The Bored Housewives Club, Pt. 02

Part Two: Parenting Skills

I. The Secret Past of Margaret Willis

Orgasm is all. No other rules need concern us.

Sir William Carrington, On Society and Religion, Maxim 1

Maggie had been in a state of some agitation ever since Isobel's first visit a couple of months ago. It had stirred up so many memories, so much guilt and so much guilty pleasure, that it threatened to turn her life upside down. Not that her life was all peace and quiet. She might be in her sixties now, and a widow, but that didn't mean she couldn't find the time and energy to enjoy herself every now and then. But Isobel's visit had brought the Carringtons back to the forefront of her mind. It was true that her memories of them had never entirely gone away. She often thought about them and the adventures she had enjoyed with them, and the painful way in which they had gone their separate ways.

That was when she had moved to the Village, bringing Gregory, Elizabeth, and Ursula with her. They would not grow up to be like Carringtons or at least they would make their own choices along the road. The trouble was, the Gene was in them, and there was never any denying it. And even if she had tried to deny it, as they grew up it became abundantly clear. Still, she didn't regret it. Well, not most of the time. But images of Barbara Carrington kept flashing through her mind unbidden, and she neither could, nor wanted to, shut them out. Despite the blonde hair, Isobel looked uncannily like her grandmother; Just as arrogant, just as beautiful, just as sexy. She had been only seventeen years old when she first met Mrs Carrington. Midsummer's Day, 1975. What a dazzling sight the woman had been, twenty-six-years old and at the peak of her allure, clad in a clinging, red dress. Who wouldn't have had their head turned?

She was interrupted from her reverie by the sound of the doorbell. She knew who it would be before she answered it, as if she had summoned the woman by her memories. Isobel Carrington, clad (of course!) in a figure-hugging red dress, looking like a supermodel, the late March sun glinting from her golden hair.

"Shameless Greetings, sister," she said.

"I've been waiting for you to come," replied Maggie.

Isobel flashed her a smug smile, the exact same smile as her grandmother. "I know," she said, and stepped inside without being invited. Maggie led her into the orangery, where she had been taking tea from a China pot. She poured some for Isobel, who turned down both milk and honey. Isobel sat on a low couch, again without waiting to be invited, and smoothed her dress over her thighs as Maggie settled back in her chintz armchair, face turned towards the sunlight.

"You look so much like Barbara," Maggie told her, eyeing the woman's appetising curves without feeling any need to be discrete. The woman was a Carrington, after all.

"Of all my generation," Isobel told her, "the Gene is strongest in me. Despite the blonde hair. My grandmother always said I was a female Hyacinthus."

"I can see that. And from what I hear, you've not been idle since you got here."

"I've not. Let me see." She counted off on her slim, manicured fingers. "I've woken the inner lesbian in Matilda Ellis, and the inner submissive in Anna Stewart. I believe I've also had a measure of success with Victoria Peterson. And Olivia's hard at work, too."

"Is it your plan to corrupt the entire Village?"

"Corrupt?" asked Isobel, feigning shock. "I don't plan to corrupt anyone, sister."

"'Maggie', please."

"No, Maggie, my plan is to awaken, to encourage, to set free... This can hardly be news to you. Not to you, of all people. The Gene is in your children, is it not?"

"I daresay."

"And your grandchildren?"

"Inevitably. That's how genes work, isn't it?" she asked archly. "But I'd thank you to leave Owen and Clara out of your schemes!"

Isobel smirked. "We both know that's not going to happen."

"What exactly do you want from me?"

"What I want is for the legendary Sister Maggie to remember who she was."

"I know who I was. And I turned my back on that forty years ago. I'm too old, and too much time has passed, even to contemplate it."

Isobel shook her head. "My guess is that you never stopped being who you were meant to be, Sister Maggie. You can't fool me. I know what it is to have that beast inside you, that beautiful, sensuous, ever-ravenous beast. You might lull it to sleep, or even chain it up, but it never goes away, does it? And every now and then, it slips its leash and goes on the rampage. Am I far from the mark, sister?"

"Not so very far. You'd think old age would tame it, wouldn't you? It doesn't, though. I'm sixty-one years old, Isobel, and I sometimes think the beast's as wild as ever."

"Good for you!" smiled Isobel. "I'm glad to hear you're still... active."

"And the dreams are back. I suppose I can thank you for that?"

"And Sebastian?" asked Isobel, ignoring Maggie's question.

"Sebastian's dead. You know that."

"I mean, did he grow to hate you, knowing that the beast slept so lightly?"

"Sebastian loved me. He was, always, a bit afraid of me, though. And he knew enough not to try to rein me in, when the beast was on the rampage. He was the best man I ever knew. But he was never truly happy. And that was my fault."

"My mother said it was a tragedy that you ever met him."

"Well she would, wouldn't she? Eleanor Carrington embraced the beast, she loved the beast. I think maybe she even worshipped it."

"Oh, she does worship it, Sister Maggie. And so do I. And I would bet my considerable fortune that after Sebastian died, you embraced the beast as well."

"From time to time," she admitted. But it had been more often than that. After all, the children were grown up and had flown the nest. With Sebastian gone, what harm was there in being a little self-indulgent? She had spent three decades keeping it chained up (as best she could). Who knew how many years she had left, or for how much longer she would retain the slightest womanly appeal?

"You're a beautiful woman," commented Isobel, as if she had read her thoughts.

"And you're a bloody goddess, as I'm sure you're often told."

Isobel smiled, not quite so smugly now. "I'm pretty sure Tilda Ellis thinks so."

"That woman!" sneered Maggie. "I've never known her to worship anyone but herself."

"Maybe. But there's potential in her. I've seen it."

"And Anna? You can't tell me there's any kind of beast in that timid little mouse."

"You're wrong about that."

"Victoria?"

"Perhaps more limited, but there's clay I can work with. To tell the truth, she's just the tool I'm using to mould others, but she's worth the effort in herself. She's pretty and she's clever. I like her."

"I like her too," agreed Maggie. "I see a lot of myself in her."

"Yes. Yes, I can see that. But that brings us back to your daughter."

"I'm warning you to leave Beth and her children out of it."

Isobel's smile was dangerous this time. "You know I can't do that! And since you mention it, the odd little push from mommy would be most helpful."

"Out of the question!"

"Oh, surely not! The Gene passes down the generations, does it not? I'm not just thinking about Elizabeth..."

"Leave Ursula out of it, too. She doesn't even live in the Village anymore."

"So I hear. But Owen and Clara must be quite grown up by now..."

Maggie sighed, more from resignation than annoyance. "That's why you're really here, isn't it? There's only so much you can awaken in women in their late thirties and forties. Am I getting warmer?"

Isobel laughed. "You're as shrewd as you are beautiful. I'll bet you gave granny a thousand orgasms in your day."

"Hardly a thousand," murmured Maggie.

The younger woman caught Maggie's eye and that smug, self-satisfied smile of hers became something more seductive. "Perhaps," she said, "we can rekindle your glory days." So saying, she spread her legs, causing her tight-fitting dress to ride up her luscious thighs. Maggie swallowed hard against a suddenly dry mouth. Beneath the dress, Isobel Carrington was naked, and Maggie was being treated to a front-seat view of her beautiful, clean-shaven vulva.

"You think it's as easy as that?"

"Why make life hard? I'm offering you... well, me. There's no price. This really is a free lunch." She reached down between her legs and, with two elegant fingers, spread her labia apart, revealing the coral pink within.

"I doubt it," said Maggie. But her dry mouth was watering all of a sudden, and it was not the only place to moisten. "But then, I always was a sucker for young pussy. Especially Carrington pussy."

Laughing, Isobel stood up and straightened her red dress. She offered Maggie her hand and helped the older woman to her feet. "I think I'd like a tour of your beautiful house," she said. "And I thought we might start with the bedroom."

Naked, Isobel truly was a goddess. Maggie would have found it impossible to believe that such a creature would have any interest in a woman of her age, had she not been a Carrington. The tastes of the Carrington clan were truly catholic for, to them, fucking was the be-all and end-all of existence, and variety was far more important than any particular predilection. If that was not flattering, it didn't matter. In the depths of her soul, Maggie shared that Carrington philosophy. She had read the Codex, after all, and more than once, and not merely read it but absorbed it into her soul. Sebastian might have cut the bonds with which it bound her, but he had never quite managed to extract it altogether. And seeing Isobel Carrington lying naked, sprawled across her king-size bed, caused nigh-on forty years to melt away. While Isobel watched, Maggie disrobed. She was in excellent condition for a sixty-one-year-old woman, but all things are relative, after all. She was not the sex-goddess she had once imagined herself to be, and she was not so vain as to fool herself otherwise. But she was not ashamed to be naked, and the way Isobel ran hungry eyes over her aged body convinced her that there was more to her seduction than duplicity.

"I can already see why my grandmother speaks of you so... hungrily."

"Thank-you," smiled Maggie, drinking in the sight of this vision, this living ghost of her long-ago lover. "She was quite the appetiser herself."

"And me?"

"Oh come now, Ms Carrington, you're not a woman in need of flattery. A simple glimpse in the mirror, I'm sure, will throw you all the compliments you need." She climbed on to the bed and lay beside Isobel, running one hand along the length of her body, down the flanks and waist, tracing the swell of her hips and the silk-smoothness of her thighs, ending with her perfect feet and tempting toes, then back up again. She cupped the woman's breast, as firm as it promised to be, and thumbed her nipple. "How delightful," she concluded.

"You've looked and you've felt," grinned Isobel. "Perhaps it's time you tasted." So saying, she turned on to her back, stretched out her legs, and parted them. Not slow to take a hint, Maggie moved down between them and found herself contemplating the vulva of a goddess. She touched it with one, tender finger, as if it might break, then spread it apart, inhaled it, adored it with her eyes and then, and then, she worshipped it with her tongue.

Maggie soon had Isobel undulating beneath her, for one thing that did not diminish with age was skill, and she knew how to pleasure a woman with her tongue. Before long, Isobel was clutching the bedsheet in both hands, white-knuckled with the promise of release. But Maggie was only teasing her. Before orgasm washed over the woman, she stopped, provoking whimpers of protest.

