The Bored Housewives Club, Pt. 05

Part Five: Parental Responsibilities

I. The Inevitability of Submission

Worship your daughter's cunt, for you are its creator

Sir William Carrington, Advice to Parents, Maxim 6

i. A Changed Woman

When Elizabeth learned that Clara's work was taking her to the business owned by Isobel Carrington, she was furious. "That bitch is plotting everywhere I turn!" she ranted.

"What are you talking about, mom? It was Abigail's idea. She just wants me to help out liaising."

"And this doesn't strike you as a coincidence at all?"

"What coincidence? I think you're being paranoid!"

"Trust me, Clara, if you knew all the things I knew, you'd suspect Isobel Carrington of being behind it every time you stub your bloody toe! That woman is trouble."

"I thought she was a friend of grandma's."

"She's the granddaughter of a friend of grandma's," Elizabeth corrected her. "She's been worming her way into the lives of all my friends, which is fine, they're adults..."

"Adults like me," Clara pointed out.

"Yes, whatever... But she's coming after my family, which I asked your grandma specifically to warn her against doing."

"'Coming after'! I'm just spending a few hours a week working at her office. She's barely ever there anyway, according to Julia."

"Julia?"

"Julia Thorne. The CEO. I told you." Clara was indignant. She had evidently not expected anything like this reaction from her mother, and Elizabeth suddenly felt a bit guilty. None of this, after all, was Clara's fault.

"I'm not angry with you, Clara," she said, cupping her daughter's cheek in her hand and offering her an apologetic smile. "But this Carrington woman is trouble, and I don't want you caught up in it."

"There's something you're not telling me, mom. What is it?"

There was no getting away from it, she was going to have to tell her. She had been wrestling with this for some time, anyway. She had figured it would be Olivia who got to Clara first, rather than her Aunt Isobel, but one or other of them was bound to make a move sooner or later. She ought to have told Clara already, so that she was pre-warned and thus pre-armed. She gave a heavy sigh. "I suppose you should know."

"Know what?"

"Your grandma, it turns out, is related to the Carringtons. I swear I never knew this either until recently, but she was heavily involved with them when she was younger. Her father was not, apparently, your great-grandma Sara's husband, but one Edward Carrington. And Edward Carrington is not only your great-grandfather, he's also Isobel's great-grandfather."

Clara frowned. "So she's my..."

"Second cousin. Distant, but definitely related."

"Jeez! Does she know that?"

"Oh believe me, my sweet angel girl, she most definitely knows that. Everything about her arrival in the Village was pre-meditated and carefully plotted."

"But why? What does she want?"

"She wants, I suspect, to lead you into temptation."

"This all sounds extremely unlikely to me."

"I agree. It also happens to be true."

Elizabeth took the same complaint to her mother, but from the moment she crossed the threshold of her house, she could see that something had changed. There was a look in her mother's eyes that she had never seen before, something almost feral, almost predatory, and it gave her pause.

"Mom? Are you OK?"

"Oh, darling Beth, I haven't felt this good in years."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "Why? What have you been up to?"

"Let's just say I've been rediscovering my youth."

"This is Isobel bloody Carrington again, isn't it? Has she been getting to you?"

"I suppose that would be one way of putting it, yes. The woman's a cunning, manipulative bitch, it's true, but she fucks like a goddess. And that niece of hers... Oh my!"

"Jesus, mom! You've been fucking them?"

"What's the matter, you think I'm too old for sex?"

Shaking her head, Elizabeth followed her mother into what she called her 'salon' and slumped on the sofa. "I never said any such thing," she complained. "I don't object to you having sex. What I object to is you getting mixed up with those people."

"They are family, dear!" replied Maggie condescendingly, "Is this a 'wine' visit or a 'cup of tea' visit?"

"I haven't decided yet!" she snapped. "Pour me a whisky while I make my mind up."

