Fetish Family Sex Story

“Twas the night of Thanksgiving and all through the
house, the Schidinks were stirring…”

Little Timmy Schidink, only eighteen years old and very
angry, sat on on the toilet in the the groundfloor bathroom.
He had withheld his shit five days, but now the Turkey dinner
was forcing the issue. His constipated gut ached as he
pushed and pushed trying to squeeze the delayed monster turd
out his distended rectum.

Grace Schidink in the master-bedroom hummed happily
as she prepared the boudoir for the private pleasure she and
Kurt had been planning for weeks. With an expert flourish
she rolled out the red rubber sheet onto the king-sized
mattress, fastening it securely at the corners. Next, she
opened up four brand new packages of disposable drop cloths
and began covering the floor around the bed. The macrame
plant hangers followed… down came the spider plants, up
went the chrome hooks Kurt had recently added to their toy
chest from the medical supply house.

Behind the locked door of his third floor bedroom,
handsome athletic smooth-bodied muscular blonde square-jawed
blue-eyed Kurt Jr., home for the holidays from his Sophomore
year at UCLA, popped a videotape into the VCR, put on his
horn-rimmed distance glasses and lay back on the bed playing
with his nipples as the crude titles rolled over the screen.

Kurt Sr. was making ready in the master bathroom. Oh
no. He’d forgotten to pick up that extra tube of Preparation
H and there was none left in the medicine cabinet. “I can’t
believe this,” he muttered to himself, pissed off that he
hadn’t made out a list before he’d gone shopping yesterday.
The stores would all be closed now. Perhaps Kurt Jr. might
have some he could borrow. Kurt put on a bathrobe and
stepped into the hall where he was greeted by the sound of
snickering and dirty giggling coming from behind middle son
Marvin’s closed bedroom door. It sounded smutty to Kurt and
he didn’t like it. After all there were the other parents to
consider. Marvin Schidink was hosting a slumber party for
his neighborhood playmates Eddie and Victor, and their
parents had given permission. Kurt didn’t want any
repercussions. He rapped on Marvin’s door. “What’re you
guys doing in there?” The sniggles stopped. “Nothing, Dad.”
“May I come in?”

Victor hurriedly tossed the pink rubber dildo-dick
he’d stolen from the magazine store under the bed. Just in
time. [Whew] The door opened.

Kurt looked into the room. The three boys, Marvin
12, Victor 15, and Eddie just 13 were all sitting bolt
upright under the covers of Marvin’s bed. There were comics
spread all over the bed. Innocent enough, Kurt decided.
“Now you boys, keep it down in here.” “Yes sir.” “…and
don’t do anything smutty, you understand. Tomorrow isn’t a
schoolday so you can keep the lights on until 12:00, but then
you’ve got to hit the hay, understand?” “Yes sir.”

Kurt closed the door a proceeded up the stairs to Kurt
Jr.’s room. He knocked once. “Kurt Jr…?”

[Oh FUCK!] Kurt Jr. grabbed for the remote control
and pushed OFF just as the words, “SCAT LOVER TAPE #3”
bloomed onto the screen. “What is it, Dad?” “Do you have
any Preparation H, Son? Your mom and I are out.” “Just a
second, Dad, I think I do, I’ll check.” Kurt hopped into his
jeans and took a fresh tube out of his dopkit on the
nightstand. He was about to open the door when he realized
that he still had two big green snakebite suction cups
attached to his nipples. He yanked them off, hoping the
reddened erect nipples would go unnoticed by his father.
They did. “Having a flare-up?” Kurt Jr. asked solicitously
as he handed over the medication. “No, Son, it’s for your
mother.” “Well this should do the trick…it always works
for me.” “Thanks, Kurt Jr., I’ll buy you a replacement tube

Kurt Jr. watched his father head back down the
stairs. Sr. was a great big blond muscular man with a giant
butt and a fairly large belly, but all-in-all real masculine,
like so many of his Polish buddies who rode with him on the
back of scavenger trucks working hard in all kinds of weather
hauling garbage to provide food for the table and a college
education for the kids. Jr. shut the door and began looking
around the carpet for his snakebite cups.

