Stories written by Ragtime

THE HOME FRONT - CHAPTER 6 ONWARDS

Written by Ragtime

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!! IMPORTANT !!

In agreement with Mr Double, I am trying an experiment with the rest of this story.

Please take a few minutes to read this if you intend following the story.

(If all you want to do is to scroll down to the action bits and spray your screen, who am I to stop you?!!)

What follows below is an introduction to the experiment and my reasons for it.

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I wrote this story some years ago, long before I had even thought about the Net as a subscriber even, let alone as a source of material and as a publishing medium. When I wrote it, I did so partly as a writing exercise and partly out of frustration from reading many (far, far too many!) porn novels of whole-family incest that, to my mind, squandered their opportunities in plot development. With a word processor, I could write what I wanted!! That decision was the easiest. Writing, as any writer will confirm, is something else.

I started on this story as something completely different, set in 1959 but found that to explain some of the situations required more and more background that it would be better starting one generation back. That put the story into WW2 and with that I realised there was a golden opportunity to get away with almost any situation - people were constantly on the move and there was the distraction of the war itself being brought to the civilian population with bomber raids. Unlike any previous method, the word processor allows you to explore avenues. With previous methods, you kept to your skeleton plot because if you strayed and it didn't work out, there would be a lot of re-typing. With the WP, if it doesn't work out, simply block, cut and paste and save that bit for another time but resume your story where you left off. So it was with The Home Front; like a time traveller, while I was there, was there something else I could use in the story? As a result, the plot started to branch out and out AND OUT - if I wanted action, I could write some action, after all, I doing this for ME, it wasn't going to get published.

A few years later, I discovered the Net and starting collecting stories of my particular interest theme. Then I remembered THF. I found the disk, and a PC with a 5.25" floppy drive as well as a 3.5" drive (I said it was a few years ago, didn't I?), and transferred it to my new PC. On reading it, though pleased with it myself, I came to the conclusion that it was too British and too remote in time setting for the average Net reader to relate to - I wanted to be as accurate as I could in the story and that meant using a lot of terms that even younger Brits today could have trouble with, let alone readers from other parts of the world. I decided to shelve it once again. However, I was persuaded by another of Mr D's writers to publish it.

It had been my intention to publish the whole thing in one posting but I decided to halve it and wait to see what sort of reaction the first half got before publishing the rest - if it encountered the problems of time and place that I had anticipated, I could always amend the published version of the second half accordingly. I'm surprised and pleased to find that my fears on that score were unfounded but have found myself on the horns of a different dilemma.

Because of the unusual setting and, (with some vanity) I would like to think, the effort I have made to maintain a bit of accuracy in the story, some readers feel that I would be squandering my opportunity if I let the story drop into an incestuous carousel and that I should try to maintain some credulity in the tale. Others enjoy the setting but it's the action that they want to get to, and as much as possible!

A major problem for a writer in this genre is that although we would wish it otherwise, genuine non-pedo whole-family incest is comparatively rare and therefore credulity is already at risk from the very beginning; introduce a second whole-family and credulity goes out of the window. The compromise is to try to make the incredulity as acceptable as possible. I think that's where the setting of THF helps. What are the odds of dealing 4 aces off the top of a shuffled pack of cards? Long, but statistically possible. Now, what are the odds of dealing 4 aces off the top of a shuffled pack of cards WITH THE LIGHTS TURNED OUT? Well, with the lights turned out, you can shorten the odds in your favour - it's statistically possible, who's to know you cheated? In other words, while, in our day and age, it may be stretching credulity to have more than one whole-family situation meet with another and another, in the circumstances of the chaos and movement of war, it's statistically possible, who's to know whether they could?

We have reached the stage in THF where the North twins have been introduced to their family heritage and to the family ways of the Parks. A new set of evacuees are due at the farm and Jack Parks has taken to the widow Sarah North. Chapter 6 leads off with Sarah's brother (and father of her twins), returning to London alone after a week end spent at the farm with the task of meeting the new evacuees and assessing whether they would be threat to things at the farm.