"Oh no!" scolded Maggie. "It's much too soon for that. First, I want you to turn over on to your front and put a pillow under your hips.

The instruction was not questioned, but quickly complied with, allowing Maggie to feast her eyes on the world's most perfect buttocks, broad, creamy-white, firm, and exquisitely succulent. But it was what they concealed that she needed. Placing the flats of her hands on each cheek, she used her thumbs to widen the cleft between them. Licking her lips, she stared at Isobel's perfect, brown arsehole, inviting her to the feast. With a moan of need, she buried her face between her buttocks, and lapped at it, hungry for the tart, tangy taste of it. Beneath her, Isobel shuddered and sighed. Maggie stiffened her tongue, driving the point of it into the woman's rectum, teasing her with this shallowest of fucks, tasting her deeply, inhaling the divine scent of her while she buried one hand between her own thighs, and rubbed her streaming-wet pussy.

Only when she had had her fill of Isobel's arse, many minutes later, did she turn the woman round again. This time, though, she knelt astride her and lowered herself to Isobel's waiting mouth. "Lick me, bitch!" she told her. "I want to come in that beautiful face! I want to fucking desecrate it!"

Maggie cupped her own breasts as Isobel went to work. In this as in everything else but the colour of her hair, she resembled her grandmother. Barbara Carrington's tongue had woven dozens of orgasms in Maggie's cunt, and Isobel did perfect justice to the family tradition. She had Maggie dancing to the tune of her choosing, sucking, licking, probing, flicking, working her into a lather, bringing her to the edge, snatching it away from her, over and over again, while Maggie's legs trembled, and her breaths gasped, and her heartbeat hammered.

All the time Isobel worked on her, Maggie kept up a constant stream of commentary, telling the woman what a bitch she was, what a whore she was, what a goddess she was, imploring her, abusing her, begging her and scolding her. Until... until Isobel took pity on her and, with a rapid-fire attack on her clitoris, a hundred flicks of her tongue in far fewer seconds, she took her over the edge. Maggie was screaming at the top of her voice as she came and came and came in Isobel's face. "Fucking whore, slut, cunt, bastard. Yes! Yes, you fucking bitch, you fucking whore!"

She swung her leg over Isobel and slumped back against the pillows, gasping for air. Isobel propped herself on her elbow to look down at the old woman, her face ashine with Maggie's juices. There was that self-satisfied smirk again, though even as she looked at Maggie, her fingers were in her own slit, teasing herself with the promise of that long-delayed release.

"Well, aren't you a mess, Mrs Willis?" she mocked.

"You... fucking... bitch!" gasped Maggie. "You've... fucking... destroyed me!"

"I believe that's one mind-shattering orgasm you owe me, old woman."

Maggie's breathing grew more even, though her bosom was still heaving. "You've earned it, you slut!"

"I believe I have!"

Hours later, long after Isobel had left, Maggie was still lying naked on her bed, fingering herself and lingering over the memory of what had happened. It had been too many years since she'd had someone that young and that sexy. No, she had not been celibate, but she had only done enough to fend off the gnawing appetite of the beast inside her. It was fully awake now and ravenously hungry. She got up only to rummage through the old, oaken wardrobe in the corner of her bedroom, hunting through a pile of old photo albums until she found the one she wanted.

As she flicked through it, turning the pages from back to front, she fingered herself, stoking the still-burning embers of her lust. Each page she turned left her hungrier and hungrier until, tensing and whimpering, she brought herself to one last climax. She lay back on the pillows and quickly fell asleep. The photo album slipped from her hand and lay open on the bed beside her, open at a page displaying two full-length photographs of teenage girls, posing in bikinis on a beach. Nineteen-year-old Ursula and eighteen-year-old Beth.

II. Head of the Household

Rule with a rod of iron or submit like the meekest of kittens. No halfway houses in marriage!

Sir William Carrington, Advice to Wives, Maxim 5

i. Call Me Mistress

When it came to matters of the bedroom, Elizabeth Brookes was now firmly in charge. They both wanted it to be that way, so how could it have been otherwise? In front of the children, of course, she and Ashley behaved as normally as ever, though perhaps Elizabeth's tone was a tad more peremptory now, even when speaking to them. Once the bedroom door was closed, however, it was a different matter.

"Take it, you dirty slut!"

Elizabeth was kneeling behind her husband, with her strap-on cock lodged deep inside his bowels. As she thrust in and out of his arse, she was slapping his buttocks with the palm of her hand and calling him names.

"Tell me what a useless bitch you are, bitch!"

"I am! I'm a useless bitch! Please! Fuck me harder!"

"Are you telling me what to do, bitch?"

"No! I'm begging you, Beth."

"Call me 'mistress'"

"What?"

"If you want me to fuck you harder, call me mistress. Go on, say it, bitch."

She could almost sense his cock hardening, even though she wasn't touching it, as he subsided. "Yes, mistress. Sorry, mistress."

"Beg me! Come on, slut, I want to hear you fucking beg!"

"Please mistress! Please fuck me harder! Please, I need it!"

"Do you deserve it, though?"

"No, mistress! I don't deserve anything. But you're so beautiful, I can't bear it when you're not fucking me."

And she did fuck him harder, thrilling to the power-trip of being in control. It was a thrill she felt tingling through the nerve endings of her body, and if it began in her brain, it ended in her cunt. She reached under him, grabbed hold of his cock, and started pumping it in time with her own savage thrusts. She controlled him, she owned him, and he would come only when, and because, she wanted him to.

"Do you like that, slut? Do like me touching this pathetic dick?"

"Yes! Oh yes, mistress! It feels so good..."

She thrust harder. He was close to the edge now, and so was she. "Come on, you useless bitch!" she hissed at him. "Let's see how much cum you have in those tiny balls! I swear I'm going to bring home a real man and make you watch him fuck me, so you can learn how to do it, you useless cunt!"

"God, yes!" he sighed. "Oh, mistress, I..."

He never finished his sentence, because orgasm robbed him of his voice, and he ejaculated over the bedsheet (on his side of the bed, she congratulated herself). And feeling him come as she continued to stroke his cock, brought her to the edge. She withdrew from him, rolled on to her own side of the bed and rapidly fumbled to unfasten the strap-on. She drew out the dildo and plunged it into herself. He had ridden out his own orgasm and collapsed on the bed, enabling him to watch his wife fuck herself with furious stabbing motions. It did not take long but the explosion, when it came, was white-hot electricity. She thought she might pass out from the intensity of it, but once the explosions ended, she fell back against the pillows, grinning a stupid grin.

ii. Teenage Tastes

Clara Brookes enjoyed teasing her brother. "Admit it, Owen," she said, "older women turn you on." She knew she was right about this, because she would sometimes catch him staring at the teachers at school, or their friends' mothers.

"I don't really see how it's any of your business, Clarabelle." His reply was haughty, but she could tell she had disconcerted him.

"Don't call me that!" she hissed. "It makes me sound like a bloody cow!"

"You are a bloody cow," he laughed, provoking her to punch him on the arm. He did his best not to wince, bless him, but didn't quite manage it. Everyone thought her brother was a girl's blouse, though they'd better not say it in her hearing. The only person allowed to torment Owen Brookes was her.

"And you're a pervert! I know all about your obsessions. I see how you look at women mom's age. Mrs McNish, for example!"

"Well, what about you, you fucking lezza? You say I drool over older women, but you drool over girls!"

"I do like looking at girls," she shrugged, "but I like looking at boys too. It's different, is all."

Owen made a face. "You're such a liar!"

"Well, at least one of us likes girls our own age."

"Fuck off, Clarabelle! It's so unfair. People say I'm gay, which I'm not. But you totally are!"

"I am bloody not! Do you want me to beat you up, wuss-boy?"

"Like you could!"

"Oh, you know I could!"

And the truth was, she almost certainly could. But when it came right down to it, however much they squabbled and bickered, they loved each other in that way of siblings who are also best friends, at least at some level.

"Fuck off, lezza!"

"Fuck you, MILF-fucker!"

Soon, the insults gave way to giggles and giggles to outright laughter. It always ended that way.

A few days later, Clara was passing Owen's bedroom. The door was open, and she could see her brother lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, daydreaming.

"What's up with you, wuss-boy?" she asked, poking her head around the door.

Owen started. "Huh?"

"You're miles away. Is anything wrong?"

He shook his head. "I was just thinking about something."

"Want to talk about it?"

He considered this for a moment before a sudden resolve seemed to come over him. "Shut the door then," he told her. Clara frowned, puzzled, but did as he said, and came to sit on the bed. "I overheard something I shouldn't have last night," he told her. "Well, if I'm being completely honest, I overheard it because I was listening at the door, which I'm not proud of, but still."

"Which door? What did you hear?"

He lowered his voice. "Mom and dad's room. They were, you know... fucking."

"You listened to mom and dad having sex!" She looked at him in astonishment. "That's messed up!"

"I was passing by, and I heard them. I couldn't help myself." He gave her a sheepish grin. "I didn't exactly try. But it's not just that they were having sex. The thing is, from what I could gather, mom was fucking dad!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I assume it means she was, you know, pegging him."

Clara was quite surprised to discover that her brother even knew what pegging was, but the thought of her mom pegging her dad was, well, surprising to say the least.

"It wasn't just that, though. It was the things they were saying. He was calling her 'mistress' and she called him 'slut' and 'bitch'. She told him she was going to fuck other men and make him watch..."

Clara swallowed hard. "People say stuff when they're making love..."

"I know! I'm not saying she meant it, but I had no idea that mom and dad had such a kinky side. Don't you think that's wild?"

"Pretty wild!" she grinned, relaxing slightly. Hearing her brother talking about their parents in this way had thrown her, but nothing fazed Clara Brookes for long. "To be honest, I thought they were both too boring to fuck each other at all, let alone role play, or whatever it was. I take it you didn't actually see anything."

"No, the door was shut."

"Disappointed?"