Grace could feel that sexy feeling starting in her
bowels, she resisted pulling down her panties and fingering
her clitoris. There was still some preparation to be
finished, and she’d better hurry if she wanted to pull it
off. She smiled to herself thinking about the surprise she’d
planned… Kurt and Grace did an enema night every now and
then, two or three times a year, usually after church on a
Sunday or on a holiday where Kurt didn’t have to go to work
at crack of dawn the next morning…but they’d never tried
anything like what Grace had secretly planned for Kurt
tonight. The two bags hung side by side from the hooks..
Hers pink and holding two quarts. His was black, a special
mail-order model from New Jersey, and weighed a ton when full
at six quarts–there were five in it now. Fortunately, Kurt
was still getting ready. Grace brought a one liter bottle of
Winners Cup vodka from the back of the closet where she’d had
it stashed for this special occasion. Glancing nervously
toward the closed bathroom door, she poured the whole thing
into the black bag which now bulged almost to overflowing.
Hurriedly she rehid the empty in the closet. Grace felt her
heart pounding–Kurt did not allow any alcohol in the house,
but she knew that just once she had to do this… The door
opened, flooding the room with harsh light from the bathroom.
Kurt stood there untying the belt to his bathrobe.

“Lucky for us Kurt Jr. had some extra, Hon. I clean
forgot it when I went shopping yesterday.” Old Prep-H was
their favorite lubrication for these occasions. Grace always
had been pile-prone and the shark oil medication seemed to
work best for working in the enema nozzles–they both
preferred it. Kurt looked around the room, his wife had
really been busy, while his only contribution was to stack
the dishwasher. “Gee, you got everything set up already, I
should have helped.” It was all there ready to go: the extra
towels, the plastic buckets. Even the Port-a-Potty had been
unfolded and put in place a few feet from the edge of the
bed. “By the way, Hon, I didn’t tell you how delicious that
turkey stuffing was you put together–I made a real pig of
myself. That enema’ll sure feel great….” With that, Kurt
involuntarily cut loose a thunderous fart. “Mercy!” giggled
the little woman, “hold your horses. You’re snortin’ and
rarin’ to go, aren’t you?”

“Better believe it.” Kurt hung the robe on the hook
of the door and flopped his big hairless body onto the rubber
sheet. His enormous uncut dick bounced against his belly and
then tilted out into space semi-erect and ten fat inches
long, the head still tucked behind his generous pink
foreskin, except for the glossy dime sized end surrounding
his piss hole. He cupped his giant elephant scrotum with its
unusually tough thick skin and fluffed himself a few times
while he watched Grace slip out of her bra and panties.
Grace had managed to keep her trim little figure; of course
her breasts sagged a bit more these days than they had on
their wedding night some 22 years ago and those small brown
nipples pointed at her feet now instead of at the ceiling,
but Kurt liked the way she looked, and her extremely thick
bush seemed to him if anything denser than ever.