I have certain set plot elements (which I won't reveal!) that lead to 1959 but the means of getting between these stepping stones is open to variation. What I now proposem by way of experiment, is to publish TWO versions of each chapter from here to the end - a Version A and Version B. It must be said that although there are these stepping stones are common to both versions, the two version threads are NOT interchangeable. Generally, the A version will concentrate on the plot (but still contain action) whereas the B version will take the credulity factor nearer its limits and will be more action oriented. If you intend to keep the story to follow through to the end, I would suggest you make a second copy of Chaps 1-5 and then add the Version A chapters to one copy and the Version B chapters to the other.

Again in vanity I would like to think both versions are worth a read. When I decided to publish this story, part of my motivation was my conscience - I had been taking material off the Net, here was my opportunity to put something back. I know, of course, that despite those in the Newsgroups flaming readers for not posting stuff themselves, not everyone CAN put a story together. Literacy, intelligence or whatever are NOT the answer - I'm a fairly competant amateur musician, I can transpose keys on sight for a number of different instruments, have a fairly encyclopaedic knowledge of classical AND popular music BUT, as much as I enjoy listening to it, I CAN'T PLAY JAZZ! Just because Web readers don't write themselves is not grounds for criticism. But... It would help those that do write to drop them an e-mail to let them know what you, the reader, think of their efforts. To use my musical analogy, I may not be able to play jazz myself but it doesn't take much effort on my part to put my hands together and applaud someone else's performance if I like it. If the two version experiment is a waste of time, tell me and I can concentrate on improving my Solitaire score.

TTFN (*)

Ragtime

* There was a wartime radio (wireless!) comedy(?) series - extremely popular for some reason - which included TTFN (Ta Ta for now) as a catchphrase. Listening to any of the recordings of the show, it's difficult to raise a grin, let alone a laugh. But then, mass entertainment was in its infancy, so I suppose some allowances have to be made. And in case anyone is wondering what a geriatric is doing posting stories on the Net, what you have had so far all takes place BEFORE I was born, too!!!

Skip Version A, goto Version B (Higher Action to Plot ratio)

VERSION A

The Home Front (continued) - VERSION A (Emphasis on Plot Development)

Chapter 6 Reconnaissance -1

Monday evening found Tom walking down a leafy suburban street, a piece of paper with a name and address on it in his hand. Suddenly he was feeling lonely, regretting that he had left Sarah at the farm when he returned alone to London on the Sunday evening. The birthday celebration had gone well, turning as it did into an Engagement Party for Sarah and Jack. Both events had been used to indulge in wild extravagancies of sexual combinations made even more exciting by the fact that the six of them were three sets of brother-sister pairs, Jack and Joyce, Tim and Sally and Sarah and himself. Yes, he had been the first to bugger his young daughter and she took to it like the proverbial duck to water. Tim and then Jack had been quick to follow his opening up of Sally's arsehole. All three females in turn had all three pricks in them simultaneously, something that neither his sister or their daughter had experienced before.

Before he left the farm late on Sunday afternoon, Joyce had given him the name and address of the other set of evacuee twins due at the farm. Everyone agreed that it would be just as well if Tom could meet them and assess whether it would be wise if they turned up at the farm. After all, if they didn't look as though the new twins could be brought into the incestuous activities, they could pose a threat to what was already going on there.

The flowering Horse Chestnut trees in the gardens joined with the roadside London Plane trees to form a canopy over the traffic-free road. The sound of birds singing in the trees made Tom conscious of this peace in the midst of war. The thought of war lead him to remember that he was certain that he knew the Bryan Barker he was going to see - he was pretty sure he was a colleague from the BBC at the Headquarters of the World Service at Bush House in London. Tom was a radio engineer and in that capacity he was exempt from National Service - conscription into the armed forces - but was doing his bit for the war effort with the news broadcasts to the occupied countries. He had a nodding acquaintance of a French-speaking translator in the Department by the name of Barker who had joined the Service from the West Indies - it must be the same person.