Grinning, Maggie went over to the drinks cabinet to retrieve a bottle of Scotch and two glasses. She poured them out on the coffee table beside the sofa, then sat on one of those padded, hard-backed chairs she preferred, claiming it was easier to get out of 'with my knees'.

"So, you've started inviting these new 'family members' over for lesbian shenanigans, is that it?"

Maggie laughed. "It's good to have a loving family, don't you think? But it's not just Isobel and Olivia, you know. Oh no. The Hyacinthid presence in the Village goes a bit deeper than that."

"The what?"

"You know, people like us, with the Carrington Gene. And their followers, if that's the right word. The Carringtons have always enjoyed a following amongst the sexually adventurous."

"You mean the sexually depraved."

"Call it what you like. They are among us." She spoke the words flippantly.

"Creepy. You know Isobel has her claws into Clara already?"

"Is that so? I didn't expect it would take long. What's she done, exactly?"

"Somehow, she's persuaded Clara's boss to second her to her company. What is it? Codex Web Design?"

"Ah yes. Julia's baby."

"You know Julia Thorne, too, I take it? How does she fit into all this?"

"Her father's one of Edward Carrington's many bastards," smiled Maggie. "And so is her mother."

"Jesus! She's your bloody niece?"

"Twice over, actually. Though I met her for the first time at a little buffet I threw last month. Charming woman. Even more severe than you, dear. Goes like a train."

"Of course she does. So my Clara is going into the lion's den of not one Carrington but two."

"As soon as you see one Carrington, Beth, your picnic's already ruined."

"What am I going to do?"

"Do? My advice would be to embrace your inner Carrington. You used to, when you were younger. Or do you suppose I didn't know what you and Ursula were getting up to?"

That was a jolt. It's not like she'd forgotten her youthful experiments with her sister, back when they were Clara's age, but she hadn't thought about it much since Ursula moved out of the Village. "That was a long time ago."

"Maybe. But it was a reflection of who you really are. Both of you. I regret not accepting that at the time. I hope you don't make the same mistake with Clara. She's a remarkable young woman. If she's allowed to unlock her inner Hyacinthid, you can expect great things of her. But from what I hear, Elizabeth, you've been doing some unlocking all of your own."

Elizabeth scowled at her mother and downed her whisky in a single swallow. "Maybe."

"And aren't you going to share the juicy details? I told you about my buffet?"

"You didn't really. You just dropped broad hints."

"Well, if you tell me what you've been up to, maybe I'll dish the dirt."

"I'm not sure I want to know, mom. Ash and I have just been... getting a little experimental with the neighbours."

"The neighbours being Simon and Caroline Wilkinson?"

"Yes. They're quite the sexual adventurers themselves, it turns out."

"Oh, I know all about Caroline Wilkinson," said Maggie enigmatically. "There's a woman who's not in the least bit innocent. But you shouldn't try to be innocent either, sweetie, because it's really not in your nature. It's not in Clara's either."

"I know that. And I used to think my life would turn out differently. Both Ursula and I seemed fated to lead a wild-child lifestyle, right up until we became mothers. Then it all changed. The urges never went away, but the time and the opportunity melted from us."

"But now you have both time and opportunity. You're being all prudish not because it's your nature but because you've allowed yourself to slip into the habit."

"I'd hardly call myself prudish. Or did I not mention I've been banging the neighbours?"

"With regard to Clara, I mean. And Owen, when it comes down to it. The fact is, Beth, you are a Carrington, whether you like it or not. At the moment, it seems to me that you have one foot in the camp and one foot out of it. You're nibbling at the edges of a Hyacinthid lifestyle and at the same time remaining adamant that your handsome son and sexy daughter steer completely clear of it. Pick a side, is what I say. But once you do, go all in. Take the gloves off. Unleash the wild beast."

"Jeez, mom, any more metaphors you want to throw into that mix?" She shook her head, but she knew, deep down, that her mother was right.

ii. Family Bonds

Ever since Clara's revealing visit to her grandmother, she was even more uninhibited in her relationship with her younger brother. If she had had any reservations at all about their incestuous liaisons, she had none now. Indeed, she relished the idea. And after all, what full-blooded teenage boy would turn down the chance to get into a hot, older girl's knickers, even if she was his sister.