"Of course I'm disappointed. I never saw anyone fuck before, let alone a woman pegging a man."

"You mean mommy pegging daddy," she teased. "And what did you do afterwards, perv? Did you come back here and have a wank?"

"Like I'd tell you!"

"You did!" she laughed. "You totally wanked off thinking about mom and dad, you dirty sod!"

"It was pretty hot, though," he admitted. "I got pretty turned on..."

"Ugh. Boys are disgusting."

"Oh right, like you never wank!"

Clara grinned. "Girls get turned on too, sometimes."

"God, I'd love to watch a girl playing with herself," breathed Owen. He sat up and crossed one leg over the other. The clumsy cover-up did nothing to fool Clara, though, who laughed at him.

"Oh my God, are you getting hard thinking about me wanking?"

"Fuck off! I'm just thinking about girls in general."

She considered this for a moment. "I'm kind of in the mood for a wank now," she said. "What do you say?"

"Are you serious?"

"Uncross your legs, baby brother. Let's see what you're hiding."

"No!"

"Oh, come on, let big sister see what the problem is?" Muttering, but obviously excited by the idea, Owen uncrossed his legs to reveal the bulge in his jeans. "My word, you are an excited little boy, aren't you? Is that from thinking about mommy or thinking about me?"

"Stop being so bloody smug!" he complained. "I bet you're just as turned on."

"Me? I'm a good girl, I never get turned on by members of my own family." She stood up and drove her hand down the front of her jeans, then brought it back up and examined her fingers. "You know what, Owen? I was wrong. Suddenly, I'm really wet!"

"Jesus!"

"If you show me yours, I'll show you mine!"

"Are you serious?"

Clara met her brother's eyes and nodded. Suddenly, there was tension in the room, and she could hear her own ragged breathing, feeling the thudding of her heart. Holding her eyes with his own, Owen unzipped his jeans. He paused, again seeking confirmation from her, again receiving a nod from his sister. Fumbling, he drew his cock out through the fly, and held it in his hand, pulling back the foreskin to reveal the engorged head.

"Oh, it's lovely," said Clara. She swallowed. "My goodness."

"Now you," he croaked.

She smiled. Good as her word, she unbuttoned her own jeans, unzipped them, and peeled them off altogether. She knew she had amazing legs, firm, smooth and muscled, and Owen's gaze lingered over them.

"You're not supposed to look at your sister like that," she told him, flattered. "Why don't you stroke it for me, while I take my knickers off." This was really happening. It shouldn't have been. It couldn't have been. But it was. Owen ran his hand lightly up and down his shaft with a sharp intake of breath. Clara bent over and pulled down her flimsy, cotton knickers. "Hope nobody comes in," she said with a nervous laugh.

"That would take some explaining," he agreed.

She straightened and Owen lay back on his pillows, lightly masturbating. On an impulse, Clara put one foot on the bed and used her fingers to spread herself, displaying her vulva to him. Biting her lip, Clara ran two fingers along her slit, up and down, slowly and gently with almost a feather touch. "Do you like it?" she asked.

"It's fucking beautiful!" he croaked. "You're beautiful, Clara. I always thought so."

"You never said!"

"It's not something boys tell their sisters."

"Does it... make you want to come?"

"Yes!" He was wanking harder now, and Clara changed from the light fingering of her pussy to a more focused, more deliberate attack on her clit.

"I really want to see you come, baby brother," she told him.

For a long minute they fell silent, brother and sister, as they masturbated in front of each other, bold eyes locked together. The room was filled with the sound of their increasingly laboured breathing, the heady scent of their arousal, the tension of listening for footsteps on the stairs.

"Tell me I'm sexy," she said.

"God, yes!" agreed Owen.

"As sexy as Mrs McNish?"

"Yes," he breathed.

A wry thought entered her lust-clouded mind. At any other time she would have dismissed it, buried it away for later consideration perhaps, but right now, caught in a kind of reciprocal madness with her brother, she felt impetuous enough to voice it.

"As sexy as mom?"

"Fuck! Yes! As sexy as mom!"

Clara could feel the distant approach of orgasm. She knew it wouldn't take much more, and guessed that he sensed it too, though she had no idea how close he was.

"If I ever decided to let you," she continued, "would you want to fuck me?"

"You're my sister!" The protest was lame and, under the circumstances, slightly ridiculous. Owen paused for a moment to strip off his T-shirt. She liked that, enjoying the sight of his naked torso.

"Would you, though?"

He nodded, unable to speak.

"But it's mom you really want to fuck, isn't it?"

"No! God, Clara!"

"It is though, isn't it? I've seen the way you look at her, you pervy little shit!"

"I don't"

"Admit it, perv! Just fucking admit it!"

That did it. "OK!" he hissed. "I want to fuck mom!" And as the words left his mouth, he came, spurting so hard the semen splashed on his neck and chin, splattered the pillow he was resting on. And it kept coming, wave after wave. While he was still coming, Clara lay on the bed at right angles to him, spread her legs, and attacked her pussy with feverish abandon. Within seconds, she was coming too, trembling and moaning, her legs shaking as it overpowered her.

For a couple of minutes they lay there, the two siblings, trying to get their breath back, not speaking a word. Owen grabbed some tissues to clean himself up and Clara finally sat up, watching him. "You're a fucked-up sod," she said, admiringly. "But that was bloody hot!" She climbed back into her jeans (not her knickers though, which she balled up and stuffed in her pocket). "I'm glad you, er, came clean though," she grinned. And with that, she slipped out of his room, pinching herself to be reassured it had really happened.

iii. Weird Vibes

Elizabeth was aware that her son and daughter were shooting both her and their father some pretty strange looks. She was starting to convince herself that they knew what she and Ash had been up to the other night. Impossible, of course, but the paranoid thought would never quite leave her. And there was something else. There was a certain atmosphere between the two of them, whispers, secret glances, unexplained smiles and laughs. She couldn't put her finger on it but, somehow, it was not how she expected a brother and sister to behave towards each other.

She was lying in bed with Ashley. She felt closer to him than she'd felt for a long time, as if they had finally, after twenty years of marriage, figured out their proper roles.

"Are you getting a weird vibe from the kids lately?" she asked him.

"Vibe? No, I don't think so."

"Really? No strange looks from them?"

He shook his head. "Maybe you're just being paranoid."

"Oh really, is that what you think? It's almost like they know what we did last week."

"It doesn't seem likely. You're probably just worried about them finding out, so you're projecting."

"And you don't think they're being weird with each other. Honestly, there've been moments when they seemed more like a couple than a brother and sister."

"Now I know you're imagining things. They're forever bickering."

"Are you presuming to tell me I'm wrong?"

"I think you are wrong."

She turned to face him, fixed steely eyes on him. "No. I said, 'are you presuming to tell your mistress that she's wrong?'"

The slow dawning on his face was almost comical. But he scrambled to get into his role, casting his eyes downwards and affecting meekness. "Oh! I'm... I'm sorry, mistress, I wasn't thinking."

"I don't need you to think. I need you to obey me."

"Yes, mistress! Sorry, mistress."

"It seems to me, that someone needs to be put in their place. Do you agree?"

"Of course, mistress!"

"So, how do you think I should do that? How do you think a mistress like me should put her slut in his place?"

"You... you should punish me?"

"Are you telling me what to do?"

"No!"

"And now you're contradicting me! I believe a spanking might be in order. Do you believe that, slut?"

"Yes, mistress! I do need to be spanked!"

She shook her head. "You're going to have to do better than that. Get out of my bed, for a start off. How dare you lie in bed next to me, as if you're my fucking equal!"

Ashley scrabbled to get out of bed. She swung her legs out on her own side, and sat on the edge, careful to let her short nightie ride still higher on her legs, to reveal most of her shapely thighs. He came around the bed until he stood before her, hands behind his back and chin on his chest like a naughty boy about to be chastised. Which is exactly what he was.

"I don't know why you're still standing," she sneered. "Or why you think it's even appropriate." Instantly, her husband fell to his knees. He was wearing pyjamas, which made him look ridiculous, but seeing him grovelling at her feet was most satisfying. She crossed one leg over the other, deliberately teasing him with a glimpse of thigh and a hint of pussy. "Now, you were telling me you wanted me to spank you. Is that right?"

"Yes, mistress! Please spank me, mistress, I deserve it!"

"Why?"

"Because... because I was disrespectful to you, mistress, and disrespectful sluts must be punished."

"Must? You're telling me what I must and must not do?" She was enjoying this immensely. It was starting to send tingles through her whole body.

Ashley gulped. "No, mistress! I'm sorry, mistress."

"Hm." She tapped one finger on her lip, as if considering her options. "Listen carefully. I want you to stand up, drop your pyjama bottoms around your ankles, then lie over my lap, arse in the air? Can you do that? Or is that too complicated an instruction for a stupid bitch like you?"

"No, mistress!" He climbed to his feet, dropped his pyjamas to reveal a semi-hard cock, then draped himself (with her help) over her lap, just as she had told him. She stroked his uplifted arse, smiling at the feel of his hardening cock pressing against her thighs.

"Good boy. Now, how many spanks do you think you deserve?"

"As many as you think fitting, mistress!"

"I said 'how many', bitch! Give me a number."

"Er... twelve, mistress?"

"Twenty-four, did you say? Yes, I think that sounds appropriate." Without waiting another second, she lifted her hand and brought it down hard against his buttocks with a resounding slap. For a moment she was worried the kids might have heard, but then again it was tough if they had. What were they going to do about it? She felt him wince, but he didn't cry out or speak. "I don't believe I heard a thank-you."

"Oh, thank-you, mistress!"

"You're welcome, slut. Now beg me for a second slap."

"Yes! Oh, please, spank me again, mistress."

"Very well." She brought her hand down again in the same spot, enjoying the feel of hard flesh on soft, and of seeing her handprint in red left on his arse. He thanked her, begged for more, and she did it again. In truth, she lost count of how many times she did it, but his arse was getting hotter and redder, and he was squirming about like a thing possessed as she spanked and spanked. He was also getting harder and harder, to judge by the pressure against her thigh. She wondered if she could make him come, just from spanking him. But her arm was getting tired, and her hand was starting to sting.