Tom eventually came to a wooden gate with the house number he was looking for etched into it. The gate opened onto a short curved drive which led up to an Edwardian brick-faced house, matching the style of its neighbours. Tom walked to the front door and looked for a knocker or bell push. In the centre of the door was a twist-action bell. Tom grasped the butterfly-wing twist lever and gave it a sharp turn. From within he just made out the sound of a faint bell. 'The bell on my bike sounds louder than that!' he thought and gave the lever a couple of violent twists, with no better resulting sound, and was about to wrench the device off its mounting when the door opened and Tom stood frozen.

"I um . I didn't think the..er. bell was working. Sorry."

The reason for him suddenly being tongue-tied wasn't the embarrassment of being caught in the act of his violent attack on the door bell. There before him stood a young lady - in her mid twenties, he judged - the most remarkable sight he had ever seen. She had black hair, albeit set in the utility style promoted by the government, and a perfectly shaped face with high cheek bones and a very slightly upturned nose. She wore no make up but clearly she didn't need any, just a faint trace of lipstick to enhance a pair of lips that parted in a welcoming smile.

"Can I help you?" she asked sweetly.

Tom continued to stare at her, words still nowhere near forming in his mind.

"Can I help you?" she asked again, but this time her forehead creased in a frown.

This disfigurement to her perfection, in Tom's eyes, caused him to snap out of his trance.

"Oh. yes . sorry. I'm looking for Bryan Barker. Does he live here?"

His thoughts raced 'Oh please say yes'

"Yes. Who shall I say is asking?" she asked, smiling again.

"I'm Tom Spicer. If it's not convenient for your husband to see me, I can call back"

She laughed. "Bryan's my brother. I'm not ."

"Who's that, Betty?" suddenly came a deep voice from behind the woman. "Oh. Hallo Spicer, old man. What's up? Are we wanted down at Bush House? Has the balloon gone up?"

"No it's a social call, if it's convenient." Tom was tempted to follow the other man's habit residual from schooldays and call him 'Barker'.

"Of course, old man, come on in. You can give me a hand fixing the black-out curtains."

The vision he now knew as Bryan's sister, Betty, stepped back to let him through the door as Barker himself started to make his way down the hall to the parlour. Barker suddenly stopped and turned, almost as if he was checking that he was being followed by his sister and their guest. Betty had closed the door and Tom was just about to extend his hand inviting her to precede him.

"Dashed sorry, old man" said Bryan, a little embarrassed. "Frightful bad manners and all that - I forgot to introduce you to my sister. Spicer, this is Betty; Betty this is Spicer."

Betty held out her hand for Tom to shake "Tom, I believe you said. I think I prefer that. Please excuse my oafish brother, it's only me and the twins he calls by our first names."

"Ah yes - the twins. That's what I've come to see you about."

"The twins, old man?"

"Yes. I understand they're going to be evacuated shortly."

"How did you know that?" asked Betty, slightly anxiously.

"My sister's children have already been evacuated and their hosts invited my sister and I to visit the farm where they are staying. Whilst we were there, I learnt that your twins are due to stay at the same place. Before I left yesterday afternoon, Joyce, the hostess, gave me your address so that I could see you and let you know that your children will be going to a good home where they will be properly cared for."

Joyce had agreed that Tom should be open about the farm destination but if he subsequently had any doubts about the twins suitability, she would get in touch with her cousin Mary to have them re-routed elsewhere.

"Well, let's get this black-out fixed and then we can have a chat."

Tom went off with Bryan to close all the black out curtains in the ground floor rooms as Betty disappeared up the stairs to those on the upper floor. Tom used to wonder about the need for this nightly ritual until he saw a film comparing shots taken from an aircraft flying over London at night before the war with shots taken after the blackout. From the altitude of a Nazi bomber, the blaze of lights would have been a live road map of the capital.