It was a hot June day, and their parents were out. Clara had been sunbathing in the back garden and knew full well that Owen was watching her from his bedroom window. She was in a skimpy bikini, and she would have bet anything that he was wanking while he watched her. She picked up her phone and texted him.

"Hey, little bro. How'd you like yr sexy sister's bikini?"

There was a pause, of course, before the reply came back.

"It's making my dick hard, obvs."

"Good! It's no use to me soft. Y u skulking up there? Cum & show it 2 me"

Few seconds elapsed before Owen appeared in the patio window. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans and was making no effort whatsoever to hide the huge bulge in the latter. He betrayed not a hint of shame about how much his sister turned him on. Clara smiled what she hoped was an appropriately seductive smile and beckoned him over. Their back garden was not an entirely private place. It was overlooked by the upper storeys of at least seven other properties, not to mention the fact that if either of the Wilkinsons at Number 5, or Mr Sheffield at Number 7 looked over the garden fence, little would be hidden from their gaze. But the danger of being observed appealed to Clara. She liked the idea of shocking people, so she told her brother to come and join her. Owen sauntered over (if it was possible to saunter with a raging hard-on), and she made room for him on the blanket she was lying on.

"Take your T-shirt off," she told him, "and maybe I'll put sun-tan lotion on your manly chest."

Smirking, Owen did as he was told. He did not, truth to tell, have a particularly manly chest, it was a bit weedy like the rest of him, but he still looked good stripped down to his bulging jeans. He lay down next to her and let her squeeze out some lotion and massage it into his chest and stomach. She slid one hand into his jeans and grabbed hold of his balls.

"Don't want these getting sunburned," she told him.

"Bloody hell, Clarabelle, you're keen, aren't you?"

"And what's this?" she replied, squeezing his cock. "A sign of reluctance?"

"I'm not responsible for the effect your nubile body produces in my man department."

"Is that so? I don't see you fighting me off though, little bro." She ran her hand, still slimy with sun-tan lotion, up and down his shaft.

"The neighbours will see!"

"Lucky neighbours. They were probably perving on me already. Just like you. I often see Mr Sheffield leering at me, dirty old codger. I bet I'm number one in his disgusting wank bank."

"I can't answer for Mr Sheffield," replied Owen primly. "I just happened to glance out of my bedroom window. It's not my fault if you were flaunting yourself like a painted Jezebel."

Clara laughed. "Is nothing your fault?"

"I'm an innocent victim of circumstance. But if you keep stroking me like that, you're going to have more than sun-tan lotion all over your hand."

"Imagine! Coming in your own sister's hand! What a pervert!"

Still running her hand up and down his shaft, she leaned over to kiss him. If he was still worried about what the neighbours might see, he certainly didn't show it. He kissed her right back, parting his lips to let her tongue explore his mouth. His cock stiffened even more, and she was worried for a moment that he actually might come. She didn't mind that in itself, but she had plans for his cock and didn't want him using up all of his libido in one go.

"I want you, Clara," he breathed as they broke their kiss. The earnestness in his words were matched by that in his eyes, so that she was almost taken aback. She had expected lust, of course, but not such passion.

"What do you mean, exactly?"

"You know what I mean!"

"Say it then. I want to hear you say it."

"I want to fuck you. Properly fuck you."

She swallowed hard. She knew he did. Of course he did. But she wasn't sure he'd ever be bold enough to do it. She wasn't sure she was bold enough to do it.

"You want to fuck your own sister?"

"Yes!"

"I thought it was mom you wanted to fuck."

"I do! I told you, Clarabelle, I want to fuck all the women in this family!"

"Well if you keep on calling me Clarabelle, that's definitely not going to happen!"

"I'll call you anything you like if you'll let me in your knickers."

"Really? Would you call me... Miss Clara?"