The routine, a pattern developed over more two
decades of enema nights, never varied. They kissed for about
five minutes and then unceremoniously switched to a spoon
style position. Kurt’s bag was so much bigger, simply
because his abdominal capacity was greater. It also took
longer to feed and so Grace always got him started first.
Kurt propped one leg up in the air as his wife began working
the Prep-H into his crack and past his baby-tight ruby
asshole. She was greasing him up good tonight. He felt his
dick stiffen as the little woman’s finger got the knuckle
past the first sphincter. Ah this was the life! Kurt wished
he could have an enema every night. Now she was starting in
with the nozzle, Kurt offered barely any resistance and Grace
slid all six inches of it into his rectum. “Let her rip,” he
moaned as she reached for the clamp and released it. He
heard a gurgle and felt the first surge. With the weight of
a gallon and a half of fluid backing it, that initial rush
always took his breath away, but then he relaxed and went
with the flow. He could feel the liquid coursing into his
lower colon, it was a great feeling and he noticed that his
cockhead had now worked itself totally into the open at the
end of a full and glorious boner. Then he felt the first
hint of cramping… oooooohoh…Grace slid the fluted nozzle
back and forth in his asshole to divert the momentary
discomfort. Soon Kurt’s gut had accommodated its growing
load and he repositioned his leg onto the rubber sheet. It
was a signal to cut the flow for a moment and for Mr.
Schidink to start the process up on Mrs. Schidink. Kurt felt
great…almost light-headed. This was the best damned enema
he could remember. He watched his wife spread wide her
undercarriage with its masses of black wiry curls barely
revealing the intricate scrolls of her liver-colored cunt
lips and puffy puckered anus. He squeezed out some Prep-H.
Ooops too much. He pushed a glob into Grace’s anal openingf
and scraped another big glob off the red rubber which he also
lubed into her hairy crevice. He felt terrific …they were
just going to have to arrange to do this more often. The
woman’s enema nozzle was much daintier than the one lodged
inside him, even though Kurt’s rectum was teeny and his
wife’s was if anything impressive by comparison. But then
men were men and women were women and this nozzle was
especially designed for the fairer sex, just as the one
shoved up inside him was designed by that Dr. Jay in New
Brunswick especially for men–or rather “guys” (to quote the
instructions on the box).

“Oh you big clown! Quit fooling around.”

“What’re you talking about, Hon?”

“You stuck it in the wrong hole,” Grace giggled.

Kurt rolled over and took his reading glasses off the
nightstand. Sure enough. He couldn’t believe it. There was
that nozzle protruding from the back end of Grace’s slippery
brown vulva, a full inch south the proper slot. Kurt was
astounded, he’d never made that slip before. “Sorry, dear.
I guess I just wasn’t looking where I was going.’ He pulled
the plastic stem out and reinserted it into her pulsing
asshole. “How’s that?” “Bullseye,” she crooned and
indicated for him to start the flow. Kurt reached for the
tubing and released the clamp. A minute passed, he was
feeling lightheaded but good. “Kurty, I’m not feeling
anything can you adjust the nozzle or something…” Oh Shit!
Kurt suddenly realized that his own gut was about to burst
and that the black enema bag was half empty. He’d released
the wrong clamp(!) By the time he got his line cut off and
hers started, he felt like he was going to explode. Grace
knew intuitively what he was feeling and she began jerking
her husband’s foreskin back and forth over the swollen
dickhead, again diverting his attention from the temporary
cramps which had sent his entire abdomen into spasms. “Oh
yeah, that’s it, Hon, keep pumping.” He took deep breaths
bouncing back and forth between agony and ecstasy. Then it
was her turn for a spasm.

“Aaaaennh….oooooh…Kurt…clamp me off I’m filling
too fast.” This time he managed to get it right despite his
growing lightheaded but happy loss of coordination.

They lay there resting for a while. Finally she
said: “Think you can take a little more, Kurty?” “I guess
so, as long as you keep jocking me off.” “You really like
how I jock you off, don’t you darling?” “You bet I do. Why
you’re just about the best jocker-offer I’ve ever had.” “Is
that a fact???” her tone went testy. “Oh not what you think,
Hon. I meant before we got married…you know, with the
other boys in the locker room–just messing around.” “I
see…Well, then I forgive you…Boys will be boys.” Kurt
decided to change the subject. “Lets 69. Okay? We haven’t
done that in a long while.” “With the hoses in?” she asked
incredulously, this wasn’t like her conservative hubby at
all. “Sure. Besides, it’s about time we add to our bag of
tricks.” He was feeling adventurous. “Whatever you say, you
big lug.” She was very pleased as she watched the father of
her three sons get up on all fours and back up over her with
that thick black rubber tube snaking out of his ass toward
the plant hangers on the ceiling.