The two men finished up in the parlour where Bryan, remembering his manners this time, introduced him to the twins, Stephen and Tessa. Stephen was a younger version of his father, tall for his age (Joyce had already told Tom that the twins were fifteen) and with the same dark hair. Tessa looked liked Betty's younger sister, the same hair, the same facial characteristics, including the retrousse nose. Tom looked back to Stephen - he had the same nose, too.

"Mr Spicer has visited the farm at which you will be staying." Bryan told the twins, by way of introduction. "His sister's children are already there."

"How old are they, Mr Spicer?" asked Stephen.

"Tim and Sally are twins, like you, and they are fourteen."

"Is Tim good looking?" asked Tessa

"Tessa!" said her father, sharply.

"Daddy, I am fifteen. I should be meeting boys."

.oOo......(Version A cont)......Start reading Version B (Higher Action to Plot ratio)

.......Download the entire The Home Front, ch6, Versions A & B ....written by Ragtime.

THE HOME FRONT - CHAPTER 6 ONWARDS

Written by Ragtime

The Home Front (continued) - VERSION B (Higher Action to Plot ratio)

Chapter 6 Reconnaissance -1

Monday evening found Tom walking down a leafy suburban street, a piece of paper with a name and address on it in his hand. Suddenly he was feeling lonely, regretting that he had left Sarah at the farm when he returned alone to London on the Sunday evening. The birthday celebration had gone well, turning as it did into an Engagement Party for Sarah and Jack. Both events had been used to indulge in wild extravagances of sexual combinations made even more exciting by the fact that the six of them were three sets of brother-sister pairs, Jack and Joyce, Tim and Sally and Sarah and himself. Yes, he had been the first to bugger his young daughter and she took to it like the proverbial duck to water. Tim and then Jack had been quick to follow his opening up of Sally's arsehole. All three females in turn had all three pricks in them simultaneously, something that neither his sister or their daughter had experienced before.

The flowering Horse Chestnut trees in the gardens joined with the roadside London Plane trees to form a canopy over the traffic-free road. The sound of birds singing in the trees made Tom conscious of this peace in the midst of war. The thought of war lead him to remember that he was certain that he knew the Bryan Barker he was going to see - he was pretty sure he was a colleague from the BBC at the Headquarters of the World Service at Bush House in London. Tom was a radio engineer and in that capacity he was exempt from National Service - conscription into the armed forces - but was doing his bit for the war effort with the news broadcasts to the war-torn occupied countries. He had a nodding acquaintance of a French-speaking translator in the Department by the name of Barker who had joined the Service from the West Indies - it must be the same person.

.oOo.

As Tom was making his way through those leafy suburban streets, it wasn't just the war-torn countries of mainland Europe that were occupied. Walk down any residential street anywhere in the world at any time. What goes on inside 99% of those houses is probably fairly conventional. It is that odd one in a hundred where the unexpected can be expected.

"Come on, Daddy, fuck your prick up my cunt harder than that. I really want it hard tonight, from both of you. Betty, don't take all my brother's spunk up that sopping wet cunt of yours, save some for me!"

"Only if you leave some in MY brother's balls for me, Tessa!"

"Tessa, if you don't quieten down, Stephen will have to stop what he's doing and put something in your mouth to silence you!"

"Sorry, Daddy!" laughed his daughter "Mind you, if you mean he'll have to stuff his prick in my mouth ...."

"Nothing doing, Tessa!" interrupted her brother "At this precise moment I think I prefer my cock in Betty's cunt, so it will probably be my big toe or one of my socks stuffed in your mouth!"

"You beast!" she hissed at her brother "Just you wait until tomorrow morning when you wake up with your periscope up, wanting to fire torpedoes. You'll get no help from me!"

"Will you two stop bickering and concentrate on fucking!" said their exasperated father.

Betty giggled at her brother's frustration. She knew that his daughter could easily operate on two planes at once, arguing with Stephen without affecting the ardour of her own fucking but she mentally agreed with her brother that it was distracting. Stephen, on the other hand, did not vary his fuck strokes at all as his youthful cock went like a piston into the kneeling woman's cunt. She had already experienced a series of orgasms during this particular coupling but she found herself agreeing with Tessa's suggestion that the two of them should each receive their own brother's spunk on this occasion. To a certain extent, the youngsters' bickering helped to prolong the activity, especially with the father.