"Yes, Miss Clara," he grinned. Owen's grin always made her want to kiss him, though she feigned older-sister disdain.

"Would you call me... Lady Clara?"

"Yes, Lady Clara! If Lady Clara lets me get at her pussy, she can be Queen Clara for all I care."

A wicked notion flashed into Clara's head, and her face must have betrayed it because her brother's expression changed. "Would you call me Mistress Clara?"

Owen licked his lips. "Yes, Mistress Clara."

"Good. Then I think it's time we went indoors."

Clara took her brother by the hand and led him up to her room. She had not planned this and not been certain it was something she would ever go through with, but her sudden certainty was absolute. She wanted this and had to have it. It never even occurred to her to question whether he wanted it too. He was a boy. Of course he wanted pussy. She didn't bother to close the bedroom door behind her; There was nobody else in the house. She threw herself on to the bed and regarded Owen, who didn't seem entirely sure what to do.

"Take your jeans off," she told him. "Show me that lovely cock."

As if he had been waiting for instructions, Owen hurried to obey. He peeled off his jeans and boxer shorts together, and clumsily kicked them off, then stood proudly before her, his teenage cock glued to his stomach and just about as enticing as anything Clara could think of. She sat up and deftly unfastened her bikini top, then held it to her as if coyness, even feigned coyness, was still an option.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked.

"I'm waiting for you to ask nicely," she teased.

"Come off it, Clarabelle! Just show me your tits!"

"That," she complained, "is not asking nicely. Now try again."

"Please, Mistress Clara," he said in a tone not entirely free from sarcasm. "Please let this unworthy boy gaze upon your incomparable breasts."

Clara laughed. "That's better." She threw the bikini top aside and watched his face as her breasts were freed. She knew how good her tits were. She could not have spent so many years observing their effect on boys and men alike (not to mention a good few girls and women) without knowing that. So she wallowed for a few seconds, just enjoying her brother's open-mouthed lust as he drank in the sight of them.

"Can I... touch them?" he asked stepping closer to the bed.

"Not yet," she said. "I want to see you stroke yourself while you look at them."

He swallowed hard, and laid eager fingers to his cock, running them up and down its length as he gazed at his sister's breasts. Clara affected an air of indifference, though the truth was it was turning her on beyond measure to watch her brother masturbating out of naked lust for her. She enjoyed the effect she had on other people, always had, but to have it on her own flesh and blood took the enjoyment to a new level, something closer to ecstasy. Was she so vain? Maybe, but it was more than that. Something in her blood, it seemed to her. Something primal. Something visceral.

"Oh that's it, wuss-boy, wank for Mistress Clara."

"Yes! Yes, Mistress Clara!"

"Tell me how much you want me."

"More than anything, Mistress!"

"More even than mom?"

"Yes, even mom!"

"More even than Grandma Maggie?"

"Yes! More than anyone! More than anything!"

"Good. A girl likes to know she's special." She stood up from the bed, untying the bow that held up her bikini bottoms as she did so. She let them fall, quite nonchalantly, and stood naked before him, close enough that he could have reach forward and touched her. But he didn't. He continued to wank his pretty cock while his eyes roved over every inch of Clara's body. She took his free hand in her own and guided it to her breast, cupped his finger over it, then let go while he squeezed and fondled it.

"Look at me!"

His eyes snapped up to hers and he was instantly ensnared in her gaze as with one hand he fondled her and with the other he stroked himself. It struck her that her brother was utterly in her snares. She could probably get him to agree to anything she liked, but that had no appeal for her. Nothing could have been better than the knowledge that another human being, especially her own brother, was so bewitched by her - by her beauty, by her body, by desire for her. She leaned in to kiss him, pressing her breast against his hand and pushing one hand up beneath his near-shoulder-length hair to hold his head in close. She explored his mouth with her tongue as she slid her free hand down to cup his balls and squeeze them. Owen continued to masturbate, and she could feel his hand brushing against her own as he did so. She squeezed harder, causing him to whimper.