Little angry ten-year old Tommy still sat on the
downstairs john grunting, pushing and straining his
stopped-up asshole. Maybe if he frigged himself it wouldn’t
ache so much. He’d watched Marvin do it with Victor and it
made them real blissful. He took his tiny weener in his fist
and began jerking it around. But it didn’t seem to want to
get any bigger the way Victor’s did.

Meanwhile Victor was in the process of demonstrating
the art of masturbation to a new initiate. He and Marvin had
done it to themselves, to each other, even once in front of
Timmy. But Eddie had never done it, despite now being a
good two weeks over 13 and already showing traces of a
mouse-colored mustache. That’s what this whole slumber
party was all about. It was Victor’s idea actually, but he’d
made Marvin promise not to tell Eddie anything about it ahead
of time. The three boys were sitting on top of the bed in
their pajamas and Victor had hauled the rubber dildo back out
from under the bed.

“What’s it used for, Victor?” Eddie asked.

“A dildo-dick? Why, it’s kind of a teaching device.”

“A teaching device? I don’t get it.”

“You will. Marvin and I’ll show you.” Victor passed
the footlong rubber erection to the 12 year old Schidink boy.
“Show Eddie how you beat off, Marvin.”

“My dad says you’ll go to hell if you beat off.”
Eddie stated with no little concern.

“Your dad’s full of crap.” countered the older boy.

“He is not. He’s a Born-again and Born-agains never

“He is too. Beating off feels so good–it’s the
best, there’s nothing in the whole world that feels near as
good. Not even screwing your girlfriend.”

Marvin, who was about to show how you beat off a
dildo-dick, looked up in astonishment. “You have a
girlfriend?” “Of course I do.” “Oh yeah,” interjected
Eddie, “prove it–what’s her name?” Victor thought for a
moment. “Betty,” he muttered without much enthusiasm. Marvin
was now really impressed. “And you screw her? Really screw
her? In the pussy?” “Sure I do, right in the middle of her
pussy.” Victor regained his tone of authority. “Yessir,
right in the middle.”

Eddie too was becoming convinced. “What does a
pussy look like?”

“Well, I’ll tell you, but only if you let me and
Marvin beat you off.”

“But I told you already…I DON’T WANT TO BURN IN
HELL!!!” Eddie wailed.

“Don’t be stupid, Eddie. You only go to hell if you
beat yourself off. Not if somebody else beats you off.

[….!??] “Are you sure?”

Victor could see that Eddie wanted very much to
believe him. “I’m positive. In fact you can even beat
somebody else off and it doesn’t count…it’s only when you
beat yourself that you go to hell.” Victor could see Eddie
was weakening. He was pleased with himself. “But first
you’re going to have to show us your penis.”

The bald guy wearing the sunvisor was wheezing
audibly. He weighed 275 pounds easily and could barely hold
himself up in the squat over the scrawny longhaired guy with
the pimples and coke bottle glasses lying flat on his back
between the fatman’s legs in the bathtub. HERE IT COMES…
Kurt Jr. twisted his left tit with one hand while he held
the bottle of Locker Room up to his nostrils with the other.
The shaky camera panned down the fat guy’s back to his
distended shit hole. IT’S COMING OUT… Kurt recapped the
popper and rammed his middle finger back up into his own
hungry poop-chute, just as a brown turd ribbon began
squeezing out the fat man’s rectum, dropping by clumps into
the longhair’s open mouth. Kurt pushed his finger in as far
as it would go up up toward a lump of his own shit. He
clamped down with all his might and then withdrew his finger
to look at the treasure. It was clean. He held it to his
nose and sniffed. DAMN…nothing.

Back on the screen the pimply guy had started rimming
the filthy asshole. The shit was getting smeared everywhere.
One of the guy’s lenses was completely mudded out.