Betty was about to revise her estimate of how long her brother could last out in his daughter's young cunt before he would start to shoot when there was a sudden noise.

"The gate!" Betty cried, quickly uncoupling from Stephen and scrambling for her dressing gown. She wrapped the dressing gown around her and shot out of the back parlour to the stairs and went up to the landing window and peered through the coloured glass.

.oOo.

Tom eventually came to a wooden gate with the house number he was looking for etched into it, No 100. The gate opened on to a short curved drive which led up to an Edwardian brick-faced house, matching the style of its neighbours. Tom walked to the front door and looked for a knocker or bell push. In the centre of the door was a twist-action bell. Tom grasped the butterfly-wing twist lever and gave it a sharp turn. From within he just made out the sound of a faint bell. 'The bell on my bike sounds louder than that!' he thought and gave the lever a couple of violent twists, with no better resulting sound.

Tom was about to give up and leave when the door partly opened. There before him stood a young lady - in her mid twenties, he judged - the most remarkable sight he had ever seen. She wore a midnight blue dressing gown that reached just below her knees and tied with a belt made of the same satiny material. She had black hair, albeit set in the utility style promoted by the government, and a perfectly shaped face with high cheek bones and a very slightly upturned nose. She wore no make up but clearly she didn't need any, just a faint trace of lipstick to enhance a pair of lips that parted in a welcoming smile. Her face and neck were quite flushed.

"Can I help you?" she asked sweetly.

Tom continued to stare at her, words still nowhere near forming in his mind.

"Oh� yes � sorry. I'm looking for Bryan Barker. Does he live here?"

"Yes. Who shall I say is asking?" she asked, smiling again.

"I'm Tom Spicer. If it's not convenient for your husband to see me, I can call back"

She laughed. "Bryan's my brother. I'm not �"

"Who's that, Betty?" suddenly came a deep voice from behind the woman. "Oh. Hello Spicer, old man. What's up? Are we wanted down at Bush House? Has the balloon gone up?"

Bryan Barker appeared behind the woman. He was also wearing a dressing gown, a quilted type in the style that was popular back in the Thirties. His face was also flushed.

"No it's a social call, if it's convenient." Tom was tempted to follow the other man's habit residual from schooldays and call him 'Barker'.

"Of course, old man, come on in. You can give me a hand fixing the black-out curtains."

He said this in a somewhat unnecessarily loud voice and Tom could hear some frenzied activity in the rear parlour.

"Dashed sorry, old man" said Bryan, a little embarrassed. "Frightful bad manners and all that - I forgot to introduce you to my sister. Spicer, this is Betty; Betty this is Spicer."

Betty held out her hand for Tom to shake "Tom, I believe you said. I think I prefer that. Please excuse my oafish brother, it's only me and the twins he calls by our first names."

"Ah yes - the twins. That's what I've come to see you about."

"The twins, old man?"

"Yes. I understand they're going to be evacuated shortly."

"How did you know that?" asked Betty, slightly anxiously.

Joyce had agreed that Tom should be open about the farm destination but if subsequently he had any doubts about the twins suitability, she would get in touch with her cousin Mary to have them re-routed elsewhere.

"Well, let's get this black-out fixed and then we can have a chat."

"Mr Spicer has visited the farm at which you will be staying." Bryan told the twins, by way of introduction. "His sister's children are already there."

The two men started to fix the black out curtain in the parlour.

"How old are they, Mr Spicer?" asked Stephen.

"Tim and Sally are twins, like you and they are fourteen."

"Is Tim good looking?" asked Tessa

"Tessa!" said her father, sharply.

"Daddy, I am fifteen. I should be meeting boys.".......(Version B cont)

.......Download the entire The Home Front, ch6, Versions A & B ....written by Ragtime.

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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