"Better not come yet, little brother," she told him, surfacing from the kiss. "I want it inside me." Laughing at the look on his face, she turned her back on him and bent forward over the bed, planting both hands on the mattress to steady herself. She looked back over her shoulder. "Well," she mocked, "what are you waiting for? Come on and fuck me."

She watched Owen step up behind her, still uncertain that she meant it but really hoping she did. He put one hand on her thigh and used the other to guide his cock to where it so desperately wanted to be. Where she desperately wanted it to be.

"That's it! Put it in me! Give it to me!"

Gulping, Owen steered the head clumsily to the opening of her pussy, or where he thought it was. He was an inch or two astray, so she reached back under herself, took his cock in her fingers, and guided it home. Treating her as though she might break, he eased himself into her when what she wanted was for him to ram it home and take her like a bitch. But once he was inside her, his confidence quickly grew. He moved slowly at first, but his desire took control of him and his thrusts soon became more forceful.

"Yes!" she urged. "Slam it into me, wuss-boy!"

That seemed to enrage him, to judge from the uptick in tempo. She sighed as his hips slapped against her naked buttocks and his cock filled and stretched her. That was what she wanted, to be well and truly fucked by her little brother.

"Come on, gay-boy!" she hissed at him. "Show me what a real man fucks like!"

"Shut the fuck up, Clarabelle!" He fucked her harder, almost angrily now, which was exactly what she intended (though he would pay later for the 'Clarabelle').

"Make me, cock-sucker! Come on, pretend I'm your mommy, and fuck me like a bitch!"

He was panting with the effort, slamming in and out of her like his life depended on it. And it felt good! It felt right! If this was how it felt to fuck your brother, then she could see no good reason why every girl didn't do it. God, she might even choose him over Julia Thorne at this rate. He was already getting close, it was obvious, so she simply decided to goad him over the edge.

"Fuck me, you filthy fucking pervert! Fuck your fucking sister! Give me that sissy cum, gay-boy!"

With a bellow half of rage and half of ecstasy, Owen gripped his sister's flanks hard and froze, his cock buried deep in her cunt, as he exploded in orgasm. Every few seconds, he would draw back before slamming into her again, pumping another load of cum into her womb. At last, he slumped over her, panting for breath, before easing himself out of her pussy and collapsing on the bed, completely spent.

Laughing, Clara lay down next to him, dipping her fingers into a honeypot of cum and tasting them, before proceeding to frig herself off, ignoring him until she had made herself come once, twice, three times, not loudly or dramatically but most satisfyingly.

"So how was your first time with a girl, gay-boy?" she asked him.

"Stop calling me that!"

"I'll call you anything I like, bitch," she smirked. "I own you now. You're a slave to my cunt."

He was about to retort then thought the better of it. Instead, he turned to her, his anger giving way to rapture. "I am your slave," he said, and he sounded like he meant it. "I'm sorry I called you Clarabelle."

"You will be," she told him. "Now thank me."

"Thank-you, Clara," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"Thank-you, Mistress Clara!"

"That's better. God, you're slow on the uptake.

"Sorry, mistress."

She shrugged. "Never mind. Boys are all a bit dim. Perhaps I need to find myself a real man to fuck."

He paused, as if hesitating, then said, "Maybe you should fuck dad."

"Seriously?"

"Why not? I've already admitted to you that I'd fuck mom if I could. Wouldn't you fuck dad, given the chance?"

"Maybe. I don't know. He'd never go for it anyway."

"Well, neither would mom. It's just fantasies, really."

"Like fucking your sister?" she asked, mussing up his girlie hair with her hand.

"Yeah!" he grinned. "Like fucking your sister."

