alicia whined.

Carole cackled evilly. “You started this shit. You threw this stuff on me in the first place. You want up? You’ve got to CLEAN it up. With your tongue. Yeah, your tongue. Hey Beth, untie my apron, huh?”

With that messy encumbrance out of the way, Carole pulled her blouse and sports bra over her head, releasing her pendulous breasts to swing in her big sister’s face.

“Come on, you candy-ass wimp — clean me off! Start licking! And no biting! You bite me, you’re REALLY in a world of hurt!”

Alicia had been jealous of her younger sisters ever since they started maturing. They had better figures, bigger tits, and more boyfriends. She often tortured herself, asking, “Why am I not better endowed? Why am I inferior?” She had tried diet supplements, exercise, yoga, magic crystals, and plain old praying, all to no avail. Her sisters’ melon measurements were unattainable goals.

And now, Carole’s mammoth mammaries hung in her face. The objects of her jealousy, right there! She could not resist. Her tongue circled Carole’s rosy areolas and lapped at her stiff nipples; her lips pressed forward; she suckled.

“Oh yeah, baby, that’s right! Oooh, nice. But you’ve got to do better than that.”

Carole swayed back and forth; her bounteous boobs shifted in synchronicity, sweeping across Alicia’s mouth, depositing their goopy encrustation onto Alicia’s tongue and lips. Alicia slurped happily. Carole groaned.

“Hey, that’s pretty good! Now, around some more — don’t stop, don’t stop!”

Carole maneuvered her mammaries so Alicia could lick off every trace of over-sweet pumpkin paste. Alicia did not stop when the task was complete. She kept on licking, sucking, slurping, and worshipping the heavenly honeydews. Carole was in heaven.

Beth decided to join the fun. She raised herself off Alicia enough to pull her older sister’s short skirt and panties off, sliding them down her thin, resigned legs. Beth stripped off all her own garments. Apron, tee and bra went one way, shorts and panties went another. She re-situated herself and ground her vulva into Alicia’s.

Carole noticed a change of pitch in Alicia’s suckling and diminished struggling. She straightened, looked over her shoulder, and saw what Beth was up to. She grinned.

“Hey, muş seks hikayeleri good idea, sis,” she called. Carole shifted sufficiently to slide her own shorts and panties off. She looked past her breasts to Alicia’s flushed face.

“Well, big sister, I don’t know if this is punishment for you or not, but you’re going to do me, and do me good, real good. You need to pay for the mess you’ve made. You’ll be a good girl, right? Say yes, bitch!”

“Yes,” Alicia whispered, “yes, oh yes…”

Carole slid forward to position her fluffy muff over her sister’s mouth. Her knees bent. Her thighs eased out and down. Her vulva descended onto an eager tongue, a tongue that licked around her labia and probed between those luscious nether lips before slithering up to circle and torment Carole’s hyper-sensitive clit. The younger sister moaned loudly.

Carole’s knees no longer pinned Alicia’s arms. Freed, the older sister reached up to knead the large breasts overhanging her while her agile tongue and lips continued their amorous attack. Carole groaned louder, longer, deeper. She leaned back enough to reach down and back, gently tweaking Alicia’s nipples.

Carole barely noted another change in Alicia’s actions. Had she reason to look behind her, she would have seen Beth busily slurping Alicia’s pumpkin-smeared pussy. She might even have noticed Beth furiously fingering herself while she licked and laved. But she had other concerns.

The three sisters moved as a sequential unit. Carole came first, with bird-cries and spasms. Her joy (and Beth’s long, lively tongue) triggered Alicia’s hot convulsions and smothered screams. Beth’s own fingers brought her to a soft moaning climax.

Carole climbed off Alicia’s soggy face and rolled onto the sloppy kitchen floor beside her sisters. Beth looked up from between Alicia’s thighs.

“Sounds like you had fun, Carole. It’s my turn now. Right, Alicia?” She prodded her older sister’s pubes.