"Twenty-four!" she blagged. "Now stand up!" Ashley did as she told him. He stood facing her, pyjamas round his ankles, cock saluting her. "Hands on your head." Again, he obeyed, and now she took his cock in her fingers and ran them up and down its hard length. "I suppose you want to come, now?"

"I should like that very much, mistress."

"I'll bet you would." She quickened her strokes and, with her free hand, cupped his balls. She had always enjoyed the feel of Ashley's balls in her hand, she both enjoyed the weight and feel of them, and the sense of power over him it gave her, balancing him on the point between intense pleasure and intense pain, and only her to decide which way to take it. She continued to choose pleasure, for now, but had an evil notion of how to limit it, to show him who was in control.

As his breathing grew more ragged, as his cock swelled and surged in her hand, as he stood on the precipice of orgasm, she let go. And he came with an outraged groan, hands still on his head and frustrated cum oozing out of his cock. This was something she had never done before, but she had a feeling she would be doing it again.

"Well, slut, are you going to thank me for your ruined orgasm?"

"Thank-you, mistress," he groaned. "It's more than I deserve."

"Yes, it is," she agreed. "But if you really want to earn a proper orgasm, not now, but sometime in the near future..."

"I do, mistress! I'll do anything!"

"Good boy. What I intend to do is this: I intend to seduce our next-door-neighbour."

"Simon?" he frowned.

"Simon, yes. And after I do, I'll come back here and let you have a nice, proper orgasm. How does that sound?"

"It sounds wonderful, mistress."

"Excellent. For being such a good boy, I'll allow you to sleep in the bed with me tonight. No touching though. I intend to have a nice, relaxing wank, but I don't want you touching me or even looking at me while I do it. Understood?"

"Yes, mistress."

"Good boy."

III. The Importance of Being Scared

Do not do as people tell you, but learn to despise modesty, chastity, and coyness, for those are the true deadly vices

Sir William Carrington, Advice to Girls, Maxim 8

i. What Matilda Heard

Matilda's whole family was seated around the dinner table. She insisted they do this at least two or three times a week, as a way of keeping them bonded. Well, 'bonding' was one word for it, she supposed. Dinners around the table were always noisy, as everyone fought everyone else to hold the conversation they wanted to hold.

"We'll both be out on Friday evening," said Matilda loudly, trying to capture their attention. "You don't mind looking after Aaron and Chloe, do you?"

"Who, me?" frowned Harriet. Her tomboy daughter had the same blonde hair and blue eyes as her mother, but her hair was cut short and spiky, and she certainly did not share her mother's elegant dress sense.

"Both of you."

"What if we have plans?"

"Well, do you?"

"Not yet," sulked Harriet, "but it would be nice to be consulted."

"I am consulting you," she frowned. "Would a tenner a piece help sweeten the pill?"

"Make it twenty, and you're on," grinned Ryan.

"Cheeky little git."

"Not my fault," he shrugged. "I'm as much a victim of this competitive, capitalist society we've built as anyone else."

Her two oldest children had always been close, despite the difference in age and gender, but for the past few weeks, Matilda had started to wonder whether they hadn't taken that closeness a bit further than siblings ought to take it. Maybe it was her own reawakened sexuality that was causing her imagination to go into overdrive, or perhaps their mother's sexual extravagance had somehow rubbed off on them. It's not like they could have known about what went on at the Bored Housewives Club, or what she got up to with Isobel Carrington, but maybe she... exuded an air of sexual excess.

She didn't know how far it had gone. She had no actual proof that they were doing anything illicit. But the way they looked at each other sometimes. That was not a look between siblings, it was a look between lovers! Should she be worried? What kind of woman would even ask such a question? What mother would not be worried if she thought her two eldest children were fucking each other. Still, it was impossible to deny that, in amongst the worry, the guilt, the concern, the paranoia, was more than a smouldering ember of excitement. From time to time she caught herself trying to picture what it would look like, to see her twenty-year-old son plunging his cock into her eighteen-year-old daughter's tight pussy. Fuck! What's wrong with me? she wondered. She had always been a horny bitch, since she was younger than Harriet was now, but this was crossing a line, even for her.

She had had several liaisons with Isobel by now, each more glorious than the last. It had awakened or, more truthfully reawakened, something deep in her soul, a depravity that was native to her, but which had long lain dormant. She had always had a thing for girls. In those rare moments when she was completely honest with herself, she would even admit that she preferred girls, but even when you were a 'rich, pampered cow' (as Beth had once, accurately, described her), life was easier if you did the conventional things. Matilda was born in 1982, but even though she grew up in a more enlightened era than her parents and grandparents, marrying a man was still the more conventional thing to do.

She had never felt any real passion for her husband, and even less so as they grew older, and the kids came along, and everything became duller and more boring. In the first eighteen months of their marriage she had often cheated on Tobias, with men and women alike, but that stopped when she fell pregnant with Ryan and, with a handful of exceptions, never really started again. So Isobel Carrington had been like a bolt of lightning from a clear blue sky. Perhaps turning forty had set alarm bells ringing, that it was now or never, or maybe Isobel's allure was simply impossible to resist. Either way, she could not get enough of the woman, even though she knew Isobel's passion ran far beyond a sapphic affair with a new neighbour. She tried not to resent that, and didn't entirely fail. In the meantime, Tobias hadn't even noticed that anything was amiss.

She watched Ryan and Harriet across the dinner table, obsessing over every look they shared, every nuance of body language, but it was impossible to be sure. You could bet your last pair of knickers that Tobias hadn't noticed anything wrong between the siblings. He loved his children, she supposed, he just wasn't terribly interested in them. Oh, he provided for them, and remembered their birthdays, and was always kind and considerate to them, but they were really little more than the furnishings of his life. He probably felt the same about her.

She got back late that Friday evening, late enough that everyone else was already in bed. She had been with Isobel, though that was not what she had told them, and had come back feeling on the one hand satiated, and on the other still tingling with the thrill of sex. She tiptoed upstairs, undressing as she went. On the landing, though, she noticed something slightly odd. Harriet's bedroom door was ajar, but no lights were on. She peeped into the room. The duvet on Harriet's bed was thrown back, but nobody was in it. Had she sneaked out somewhere? Or stayed out late? That was when a sudden suspicion struck her. Maybe she was in Ryan's room.

Still half-dressed, she crept down the landing. Ryan's bedroom door was firmly closed, so she put her ear to the door. She thought she heard a gasp or a sigh. Maybe he was watching porn or maybe, maybe, his sister really was in there with him. But what should she do? Burst into her son's room full of accusations? Knock on the door and ask politely if he was awake, thus giving them a chance to act innocent? Walk away and leave them their privacy? She could have done any of those things, but she did none of them. What she did was to keep her ear pressed to the door. This was quite appalling parenting but then, when had Matilda ever claimed to be a five-star parent?

After a few moments she heard sounds which, though muffled, were unmistakeable, the soft whimpers of a girl in the throes of sexual excitement. For reasons she did not immediately understand, the thought of it sent a thrill through Matilda's body. What. The fuck. Is wrong with me? Guilt surged in the wake of her excitement but not enough guilt, she noted with interest, to make her stop listening.

"It feels so good," she heard Harriet say. "God, you've got so good at that!"

Bingo! Someone was licking her daughter's pussy. And by 'someone' it was hard to conclude it could be anyone but her brother. One of Matilda's hands dropped between her thighs, moving of its own volition. She didn't immediately notice that she was doing it, and when she did notice, she didn't immediately remove her hand. This was getting her tingly, and that was not how a mother was supposed to react when hearing her son going down on her teenage daughter. But how was a mother supposed to react? Did they mention it in any of those parenting manuals she had never read?

"Oh Ry, I'm going to come..."

Matilda stepped back from the door with a gasp, then clapped a hand over her mouth, hoping they hadn't heard her. But of course they hadn't heard her, they were far too busy. This was the point at which a responsible parent would burst into the room, fiery as an Old Testament prophet, and demand to know what the hell was going on. This, Matilda entirely failed to do. Instead, as quickly and quietly as she could go, she hurried down the stairs. She paused for a couple of minutes in the hallway, still not entirely sure what to do. In the end, she decided discretion was the better part of valour. She softly opened the front door, then closed it again, not loudly, but loudly enough to be heard.

ii. On the Way to the Ashmolean

Matilda sat in the passenger seat, admiring Isobel's long legs as her friend drove. They were going to see an exhibition together at the Ashmolean in Oxford, which interested Isobel greatly and Matilda not at all. But it was an excuse to spend a full day with Isobel, so she was quite happy to endure some boring old artefacts, or whatever it was. Isobel was wearing stockings and a thigh-length skirt, and they had not gone many miles before Matilda succumbed to the urge to put her hand on Isobel's thigh and run it up and down the soft, silk-encased flesh.

"God, you're so fucking sexy!" she snarled.

"I can't believe you're molesting me while I'm driving!" protested Isobel.

"I can't help it, you're completely irresistible. I'm not made of stone. When I look at your thighs, I fall entirely under the control of my pussy!"

"Are you saying I get you wet?"

"Wet? I'm fucking dripping! And long before today is over, Miss Carrington, I'm going to fuck you within an inch of your life."

"So presumptuous! Do you expect me simply to spread my legs whenever you say so."

"You'd better spread your legs for me, you bitch!"

Isobel laughed. "One look at you, darling, and they spread entirely of their own will. But you'll probably have to wait until we get back. The Ashmolean frowns on people fucking in front of the exhibits."

Matilda pulled a face. "I know! I'm just so horny these days. We can't all have sex with different people every day."

"A scandalous and slanderous exaggeration!" She lowered her voice, obviously for dramatic effect rather than fear of being overheard. "This week, for example, I've had sex exactly twice with exactly two different people."

"Neither of them me!" complained Matilda, pretending to laugh it off but secretly jealous. "Are you allowed to tell me who you fucked?"

"An old woman and a married man."

"Are you serious?"