When Clara noticed her father slumped in front of the Sunday afternoon sport, she remembered what Owen had said to her and decided, on pure impulse, to try an experiment, just to see what happened. She trotted up to her room and hurriedly got changed before going back down again. Her father didn't look up when she entered, not at first, but when he did his jaw dropped. That was exactly the reaction she had been hoping for; She was wearing a crop-top (with no bra), and cut-off jeans. She intended to look good enough to eat, even if that was hardly the reaction a man was supposed to have to his nineteen-year-old daughter. She was wearing lipstick too, scarlet like an Amsterdam whore.

"Going out somewhere?" he asked, waspishly.

"Perhaps I should go next door," sniped Clara. "That's what you do, isn't it? When you're feeling horny?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do. I think you've been having sex with Caroline Wilkinson, that's what I think."

"I don't see what it has to do with you, young lady."

"So you admit it, then?"

"I don't admit anything, and I don't appreciate the attitude."

"Really? I thought you liked being bossed around by women? Or do I have that wrong?"

"Clara, I'm warning you!"

"You are? What are you going to do, spank me? Or would you prefer it if I spanked you. Would you like that, daddy? I'll bet you would." Ignoring the look of outrage and going so far as to blow him a kiss, she turned and sashayed back out of the room, feeling his eyes on her as she went.

iii. Coming Clean

Elizabeth had noticed that her husband had been a bit quiet recently, especially since she made him suck Simon's cock. She had asked him how he felt about it, but he wouldn't say much, only that it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, but also refusing to commit to doing it again. But he had something else on his mind now, and it took quite a bit of wheedling to get it out of him. Once she did, she listened patiently as Ashley made his confession.

"It's Clara," he said. "I don't quite know how to put this, but she seems to know all about our... activities."

"I can't say I'm all that surprised," she said. She had been resigned for some time to the idea that the kids were going to find out sooner or later. And what with everything her mother had said to her, she was even beginning to think it might be a good thing. A relief, if nothing else. If it was true about the Carrington Gene, and deep down inside herself she knew it was true, then trying to contain their native urges while the Village was under the malign influence of Isobel bloody Carrington, might prove impossible.

"Really? And how surprised would you be if I told you she's been flirting with me."

She sighed. So, it was already happening. "She is quite a flirt."

"It didn't seem exactly... innocent."

She shook her head. "When was Clara ever innocent?"

"Is that all you have to say?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"A bit of advice would be nice. I'm not exactly au fait with the etiquette when it comes to rebuffing the advances of my own bloody daughter!

"Have you tried flirting back?"

"What? Are you even taking this seriously, Beth?"

"I am taking it seriously. And maybe," she added, giving him a meaningful stare, "next time she flirts, you should flirt right back."

"And where do you suppose that would lead?"

"Where would you like it to lead, Ash?"

He frowned. "What the hell are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting that, somewhere in the deepest, darkest recesses of your libido, my darling, you're simply itching to fuck your daughter."

"That's sick!"

"So? Whether it's sick or not is irrelevant, and I'm beginning to see that now. The cock wants what the cock wants. And yours wants to fuck our daughter."

"Is this all that Carrington nonsense again? I think your mother's gone crazy and she's three-quarters along the way to taking you with her!"

"Come on, Ash. Are you seriously telling me that you've never looked at our beautiful, sexy daughter and thought, 'God, she's hot'."

"It certainly sounds like you have!"

"I have, actually," she admitted. "And for the record, I'm not judging you. Maybe we really have all gone crazy. It's probably part of Isobel Carrington's Grand Design, or something, but if anything were to happen, between you and Clara for example, I'm just saying I wouldn't condemn you for it. I just want you to be honest with me and admit how you feel."

He let out a long, heavy sigh. "I am only human," he said. "So yes, I admit, sometimes - just sometimes - I do look at Clara like a man looks at, you know, an attractive young woman."

"Seems a rather roundabout way of saying she turns you on."

"That makes it sound so... tawdry."

"What's wrong with tawdry? I just want to hear you say it. In fact, if it makes it any easier, I'll go first. I have, on occasion, had inappropriate thoughts about both our children. I'm not proud of it, but I'm increasingly not ashamed of it either. Now it's your turn."