Alicia’s reply was a gasped, “uh-huh.”

“Okay then, get down here.” Beth lay back with her legs spread. “Right here. Right now. Schnell!!” (That means FAST!)

Alicia groggily positioned herself with Beth’s thighs beside her shoulders and her face buried in Beth’s treasure trove. She smoothly licked Beth’s slit from taint to clit. Beth grunted appreciatively and wiggled.

Carole spun on her butt over the slushy floor to sit cross-legged behind Beth and cradle the younger sister’s head in her lap. She leaned over, offering her smaller tits to Beth’s mouth. Beth eagerly suckled the peachy protrusions.

Alicia had drawn the first orgasmic cries from Beth when they were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps and a deep voice.

“What the hell is this? Are you girls at it again?”

Alicia straightened and looked at the source of the disturbance, a tall man wearing a pirate costume complete with one eyepatch and a fake pegleg.

“Daddy!” she cried.

Another figure walked in — a curvy woman barely clothed as a Disney princess. “Hey, bro, what have your girls been doing now… Oooh, that looks like fun.” She started unbuttoning her gauzy garb. She saw the open bottle of pumpkin vodka and took a slug. And another.

With his sexy little sister drinking and undressing at his side, their father surveyed the tableau: his naked college-age daughters, intimately intertwined on the glop-covered floor; fragments of pie-making components spewed across every surface of the kitchen; smoke seeping from the unattended oven, the singed scent almost overwhelmed by the odors of pumpkin, and vanilla, and raw animal sex. He shook his head and dropped his pants.

“Okay, you all know the price of making a mess — you each take a turn blowing me till I cum. And after this, you get to clean it all up. Hmmm, looks like we’ll have to order pies for the party. Yes, you girls will pay!”

Their family Hallowe’en parties were always a mixed batch of entertainment. Tonight would be no different. Happy Hallowe’en, everyone.


An Taste of Incest: A Taste of Candy Kisses
(I’m really stuck on my sister)


It was at the Hallowe’en party when the costumes got mixed up and I found myself in a spare bedroom fucking the brains out of a smokin’ hot babe in a tight harlequin mask I thought was Carly Sue but she turned out to be my sister…

Oops, wrong story. No, my sister and I were at a madhouse party, stuck in a damn horse costume together. She was up in front and I was literally the horse’s ass, especially since I was there ’cause her supposed boyfriend had barfed his guts out on too much rotgut punch, so I got drafted. It was so fucking hot that we were just in our underwear and we still sweated like pigs. Well, I got shoved up against her butt, and my briefs kinda slipped down right at the same moment she bent over and her panties pulled down, and somebody bumped into me from behind again, and I just sort of slipped my hot cock straight into her open pussy…

Wait — that’s another story, too. How about this one? My little sister and I were at a great Hallowe’en party, hanging with our friends, not each other, when evil spirits of our incestuous ancestors possessed us and forced us to have wild sex in front of everyone…

Nope, still the wrong story. Okay, here’s the real thing. This one also has a party, and sticky masks, and sex, and my sister Ashley, but it’s not like those cliches. Not quite. It’s a totally different cliche, built on candy kisses. Well, a bit of spiced rum made its way onto the scene too, and Candyland, but… you’ll see.


I’m Alan. I’m a tall guy. I’m not a jock, not really, but I’ve run cross-country all through middle and high school and now at State. Ashley is my two-years-younger sister. She just started at State and she’s also a tall one, too lanky and smart to be a cheerleader but pretty deadly as a sprinter. She’s faster than me — for awhile, anyway. She just doesn’t have the endurance to run hour after hour.

She is also the most insufferable tease — has been, ever since she could talk, and she started talking early. I used to call her Chigger ’cause she was always under my skin. That did not go over too well with anyone who caught the rhyme, so now I just call her Chi-Chi when I’m pissed at her in public. Everyone thinks that’s cute. Morons!

So we’re the not-jocks with letters, and she pisses me off with ease. Whatever.