"I am! I'd better protect the woman's anonymity for now, but I can exclusively reveal to you that the married man was Will Stewart."

"You actually fucked him! Does Annie know?"

"It was Annie who sent him to me!"

"Fuck! I have some fucked-up friends!" breathed Matilda.

"Anna's glorious. I'm in secret awe of her."

"I love Annie as much as anyone," pouted Matilda. "But I thought she wanted more sex for herself, not for her husband and friends."

"From what she tells me, and not to boast, this will much improve her married love life. Speaking of which, how's your married love life?"

"Is that supposed to be a joke? My husband could bore for England!" She paused, wondering how much she should say, but then took a deep breath and blurted out, "It seems like I can't say the same about my children, however."

"Your children? I'm not sure you should be bringing your children into a conversation this racy, especially given where your hand is, right now." Matilda's hand was, indeed, high up Isobel's thigh by this time, squeezing and stroking.

"Just the elder two. The other day, I... I overheard them in Harry's room together. I don't know for certain, but I'm pretty sure Ryan was going down on his sister!"

"Really? How scandalous! What did you do?"

"What any self-respecting, emotionally repressed Englishwoman would do - I pretended I hadn't heard anything," she admitted, feeling rather ashamed. "But I can't get it off my mind, Izzy. I keep picturing them together..."

"I'm not sure whether you're telling me you're worried or excited."

"I'm not sure either, that's the problem! I'm becoming more than a little obsessed, to be honest. I want to know, I need to know what they're getting up to."

"And what will you do when you find out?"

Matilda sighed. "I honestly don't know. I've tried to convince myself that my need to know is out of concern for their welfare. But is it, though? Am I trying to fool myself?"

"Are you?"

"They're very attractive young people," she said, which was true, but not exactly an answer.

"So you're saying you find your own son and daughter sexy?"

"I didn't say that."

"You kind of did. Anyway, it's fine. They are pretty sexy, as it happens. Of course, I don't have children of my own, but Olivia's like a daughter to me, and I fancy the pants off her."

"Really?" Despite everything she'd just admitted, it shocked her to hear Isobel say something similar. "Are you serious?"

"Well you fancy her, you make that much bloody obvious."

"She is pretty hot," admitted Matilda sheepishly. "I hope you don't mind me saying so. She, er... she is over eighteen, isn't she?"

"Nineteen, as it happens. But Jesus, Tilda, if you don't fancy a sexy young girl, you might as well be dead inside!"

"Even if she's your niece?"

"Even if she's your daughter!"

Matilda looked at her for a moment. "You scare me sometimes, do you know that?"

"Good," replied Isobel unexpectedly. "When it comes to sex, you should be scared. Doing safe, comfy things isn't sex, it's just... well, it's just lovemaking." She made a face as if the word were distasteful to her. "When I have sex, I want it to be fucking. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"All too well," conceded Matilda. "Though in my marriage, even lovemaking would be reaching."

"You need to start getting some serious action, girl."

"I thought I was. With you."

"And indeed you are. But it's not enough. You don't fool me, Tilda Ellis. You can't fool me, because you're like me. And women like us need spice, need variety. We don't just need lots and lots of sex, we need to live for sex. Fucking isn't a pastime for the likes of me and you, Tilda, it's the meaning of life!"

IV. Secrets and Surprises

What is a family but the product of generations of fucking? Let that fucking continue!

Sir William Carrington, On Family, Maxim 1

i. Twin Suspicions

Belinda McNish was growing suspicious. Her parents were up to something, she just knew they were, but she couldn't prove it. Nor did she know exactly what it was.

"It's something to do with sex," she told Natasha. It was an odd conversation to be having with your twin sister, but the two of them had always been allies since they used to share a room together, growing up. "They're up to something."

"Like what?" asked Natasha. "Kinky stuff, you mean?"

"I don't know. They're acting all weird lately."

"At least they're getting some. Wish I was."

"Nats!"

"What? I'm virtually a virgin. I haven't had sex in weeks!"

Belinda shook her head. Her twin sister had always been the outrageous one, leaving her with the much duller role of 'sensible one'. "You do realise I sense your more intense feelings, don't you? You don't have to tell me when you last had sex, Natarata, because, however much I don't want to, I feel it when you come."

"I know," said Natasha. "I feel it when you come, too, or as best I can remember."

"Brat! Being a twin is bloody inconvenient when a girl wants some privacy. It creeps me out. Knowing that you're sensing what I feel is enough to put me off sex for life!"

"Doesn't bother me," shrugged Natasha. This came as no surprise. Nothing bothered Natasha, and this didn't seem fair because everything bothered Belinda. "Just be glad you don't sense mom or dad's orgasms. How gross would that be?" She said it with a lightness of tone that suggested she didn't really find it gross at all. "Just be glad we don't know what terrible, perverted things they're doing."

"I never said I thought they were doing terrible things, just that they're up to something they don't want us to know about. And they both seem... different. Don't you think so?"

"All old people are weird, if you ask me."

"Oh, you're impossible. I don't know why, but I get the sense that Dani's folks are wrapped up in it, too. She says her parents have been acting a bit weird recently, too."

"Well why don't you ask Darling Dani about it, then? You know, pillow talk with your gay lover."

Belinda threw up her hands in exasperation. "You're my twin sister, Natasha. How come you're like ten years less mature than I am?"

"Dunno. I'm just lucky, I suppose."

Belinda's relationship with Danielle Peterson, the literal girl next door, was a deep and abiding one. They had known each other their entire lives, had played together, gone through school together. Of course, Natasha had been with them most of that time, too, but Belinda was Dani's closest friend and vice-versa. They were even doing the same courses at college - music, drama, and English literature. Belinda played the guitar, Dani played the bass. Natasha had never had the patience to learn a musical instrument; She was studying maths and physics. But Natasha's characterisation of their relationship as 'gay' was wide of the mark, if only narrowly. Dani had never admitted to being gay, not even to Belinda, but pretty much everyone in their circle of friends tacitly assumed she was. As for Belinda herself, well, that remained an open question. She wasn't quite sure what she was.

Belinda and Natasha had not shared a room since they were twelve. That had meant having an extension built on their house, because with two younger siblings (Max was eighteen now, and Katie was seventeen) bedrooms were at a premium. Natasha had kept their old room, Belinda was in the extension, which she was happy about because it felt a bit more private; Her door didn't open onto the landing, but onto a kind of antechamber, which she used as a study. Natasha called the pair of rooms 'the Royal Suite' or the 'West Wing'. At the moment, the Royal Suite was where Dani was receiving her audience with 'Queen Belinda'. More specifically, Belinda was swivelling on her computer chair while Dani lounged on the big double bed.

"You're so lucky having all this space to yourself," she said. "Privileges of the oldest sibling, I suppose." Belinda was older than Natasha to the sum of three minutes. "It's the same at our house. Princess Lilah gets the best room."

"Yes, but Tanya gets the pokiest, so it's not all bad," laughed Belinda.

"It's all she deserves," said Dani, grinning. "Bleeding brat."

"Oh, I know all about brat sisters."

"Nat's not so bad. She always has your back. Mine too."

"That's true. I just wish she was more serious, at least some of the time."

"My Belinda, with her poet's heart," smiled Dani. "If sisters were musical ages, you'd be the Baroque and she'd be the Romantic."

"An interesting analogy. What would you be?"

"Rock 'n' Roll, baby!" Dani performed a sting on her air guitar.

"Rock Chick Dani! I love it. I see us more as sixties folk singers, though. Sonny and Cher, or something."

"Oh? Which of us is Sonny and which of us is Cher?"

Belinda shrugged. "You're the pretty one, so I guess I'd be Sonny."

"I am so not the pretty one out of us!" protested Dani. "Anyway," she added, growing more serious, "I think most casual observers would see me as the more, er, masculine of the two of us." Belinda may not be about to admit it, but they both knew it was true. Dani's uncurvy figure, her sexy gravelly voice, and her tomboyish dress sense were all pretty butch. She was pretty though. Belinda had always regarded herself as rather plain, and found Dani to be beautiful, in that uniquely androgynous way of hers.

"I think you're pretty," she said. "I've always thought so."

Dani blushed and looked away. "Thank-you, Bel. I've always lived in Lilah's shadow, and even Tanya's more girly than I am (though she wouldn't thank me for saying so!). And I know everyone thinks I'm gay. So I've learned to live with being the 'tomboy', by which people really mean 'dyke'."

"Oh Dani, I didn't mean to upset you!"

"Will you answer me something honestly, if I ask you, Bel?"

"I'll try to. But only if you're absolutely sure you want to ask."

Dani looked up at her, grey eyes grave and anxious. "Do you think I'm gay?"

"I think you're nineteen, sweetie. I doubt that even you know yet. And I'll tell you something else - I don't even know what I am yet."

"Would it matter to you if I was?"

"Matter?" frowned Belinda. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, would it change our friendship?"

"I don't really understand the question. How could it possibly change our friendship? We've been friends all our life. Dani Peterson is as much a part of my life as my limbs and my uncontrollable hair."

To her surprise, that made Dani burst into tears. Hurrying from the chair over to the bed, she lay next to her friend and stroked her hair, hushing her. "What's wrong? What did I say?"

"I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have you, Bel," she sobbed. "I don't know what I'd do."

"Hey, it's OK. You'll always have me. Fifty years from now we'll be sitting on a park bench feeding the ducks together in our granny glasses and headscarves!"

That made her laugh, though because she was still crying it came out as a sort of strangulated gasp. "I love you, Bella Bel."

"I love you too, Ellie Pie."

They'd called each other by those pet names since they were five or six, names nobody else would ever use. Moved by a spontaneous overflow of love for her friend, Belinda kissed the tip of Dani's nose and thumbed away the tears from her eyes.

"So, are you?"

"What?"

"Gay? Are you into the hot-girl action or is that just a publicity stunt to make people buy your records?"

"Idiot!" laughed Dani, kissing Belinda's nose in her turn.