Now THAT is disgusting Kurt thought to himself. He
was irritated with SHIT LOVERS #3. It was exactly like
LOVERS #1 and #2. Why did they always use such ugly nerdy
types in these scat videos? That guy shouldn’t be wearing
his glasses for godsake. It was ludicrous and made the whole
thing a travesty. Why couldn’t there ever be any nice
healthy looking guys with white teeth, flawless tans and
fresh blow-drys like in all the other porn? After all, I’m
hot looking, atheletic, with a nice body, Kurt thought, I’m a
shit lover…why can’t they make these movies with guys like
me. This is so demeaning. It really pisses me off. If only
he had more guts, he reasoned for the thousandth time. He’d
given it so much thought…lead the movement, give public
speeches, be a spokesman and role model, march in the
parades… If only he had more guts. Guts enough to bring
respectability to scat. Educate the public. Go into
politics even. Who knew where it might lead? Kurt Schidink
Jr. the country’s first Brown Hanky Congressman. B.M.
Brothers Unite!!! Keep your chins up high!!! Don’t be
oppressed just because you let people shit on you. Spread
those Cheeks and FLY!!! It made his head spin. Kurt took
another hit as the video shifted to a new duo. Well, not
entirely new. There was that same fatty but this time he was
wearing a black wig..(!) THIS IS REALLY INSULTING…what a
piece of shit this #3 was turning out to be and he’d forked
over $89.95 for it too. Non-refundable.

At 10:03 pm, the exact moment of Kurt Jr.’s
disappointing discovery, downstairs his father had positioned
himself over his mother’s cunt and his tongue was beginning
to search out what they called her little love-snail, his
youngest brother Timmy still on the pot was on the verge of
passing out from pushing out and his other brother Marvin was
untying his pajama bottoms. And two blocks away out on the
icy street the fuel pump of a ’79 Ford Pinto was giving up
its life, unbeknownst to Larry Henderson, the car’s current
owner coming back from a gay bar through a neighborhood he’d
never been in before. It was incredible coincidence that
when the engine died it died right in front of 677 Rigoletto
Place, the home of Mr. and Mrs. Kurt Schidink and their three
fine sons. The coincidence was made greater by the fact that
during the summer of his highschool sophomore year Larry and
Kurt who were classmates and neighbors at the time used to
get together to assfuck and suck each other off. But then
Kurt’s family moved across town and Larry took up with a
different crowd and the rest was history. Kurt and Larry had
not seen each other in 25 years. Larry steered the coasting
Pinto across a slick of ice next to the curb. Shit it was
cold. For the first time that evening he regretted not
wearing more than the jockstrap under his leather chaps. He
got out and threw open the hood. His butt was FREEZING. He
hoped he’d be able to spot what the problem was, only the
problem was that Larry actually only knew zip about cars and
realized that the gesture was more one of macho reflex than
constructive action. Larry could see his breath in the beam
of his flashlight. It was dark except for some yellowish
light coming from behind the upstairs shaded window of 677.
Behind those shades Grace was moaning herself through
multiple orgasms under her husband’s increasingly clumsy
ministrations and manipulations.

Kurt didn’t know what had taken over him. He felt
great. Out of control, but great. And then Grace crested her
biggest wave and one knee kicked out in one of the many
reflex actions her coming was prone to and landed square in
the center of her hubby’s swollen tight-as-a-drum
fluid-filled paunch. OOOOoofff. [pop] The stopper blew out
of Kurt’s greasy red hole, which opened up like a fireman’s
hose and sent quarts of brownish fleck-laden water flying
across the bedroom spraying all over the mirrors and
glasstopped vanity. What was happening? Kurt didn’t really
know. He looked between his legs and caught the reflection
of his hydrant butt at full power. Oddly, he felt removed
from it all…no big deal… time stood still…he was just
floating in a blissful out of body experience… In what may
have only been seconds later he found himself sitting on the
Port-a-Potty squirting out a few remaining ounces, while
Grace, ever the vigilant homemaker, good-naturedly surveyed
the damage.

Larry Henderson knew he had only two choices, both
fairly humiliating: ask these folks to call AAA or find a bus
stop and hope that public transportation was were still
running at this hour. He might have opted for the later
option, however the risk of frostbitten buns made him decide
to head for the front stoop of 677. I sure hope these folks
are home, he thought to himself as he prepared to ring the