Let’s talk reality. It does not matter how good the swimming, fencing, and track-and-field programs are — at most schools, we totally do not matter. The ball teams get all the glory, the sponsorships, the bribes, and most of the sex. Of course, the football fucktards get lots of brain injuries too. That qualifies them for rewarding sales careers at Best Buy and Dave’s Used Cars.

So anyway, it was party time. The ball-team jocks were all given invites to a monster Hallowe’en blowout at a fancy downtown hotel sponsored by local car dealers, media outlets, and a beer distributor. Great catered food, live bands, pre-paid hookers — the works.

And for us? The non-ball (do NOT say ball-less or no-balls!) teams were invited to a rather more modest affair in a livestock exhibition hall at the county fairgrounds. That’s right — we partied across from the stables and cattle pens, dancing to a boombox system from WalMart. It was Trill, a local medical cannabis grower, who footed the bill. How stoned was she when she signed the check?

Trill’s toker friends catered. Vegan hors d’oerves; ‘healthy’ low-fat dips and oven-puffed (not fried) chips; soyburgers; oh boy. Suspicious brownies and caramels, and off-brand candy kisses. At least someone had sense to bring a few cases of cheap spiced rum.

I was hanging with some of the swimmers. Mostly with lean black Kiera, who had the most perfect body propelling an imperfect and obsessive mind. If she wanted something, she went for it, full blast, cowabunga! Usually that involved swimming like a demon. Sometimes it was chasing things nobody else could see.

And sometimes it was searching for cock. Like mine. Like now. Like frustration.

The frustration came because I was goddam SpiderMan and Kiera was goddam Wonder Woman. Lame, I know, but we didn’t have money for good costumes. Mine was like a thin skintight one-piece union suit; I had to wear a jockstrap to keep from tearing out the crotch. And Kiera couldn’t get easy access to me through that, even using her magic lasso. So we were both frustrated.

We had ducked away from the main hall, next to what I think was usually a sheep pen. The scent was… organic…

“Well jeez Alan, what the fuck good are you with your cock tucked away like that? At least you could give me some tongue. Hey, try this!” Kiera unwrapped a candy kiss and held it in her teeth. “C’mon,” she mumbled between clenched jaws, “take this from me.”

Okay, I’d play her game. I peeled my Spidey-mask back enough to put my lips against hers. I captured the candy between my own incisors. It had a strange texture, like cocoa caramel.

“Don’t swallow,” Kiera ordered. She pulled off her star-spangled Wonder Woman panties and plopped back on a waist-high table next to the animal enclosure. She spread her legs wide. I could not help but notice her unusual muff-trim — the word BATCAVE neatly carved into her pubes above an arrow pointing to her pussy.

“Stick it in here,” Kiera ordered. “Anything you’re got, STICK IT IN HERE! Start with that kiss and keep going.”

Who was I to argue? I knelt between her legs and used my tongue to push the hard little chocolaty swirl between her juicy labia and deep inside her BatCave. She had sweated a bit; this improved her flavor noticeably.

“Good start,” she said. “You know what to do now, right?”

Indeed I did. My tongue was well-trained. I pulled her legs over my shoulders and moved in close. I licked her slit from taint to clit, and probed inside till the candy dissolved, and circled and nibbled her magic button. She screamed in appreciation before long.

“Very good start,” she said after calming. “But it’s not nearly enough. And neither are you right now. I’m going back to the dancing. Come see me when you’re ready to dip your wick.” She pulled her panties back on and stomped out. Sometimes I hated her dedication.

I was not in the greatest mood after this little session. I walked back to the main hall and headed for the snack tables. I grabbed a handful of candies and a mugful of spiced rum. I didn’t quite trust the brownies.

I unwrapped the caramels and candy kisses and munched them fairly quickly. Even we not-ballteam-not-jocks burn zillions of calories, so pumping-up on sugar is no big thing. These candies tasted especially good, if different. I looked at the labels; they were all marked CANDYLAND, a brand I’d never heard of. I shrugged, munched a couple more, and took a big slug of rum. And another. Then I went looking for fun.

