Unspoken Pleasure by Erotica

Who's Your Daddy? EP1

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

The sun was high in the deep blue sky as I 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. I 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.

I 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 I now spent nine months a year on the mainland, they all regarded me as one of them.

My name is James Roderick Von Scourie and I had been born here sixty-three years ago, in the same house I came home to 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.

stretched outward from Nantucket and my old house sat on its less habited south coast, the last

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

young women. I can't wait any longer, I thought, as I watched the

and their elegant house in the big city forgotten. They had always preferred casual dress and manner I knew, continually challenging their father's patrician family's sense of decorum and correctness. Taking after their Mom,

year at Bryn Mawr, had walked down this same gangplank she was descending now, giggling on the arm of William Butler the 3rd, scion of

as though he couldn't believe that the goddess at his side had chosen to accompany him. I

dancing on her chest as laughing, she kicked a rivulet of sparkling water toward me. Christ it's already twenty years since that day, I mumbled to myself as the girl's parents stepped onto

next chapter is just

the girls danced off, I could see them miming to their parents they'd get home later. The two seemed to talk to everyone on the dock and everyone they met as they moved onto Main Street

along; they had their Mom's ease and friendliness that disarmed everyone and

others company. I 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

on their faces as they

I sang, unable to keep the love

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

Samantha told her sister, "I need to talk to the professor for a sec," and