"To be honest, it seems entirely right to fancy other girls. I mean, I've kissed boys and, you know, been groped and fingered by them. I've even granted them the occasional blow-job, since we're in the mood for honesty, and it's all very pleasant and stimulating, but... I dunno, it's not quite what we're led to believe. I could easily be persuaded that if a girl wants romance, real romance, then she's probably only going to find it with another girl."

"I don't think you can reason your way into lesbianism, Belinda," scolded Dani, doing an excellent impression of their old English teacher, Mrs Payne.

"I dunno. Maybe I'll give it a go. The whole boy thing is definitely not working out for me."

"I can't say it's not working out for me. I've never so much as kissed a boy."

"Or a girl?"

Dani blushed again. "I doubt I'd ever have the courage to try," she said, "knowing what a complete idiot I'd make of myself."

"Nonsense! It's probably really easy." And so saying, and completely impulsively, she leaned in and kissed Dani full on the mouth. She expected her to laugh and to pull away, only she didn't. So Belinda kissed her a bit harder, parted her lips a little. This was definitely weird, indeed it could hardly have been much weirder if she'd kissed Natasha like this, but she didn't quite know how to stop. Also, through her sudden embarrassment, it actually felt really nice. Dani's lips parted too, now, and Belinda found herself putting one hand behind her friend's head and drawing her deeper into the kiss. She could feel her whole body responding, and she knew if she didn't stop right now that Natasha would sense what she was doing, and she'd never hear the end of it. So she pulled away. "I've always wanted to do that," she said, smugly wiping her lips on the back of her hand. Dani, flustered and flushing, made no response other than to stare at her, open mouthed and breathing hard. "Haven't you always wanted to do that?"

"It... had... crossed my mind," replied Dani, still in a state of shock.

"And it has to be said, Ellie Pie, that it felt a lot nicer than kissing a boy."

"It... did?"

"Fuck, yeah! Like, kissing a boy is here." She held her palm out flat about three inches above the surface of the bed. "And kissing you is here." She lifted her hand up as high as she could reach. "How was it for you, darling?"

Dani sat up and leaned against the pillows, biting her lip. "Don't... don't make a joke of it, Bel. Please."

Sitting up beside her, Belinda fixed her friend's eyes with her own. "I'm not, Dan. It's not a joke. I know you're struggling with it all, scared to explore how you really feel. I know how confusing it is. It's confusing for me, too."

"I'm not confused, Bel. I'm scared. And... and just to avoid any confusion, at least between us - because I love you more than I love anyone in the world - I am gay. I've known it for certain for a good few months now, but I was too scared to admit it, even to myself. Even to you."

"Of course you are, sweetie. I've known it for more than a few months! But I can't tell you how happy it makes me to hear you say it. I love you, Dan." And she opened her arms for her friend to fall into.

"It's so hard!" wailed Dani. "Nobody knows! Jesus fuck, it's hard!"

"I'm here right beside you, Ellie Pie. Here to hold your hand."

"It's such a relief to say it out loud though." Dani wiped her eyes with the palms of her hand. "God, why do I keep crying?"

"It's OK. When you're with me, Dan, you don't have to be scared, and you don't have to be secretive, or hide your emotions, or any of that British crap. You know I love you. Now, come on and tell me all about it. What are you scared of right now, top of your head."

"I'm worried about what mom and dad might say."

"Don't you think they already know?"

Dani curled her lip. "I mean, they probably do, but I expect they hope it's a phase or something. It's not my dad so much as my mom. I can't bear the thought of disappointing her."

"Maybe she'd be upset that you're underestimating her. I've known your mom pretty much as long as I've known my mom. There's no way Victoria Peterson would be disappointed that her daughter's gay. No way."

"Oh, I know you're right, but the thought of looking her in the eye and telling her... I lie awake at night thinking about it."

"Tell her, Dan. The sooner the better. Just tell her. However relieved you felt after telling me, it will be a hundred times better when you tell your mom."

"And what about you, Bella Bel?"

"What about me?"

"I mean, when you kissed me just now... That felt real."

"It was real!" said Belinda indignantly.

"But real how? Why did you even do it?"

"So you'd never again have to say, 'I've never kissed a girl'. And I'd never have to say it either."

"But what did it mean to you?"

"I'm not sure. I didn't exactly plan it, and I haven't exactly processed it yet. I liked it though. I wasn't lying about that. I'm not sure what you're asking me?"

"I mean... it doesn't mean... You're not in love with me, are you?"

Belinda frowned. "I... oh, I don't think I am. I mean, I do love you, and I do actually think you're super-hot. And when I do process it, perhaps later tonight, I might very well have a ménage à moi while I relive it in my head. Is this answering your question?"

"A little too much," said Dani with a smile. "But the way you kissed me made it seem like you were pretty into it. I don't specifically mean kissing me, but just generally kissing a girl."

"If you're asking me if I think I'm gay too, I can't really answer that, because I don't know. But if you're asking me if I'm open to the idea of having sex with girls, I think that's a resounding Yes. I've had many a self-induced orgasm fantasising about girls, trust me."

"Me too," giggled Dani. "And I bet you look so pretty when you make yourself come."

Where the conversation might have gone from there, they were not destined to know, because at that point there was a knock on the door.

"Can I come in, or are you too busy gaying it up together?"

Belinda let out a hearty sigh. "You can come in," she said.

Natasha flung the door open and marched into the room, looking smug. "I knew I'd find you in bed together," she teased. "Oh, but what a cute couple you make."

"Fuck off, Natarata."

"She loves me really," Natasha told Danielle, who laughed. "She's just intimidated because I'm smarter, prettier, and sexier than she is." She settled herself in Belinda's computer chair, swivelling back and forth just like Belinda herself always did. "What are we talking about?"

"The importance of minding our own business," said Belinda.

"Very nice!" huffed Natasha. "It's so hard being the third wheel."

"Oh, fuck off! What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I was bored! Max and Katie are bickering, mom's all irritable, and dad keeps huffing and puffing because he's trying to read the Sunday papers. Who the hell still reads newspapers? I know he's ancient but it's 2023, not 1923!"

"So you thought you'd bother us instead."

"You're not bothering us," said Danielle. "I for one am always happy to be in the presence of the smart, pretty, sexy Natarata McNish!"

"Why, thank-you, Lady Danielle," replied Natasha, standing up and curtseying. "You see, Belly-Bops, you could learn some manners from your lady friend."

"Please don't call me that. And don't use terms like 'lady friend'. It makes you sound like a bell-end."

"She hates it when I call her Belly-Bops," Natasha told Danielle. "And seriously, I don't mind you two taking your friendship to the next level, as long as you don't abandon me to boredom and younger siblings."

"And are mom and dad being... normal?" ventured Belinda.

"Normal for old people, yes." Natasha turned to Danielle. "Belinda seems to think our mom and dad are getting up to some kind of sexual shenanigans behind her back. Possibly with your mom and dad."

"Nats!"

"What? I am basically quoting you verbatim."

"What's this about?" asked Dani. "You never mentioned this."

"It's just a vague suspicion I have. A gut feeling, really. But you said yourself that your parents have been acting a bit strangely recently. I don't know, maybe I'm imagining it."

"Actually, Tanya said something similar to me the other day. What do you suppose it is?"

"We should ask them," said Natasha.

"Oh yes, I can see that working," said Belinda. "Hi mom and dad, I was just wondering if you'd been up to anything weird, sexually, in the past couple of weeks."

"And are you fucking the neighbours?" laughed Natasha. "Mind you, your dad's pretty hot, Dani. You'd probably not notice, what with being a lezza and all, but he is."

"Nats!"

"What? Stop saying my name. You are just so, like, totally obsessed with me."

"It's OK, Bel. And it's true, Natasha. I am a lesbian, so you don't have to keep making outrageous jokes about it."

"Wow!" Natasha stared at Danielle for an uncomfortably long moment. "I mean, congratulations, Miss Peterson. I mean, I've known since you were, like, literally six years old, but I'm very pleased you've finally worked it out for yourself. Now you can get on with the serious business of being gay, without all the coy hints and blushes."

"You really are a brat, aren't you?" asked Dani, grinning.

"At your service." Natasha curtsied again then, for once in her life, grew serious. "I mean it though, Dan. I'm glad you're out. I think you'll be happier."

"I'm only out to you two so far."

"So keep your bloody mouth shut, Natarata," added Belinda.

Natasha made a 'buttoning her lip' gesture. "So," she said, "I've confessed to fancying your hunk of a dad. I expect you'll want to admit you fancy my mom, now, as well as my sister." Belinda made a strangling gesture, but really nothing could shut Natasha up when she was on a roll.

"Your mom's really pretty," said Danielle diplomatically. "I don't have her down as being into teenage girls, though."

"Who knows? If Belly-Bops is right, who knows what shenanigans mommy and daddy are into?"

ii. A Visit to the Neighbour's

Maria stared at her daughter open-mouthed, unable to believe what she had just asked her.

"It's a simple enough question, mom," repeated Natasha. "What are you and dad up to with the Petersons?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, and I don't appreciate the accusatory tone, young lady!"

Natasha shrugged, in that infuriating way of hers. "I think you do. I think something's going on, Bel thinks something's going on, and even Dan does. You're all acting so weird."

Maria could feel herself blushing, feel her stomach lurching. She thought they had been so careful to keep it hidden from the kids, but they had evidently underestimated them. "There is nothing going on."

"It's not like we mind, mom. Everyone's entitled to their shenanigans, but I don't see why you have to make it such a big secret. We're not children anymore."

"Shenanigans?"

"I'm talking about sex, mom," she said, as if speaking to a five-year-old. "I mean, I might be wrong, maybe the four of you are getting together to discuss politics or take up knitting. But we think it's for sex. And that's cool, you're all adults. But stop lying to us."

Maria waited until the middle of the next morning, when she could be sure only Vicky and Richard would be at home, before going next door. She rang the bell, and it took a couple of minutes of Reggie barking furiously before Vicky answered it. She was in a dressing-gown. A very short, very sheer dressing-gown. Her hair was messed up and she looked bleary-eyed.