What I found was a crowd of more-or-less wasted athletes dancing more-or-less spasmodically to the boombox music. Various couples, triples, and quadruples wandered (or staggered) in and out of the hall in various states of barely-legal undress. My suspicions about the brownies were well-founded.

I was feeling a bit spaced myself. I drank more rum and ate more candies. My pleasant buzz sent me swimming in a cloud of cotton candy.

I danced with a few of the fencers, swimmers, and track stars. More accurately, we all hopped around, and ground together, and groped each other. And I soon found myself hopping, grinding, and groping my little sister Ashley.

Did I care? Not really, not now. Neither did she, apparently. But she did laugh and peel my hands off her tits.

“Hey there, big bro, I’m not your best target tonight. Or have you given up on normal sex? Didn’t I see you with Kiera earlier? What, did you drive her off? Were you your usual prehistoric self? Or maybe your spider-dick got caught in the web?”

“Ah, fuck off, Chi-Chi.” I slapped her cute ass. “What would YOU know about superhero problems? You’re fucking DEAD.”

My little sister bought her cheap Mummy costume at the same shop I did. I think they specialized in WalMart rejects. Hers was another thin skintight union suit, but looked like mummification wrappings. Her mummy-mask and my spidey-mask were equally tight. I saw no contour lines in her skinsuit; she obviously had not bothered with underwear. Yeah, she was hot, like an ancient Egyptian firecracker.

“Hey, mummies are superheroes, too! You think any ordinary mortal could last a couple thousand years and still look this good?”

She struck a pose — hands behind her head, tits shoved forward, butt shoved back, knee bent enticingly — just about what you’d expect. She shifted and spread her legs; her camel-toe was clearly visible.

“Oh, I can tell you like that!” Her eyes locked on the obvious spidey-bulge inside my jockstrap. She wiggled her bra-less boobs. “Well, take a good look.”

Jan Morse from the fencing team danced (or wobbled) over to us.

“Alright you guys, it’s game time! We’re doing games over here. C’mon, hey?”

Ashley and I were dragged to a woozy gathering of cheap costumes. Looked like lots of kissing games going on — pass the apple, pass the icecube, bend over and kiss blindfolded, that sort of stuff. Hey, what do you expect with a bunch of high college athletes at a party?

I was really buzzy now and so was Ashley. A pass-the-candy ring abducted us both.

Marnie the shot-put queen grabbed me with her incredibly strong arms, peeled my spidey-mask back from my jaws, held me close, pressed her almost-botoxed lips against mine, and shoved in a candy kiss. Her tongue actively explored my mouth for a minute. Our tongues felt like they were exchanging signals. She sighed, and spun me to face the next girl.

I found myself mouth-to-mouth with Madame Dracula aka Denise, the deadliest of fencers. Our tongues dueled over the candy like slashing sabres or semaphores till she took the lump and turned to her next face. I briefly noticed Ashley being similarly passed from Jan to Dov to Jerzy, all fencers — and then I was osculating Kayla the backstroke champ, dressed as a Cretan priestess, complete with rubber snakes on her arms and modest bare breasts poking into my spidey-suit. I normally wasn’t close with Kayla, but we did okay tonight! Her tongue snaked into my tonsils and wrote messages there.

And next… Ashley was on me, a fresh chunk of caramel between her teeth. I was in a good zone by now. So what if that’s my little sister there? My lips enveloped hers and my teeth bit into the caramel.

Bit in — and stuck there. Ashley too. It was like our mouths were glued together.

“Fhaf if fif ftuff?” I garbled. Meaning, “What is this stuff?”

Jerzy swung by and patted Ashley’s ass. “Hey, that Candyland is great, ain’t it?” He reached between us and squeezed my little sisters bouncy barely-enclosed tits. “I don’t know how Trill does it. She keeps the recipe secret.”

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