"Well you look simultaneously sexy and knackered," said Maria by way of greeting. "Did I get you up?"

"I was up late last night," she said. "And Richard's out, so I thought I'd treat myself to a lie in."

"Fair do's. Shall I come back later?"

Vicky shook her head. "No, I ought to be getting up anyway. What time is it?"

"Eleven, more-or-less."

"Christ!"

Maria followed Vicky into the kitchen, and insisted her friend sit down while she made the coffee. It's not like she didn't know where everything was. Reggie accompanied her, tail wagging at the prospect of fusses, which he knew Maria always gave him. She did not disappoint him this time, either.

"So I look sexy, do I? And here was me thinking I must look like I've been dragged through a hedge."

"Oh Vicky, you're always hot!"

"You think I'm hot? Why did you never mention this before?"

"Well, I'd never seen you fuck my husband before. Or anyone else for that matter."

"Same," grinned Vicky as Maria handed her the coffee. "Did you tell me you were coming round today?"

"I didn't, but there was something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Interesting. There was something I wanted to talk to you about, too."

"Oh? You go first then."

"No, please. I need to wake up a bit first. You talk, I'll drink."

Maria laughed. "Christ, you really are a mess. Were you up late fucking?"

Vicky sighed. "I was up late editing a manuscript, if you must know. I know I must seem very glamorous to the outside world, but ninety-nine percent of my life is sheer bloody boredom."

"Sorry, Vicky. I always said you ought to join the Bored Housewives Club. Freelance editing might be lucrative and rewarding but you need a bit more excitement than that, surely."

"From your bloody knitting circle? Now that does sound boring."

"Actually, it's become a lot racier lately. But that's not what I'm here for." Maria was not quite sure how to broach the subject, because she had no idea how Victoria might react. "It's, er, something Natasha said to me last night."

"Oh?"

"She basically accused me and Josh of, well, carrying on with you and Richard. That's not how she put it. I believe the word 'shenanigans' was used."

"Accurate enough, I suppose. But how does she know that?"

"God knows. She and Belinda often know what the other is thinking, but I didn't know they could read my mind."

"Belinda knows too?"

"Not 'knows'. I think they just suspect something. Dani too, apparently."

Vicky rolled her eyes. "I suppose we were never going to keep it secret for long. I thought we might manage a bit longer than this, though."

"Are you not freaked out by this news? I'm a little bit freaked out."

"Why? We're not doing anything wrong, are we?"

"No, not at all, but... I'm a bit uncomfortable with the girls knowing their mother's having group sex with the neighbours."

"I'm sure they've had sex themselves, Mazza."

"God, I try not to think about that. Anyway, I thought you ought to know."

"Yes, thank-you. Once I've woken up, I may be more suitably freaked out, I suppose. But honestly, Maz, these past two months have been so weird, I don't really know what normal is anymore."

"Two months? It's only a month since Richard and you..."

"Oh, that's only part of it. You don't know the full story, do you? I date the weirdness back, basically, to the day Isobel Carrington moved into the neighbourhood."

"Why does everything keep coming back to that woman? I didn't know you even knew her!"

"I met her soon after she moved in. I bumped into her at the corner shop. I happened to admire her outfit (fucking hot, since you ask), and she introduced herself. We got chatting and she invited me round for a housewarming drink, which turned out to be just the two of us. I liked her. Liked her a lot, actually. It turns out she knows Maggie Willis, or her mother did, or something. Anyway, we met up for drinks a couple of times, got a bit tipsy, got into some fairly steamy conversations. As a matter of fact, the whole idea for a threesome was one I got from her. I think she was joking, but she said something about how it could 'spice up my sex life'. Planted the seed in my head, you know."

"That woman, to my knowledge, has fucked three Villagers since she arrived here!"

"Fair play to the bitch. She can have me any day."

Maria thought Vicky was joking about this but, given how many surprises her friend had sprung on her in recent weeks, latent lesbianism was almost to be expected at this point. "You've certainly changed, Victoria Jenkins! The cleverest, most studious girl at school. Very much the least likely to grow up to be a sex-crazed bacchante."

"I could live with being a sex-crazed bacchante. But of course I find women sexy. Who doesn't?"

"Do you think I'm sexy?" asked Maria, exaggeratedly pouting her lips and thrusting out her considerable bosom.

"You're definitely sexy. I remember you in your school uniform, too, don't forget. I might have left school by then, but I used to see you strolling back from school of an evening sometimes, almost bursting out of your white blouse! But until the other day, watching you fuck Richard, I never, ever thought of you in a sexual way. Now, though, I can't think of much else at all."

"Oh!"

"Let's go into the living room. This chair's doing my back in."

They took their coffees through and sat at either end of Victoria's plush sofa. Seeing her friend sitting there in her skimpy night-dress, with her hair all messed-up and a generous helping of thigh on view, Maria realised that she, too, had begun to look at her in a sexual way for the first time. It was ridiculous, really. They'd known each other for more than thirty years. How could they only be discovering this about each other (and about themselves), now? Why was everyone she knew acting so crazily since Isobel Carrington, a woman she herself had seen but not yet met, arrived in the Village?

"So, what's all this about the Bored Housewives Club, Maz? I thought it was just four embittered old biddies whining about their dull lives."

"Hey! Who are you calling a biddy?"

"You know what I mean."

"It's changed. We've started talking about fantasies and, well, to some degree acting them out. It's getting that I'm so turned on by the time I get home, I have to rush upstairs and... take care of it. And do you know, of the other three girls present, two of them specifically mentioned Isobel Carrington being involved in them acting their fantasies out. What is she, some kind of succubus?"

"She could suck my anything," purred Vicky, laughing at her own stupid joke. "But do you think there's a connection?"

"I never thought about it much until just now. Discovering that you know her, and that she also had an indirect hand in my fantasy coming true, has really thrown me."

"That was your fantasy? A threesome? Or do you mean our little wife-swap?"

Maria pondered this, trying to remember. "Actually, I think I gave my own fantasy as being, er... Oh, I don't think I can say it now."

"Come on, Maz, spit it out? I think we're beyond the coy schoolgirl phase now, don't you?"

She drew a heavy sigh. "I said I fantasised about being gang-banged, if you must know."

"Maria Marshal! I never thought you had it in you!"

"That's the problem, I hadn't had it in me for ages and was very worked up at the time."

Vicky laughed. "Is it true though? Do you really want to be gang-banged?"

"I'm not entirely comfortable talking about it."

"I'll take that as a yes. So, how many men are we talking about here?"

"I don't know!" she protested. "I suppose four or five."

"Oh my! What a slut you are. I love it!"

"Well anyway, I hope it proves my point about the BHC."

"BHC?" frowned Vicky.

"Bored Housewives Club, you dope! You should totally come!"

She wrinkled her nose. "I don't know... Would I even be welcome?"

"I can ask. Oh, I hope you do. It would be such fun!"

"All right. Put me down as a maybe."

iii. The April Assembly of the BHC

Maria knew that Vicky sometimes did some editing for Annie, and the thought of having her attending the Bored Housewives Club was making her anxious. How was she meant to discuss their frank subjects in the presence of someone she worked with professionally? But they had taken a vote, and Vicky was in, and when Anna held the April meeting of the BHC at her house, Maria and Vicky arrived together.

Once they were all settled in Annie's gorgeous living room, Annie on one armchair, and Beth in the other, while Maria and Tilda flanked Vicky on the sofa, Annie declared the meeting open. This was marked with a toast, a glass of red wine, and a spliff handed round from housewife to housewife.

"Welcome especially to Mrs Victoria Peterson," said Annie.

"Vicky, please!"

"Welcome, Vicky. You're the first new addition to the BHC since... er, well, ever actually. I hope we don't disappoint you. Nowadays, we begin our meetings with each of the esteemed housewives relating one adventure she's had since we last met, assuming we've had any, of course. We'll let you off this time, but we expect something especially juicy next time."

"Thanks, Anna. You're very kind. So, who goes first then?"

"I believe Mrs Brookes should go first. Beth?"

Beth nodded at her and cleared her throat. "For the benefit of Vicky, a little background first. In recent weeks I've begun to, let's say, assert myself in matters of the bedroom. I've introduced a bit of spanking and pegging into my husband's hitherto dull life. But last week I took things a bit further. Now, girls, how much detail would you like me to go into?"

"All the detail!" insisted Annie. "I can't wait to hear this!"

"Very well. My story begins with a bit of flirtation over the garden fence. I waited until I heard my next-door-neighbour going out to his shed, and by sheer coincidence wandered into my own back garden at the same time."

"Oh, is it Simon?" asked Tilda. "He's hunky, and his wife's a dish."

"Caroline, yes. For those who don't know them, Simon and Caroline moved into Number Five last April, and we've been on pretty friendly terms for a few months now. Anyway, I've caught Simon checking me out once or twice, and I figured I might have a chance with him. So, I've been flirting outrageously with him for the last few weeks and putting out all kinds of signals. When he, oh-so-casually, mentioned that Caroline was out for the day, I read between the lines. As a matter of fact, I already knew she'd be out, because she goes over to Witney to see her mom and dad every Sunday. Anyway, I invited myself round for a cup of tea, in case he was bored on his own. He nearly bit my hand off!"

"You unutterable slut!" declared Tilda, admiringly.

"I made sure I mentioned to Ash that I was popping next door for a fuck, and that he'd better be ready for me when I came back."

"You really said that?"

"I really did."

"Where were the kids?"

"Oh, in their rooms I expect. I don't see them between Sunday lunch and Sunday dinner, as a rule. So, anyway, I went next door, and neither of us made much pretence of the fact that we were both there to fuck. I asked him if he often cheated on his wife, and he claimed they had a semi-open marriage, whatever that means. I didn't enquire. I started making out with him on his sofa, and he certainly didn't fight me off. On the contrary, he took me up to his bedroom and fucked me in his and Caroline's bed."

"Men!" complained Tilda.

"Well this man had a rather handsome cock, and he knew how to use it. My poor fanny hasn't been that well ploughed in way too many years! But the best thing about it was, we didn't even get undressed. I swear, he took his cock out of his zipper for me to suck on. Then, when he was nice and hard, I lifted up my skirt, pulled aside my knickers, and let him do me on the bed, just like that. I felt like such a slut, it was simply delicious!"

"Jesus!" breathed Maria.

"And when we were done, I thanked him, rearranged my clothes, and left. Though only after I told him he'd better be ready to fuck me again, whenever I told him to."

"God, Beth, you're turning into a proper dominatrix."

"That is, in fact, my plan," smirked Beth. "But I left quickly for a reason. You see, this was only stage one of my evil plan. As soon as I got home, I hurried upstairs, knowing that Ashley would be waiting for me in the bedroom. He was, too. He was lying on the bed, completely naked."

"Don't you worry that the kids will burst in?"

"I cured them of that long ago. Clara came in once while I was petting the bunny. That was the last time. I think she was scarred for life! So, anyway, I closed the bedroom door, and he looked up at me, expectant. He asked me if I'd fucked Simon, and I said, 'wait and see'. I stripped off my clothes, gave him a nice, long look at my body, then told him to lie back and open his mouth. I straddled him, pulled open my fanny, and let Simon's spunk drool out of it and into my husband's mouth."

"That is fucked up!" breathed Maria.

"Christ, that's hot!" exclaimed Vicky.

"He took every drop. And there was a lot of it, ladies! I told him to swallow it, and the bitch did! By the time I dismounted, he was as hard as a fucking rock. He really got off on it! I told him he was a good boy and had earned a treat. I said he was allowed to masturbate, so long as he came over my feet. So he got on his knees and started wanking. I put one foot up on his shoulder, so he'd get a good look at my well-fucked fanny while he played with himself. It didn't take long before he was shooting his cum all over my other foot and leg. And all the time he was coming, he was saying, 'thank-you mistress, thank-you mistress,' just like I've trained him. I told him to lick up the mess he'd made, and that's what he did. He licked his own cum off my foot and shin, and swallowed every drop like a good, little slut. Then I went off and had a shower and a good, long wank and that, ladies, was my Sunday afternoon."

The other four actually applauded, they were so impressed with Beth's tale. Maria was shocked not only by what Beth had done but by the frankness with which she'd related it. But though shocked, she was also pretty turned on. She had the sense that the other four had similar reactions.

"Well, my goodness," said Annie. "I'm not sure that any of us are going to beat that! I think we're going to need a volunteer to go next!"

Maria raised her hand. "I can't really follow that," she said, "and actually, my only escapade of the month rather involves someone else present, and I'm not sure I ought to relate it, that being so."

"Oh go on," said Vicky. "I give my permission!"

That got everyone's attention, and Maria was left with little choice but to relate the wife-swap incident with Richard and Vicky. Vicky occasionally interjected with her own juicy details, perspectives, and opinions, and the atmosphere in Anna's living room was beginning to feel pretty salacious. Maria noticed Annie surreptitiously rubbing her thighs together, as if trying to scratch an itch, and Beth was chewing on her lower lip, as if to contain her own mounting lust. Maria was growing more and more self-conscious as she told the tale. Once she had finished, she got her own round of applause, which made her blush and sink back in her seat, wishing the sofa would swallow her up. Vicky squeezed her hand empathetically.

Annie went next, and this was another eye-opener, because it once again brought Isobel Carrington back into the story. She described how she had sent Will next door to begin an affair with their beautiful neighbour, and she was struck by the resonance of Annie's story with Beth's, that it was almost the same story but in reverse. She also noticed how both Tilda and Vicky pricked up their ears at every mention of Isobel and had the sense that both women were jealous of Isobel's attention.

That only left Tilda. And if her story contained less juicy, sexual detail, it was in many ways more shocking than any of the other three. "I haven't, in truth, had any escapades of my own," she began, "unless you count more liaisons with the beautiful Miss Carrington. It appears I'm not quite unique in that," she added, shooting a dark look at Annie. "And I'm not entirely sure this is something I should be sharing, when I haven't even told my husband about it."

"Don't tell us anything you're not comfortable with, Tilda," urged Annie.

Tilda grimaced. "I do want to tell you," she said, "but I'm going to need you to treat it as a real confidence. I'm serious about this. I don't want you telling anyone else."

"Are you sure about this, Tilda?"

She pursed her lips and nodded. "Apart from Isobel, I haven't told anyone else, and I really feel the need to talk about it. I've felt for a while that the relationship between my two eldest, Ryan and Harriet, has been a bit... unusual. And I took an opportunity to... well, to try to confirm my suspicions. In a nutshell, I listened at Ryan's bedroom door when I suspected they were alone in there together." All attention was riveted on her. If anyone was uncomfortable hearing this, they showed no sign of it. Maria found she had both fists clenched tight, her nails digging into her palms.

"And what did you hear?" prompted Beth.

"I believe I heard my son going down on my daughter."

"Jesus!"

"Oh my God!"

"What did you do?" asked Vicky, who if anything seemed the least shocked of the four.

"I snuck back out of the house, and re-entered much more loudly than the first time," Tilda admitted. "In other words, I chickened out, and not for the reasons you might think. You see, when I was stood at the door, listening and wondering what to do, the main reason I didn't intervene was because... because I didn't want to stop them."

"Whyever not?" asked Annie, her pretty face creased in confusion.

"Because it kind of turned me on."

"Shit!" Maria couldn't quite believe what she was hearing.

"Tilda! Jesus!" exclaimed Annie.

"I don't know," said Vicky, more thoughtfully. "I kind of get that."

"Me too," said Beth quietly. "Yes, I do get that."

"What are you all saying?" asked Maria. "This is actually really bad!"

"Is it though?" asked Tilda. "I keep telling myself it is, but I don't quite believe that it is. And Isobel wasn't shocked at all. She seemed to think it was entirely natural. My reaction, I mean. She didn't say what she thought about Ry and Harry getting it on."

"I'm beginning to think Isobel Carrington is weaving some kind of spell over you all," said Maria. "Think about it. Which of us has she not influenced, one way or another, into exploring fantasies we'd never have explored before? Annie, wasn't she the one who encouraged you to submit to your husband? We know about her hold on Tilda. And Vicky..." She caught herself and fell silent.

"Vicky what?" frowned Tilda.

"It was Isobel who suggested I get Maria to fuck my husband," said Vicky quietly. "And I agree, there does seem to be something deliberate about it, unless it's a very wild coincidence."

"At the same time, " added Beth, "it sounds like all of us have, I don't know, come alive in the last few weeks, in a way we haven't been truly alive for years. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I definitely have," said Tilda firmly.

"I suppose that's true," admitted Annie, more reluctantly.

"I definitely have," said Beth, "though it's not clear to me that Isobel Carrington has had any influence at all on the things I've done."

"And yet her grandmother was close to your mother," said Vicky.

Beth stared at her. "What?"

"The first person whom Isobel went to see after she arrived here, or so she told me, was your mother, Beth. So Maria's right about this much, whether Isobel's influence is good, bad, or indifferent, it's certainly not a coincidence."

"Perhaps we ought to confront her. All of us together."

"No!" said Tilda. "I can't imagine her responding to an Inquisition. But there are questions she needs to answer, no doubt about that. But let's none of us forget that everything we've done is something we've always fantasised about doing. She didn't put the ideas in our head. She just enabled us to bring them to life. And I for one am a lot happier, a lot more fulfilled, since I met her. And I can see now that being turned on by the thought of my kids fucking each other is natural, at least to someone as innately sexual as me. They're good kids, and I trust them to be careful."

"I don't know about that actually," said Maria, much disturbed by the turn of the conversation. "I discovered the other day that Natasha and Belinda have suspicions about what I've been up to, and that's freaking me out. Also, I'm worried about Isobel's niece. Is she influencing our kids the way her aunt is influencing us?"

"I don't think we have any grounds to assume that," said Beth.

"No?" said Annie. "My Jamie's been sniffing round the girl lately, and she's definitely putting out signals to him. I don't entirely trust her."

"OK, let's take a step back," said Beth. "And let's take some responsibility for our own actions. Whether Isobel and Olivia are in some way seducing us or influencing us, we're all adults and are making our own decisions. I don't regret any of mine. And I don't need to apologise for them. Neither do any of you. Tilda's children are, I have to say, extremely attractive young people, and I can't blame anyone for being a bit turned on at the thought of them getting it on. And I'm certainly not going to sit here and judge Tilda for it. Honestly, my own kids are pretty sexy too, when it comes right down to it, and I'm not afraid to say so."

"Your kids are amazingly sexy," agreed Vicky. "I mean, my Lilah's ridiculously gorgeous, if I say so myself, but I'm not sure even she could outshine your Clara."

"Thank-you, Vicky. You do have beautiful children."

"Are we really doing this?" demanded Maria. "Are we actually discussing how hot our kids are?"

"We're just being honest, Maz," said Tilda. "I thought that was what the BHC was about."

"OK," said Annie raising her hands, "let's not argue. Some of us clearly have different ideas about where the lines are that we should or shouldn't cross. We're all on some kind of sexual threshold, it seems to me, and we each have to be given the space to deal with it as we see fit. I suppose what I'm saying is, if anyone's uncomfortable with that, they probably ought to leave."

"Aren't you uncomfortable with it?" asked Maria.

"Maria, I'm trying very hard to stop being uncomfortable with things. I realise now that being determined to be conventional and, well, nice, is what's been making me miserable most of my life. As a matter of fact, the more I think about it, the more I realise we need to be making each other uncomfortable. We need to be challenging what we've always regarded as being 'acceptable' or 'moral' or 'responsible'. I'm all up for that. And if we have Isobel Carrington to thank for it, or to blame for it, that's OK with me. Is it OK with you?"

Maria sat silent for a while, aware that all eyes were on her. This was a big moment. If she left now, she was effectively forswearing the adventures she'd begun to have, rejecting her friends and embracing her old, boring life. But if she stayed, she was tacitly opening herself to things that might frankly be immoral, or illegal, or even dangerous if taken to their extremes. She pursed her lips. "It's OK with me," she said.