"I have had the occasional inappropriate thought about Clara," he admitted.

"And Owen?"

"God, woman, you really want me to be gay, don't you?"

"What I want, my darling Ashley, is for you to open your mind to the possibilities. That's what I'm trying to do, and it's hard, but it'll be a hundred times harder if I don't have my beloved husband right there alongside me while I'm doing it."

"I sucked a man's cock for you," he pointed out. "Lusting after my teenage son might still be a bit beyond the pale, however."

"Good boy," she told him, giving his head a condescending pat. "You're doing your best."

iv. Impure Thoughts

Clara had a lot on her mind - the questioning of her own sexuality, the new level of trust being placed in her by her boss at work, the curiously developing relationship she shared with her brother, and the power she discovered she might have over her father. So it was no surprise when her mother noticed she was preoccupied.

"Anything on your mind, sweetheart?" she asked her one evening in the middle of June.

"This and that, mom. Just normal stuff."

"Normal?"

"Work. Friends. Sex. The usual."

"Sex?"

Clara frowned. "Mom, if you're trying to adopt some kind of weird catechism for wheedling information out of me, I'd prefer if you just told me what was on your mind."

"Oh nothing. Something your gran said to me recently that's had me in two minds."

"Oh, so it's you who has something they want to talk about."

Her mother smiled. "When a girl has such a pretty face, it's easy to forget she has a brain behind it."

"Hey, I've got it all, baby. Brains, looks, smoking-hot body..."

"I don't deny any of that. Your dad says you were hinting about some suspicions you have. About him and me, I mean. Look, sweetheart, you can ask me anything. Your father and I are entitled to our privacy, same as anyone, but at the same time I don't want any secrets between us that may fester. So, if you want to ask, ask."

"Owen thinks... We both think that you and dad have been carrying on with next-door. Have you?"

"We have."

"Oh! What's that all about?"

She took Clara's hand, like someone comforting a grieving friend. "It's not just us," she said. "Perhaps it's a coincidence but since that Carrington woman came to the Village, everyone seems to be acting a bit crazy."

"Is this about my visiting Codex Web Design, because..."

"No!" Her mother held up both hands. "I don't trust Isobel Carrington nor Julia Thorne who, by the way, in case you don't know, is another one of the extended Carrington clan. But... you're a grown-up, Clara, and as long as you note my concerns, you're quite free to act as you see fit."

"What then?"

"When I said 'acting crazy', I'm talking mainly about sex and libido. I'm sure you don't want to hear your mother talking about this but, before I had you and Owen, I had a more than usually active libido myself. And since the Advent of Isobel, it's come back full force. So, with your father's support, I'm trying to explore it a little."

"Meaning you fuck Simon Wilkinson while dad fucks his wife?"

"That would be one example."

"And another would be you becoming Mistress Beth to dad's submissive little bitch?"

She coughed. "I think you might have put that more tactfully, but basically, yes."

Clara nodded. "Thank-you. I appreciate the honesty. And just for the record, I don't in any way object to my parents doing a bit of sexual experimentation. But, as with Watergate, it's the cover-up that matters more than the 'crime'. I don't like you sneaking around behind our backs."

"Then I apologise. But is there anything you'd like to come clean about? Fair's fair, after all."

This had never occurred to Clara, but she had now painted herself into a corner and couldn't see how she could possibly retain the moral high ground now that her mother had spilled the beans, while her beans were still undeniably in the tin. She took a deep breath. "I encouraged Owen to fuck me."

Whatever her mother had expected her to say, it was evidently not this. "You what?"

"We've been messing around, just a little here and there, for a few months. Probably also since Isobel came on the scene, if you think that's relevant. Anyway, it happened, and it'll probably happen again. I have zero regrets and am not even slightly sorry I did it."

"Oh!"

"Are you mad? Or just disappointed?"

Her mother struggled for words for a minute, seemingly caught between astonishment and apoplexy. But then, in an instant, she subsided. She took Clara's hand again, looked her in the eye, and said, "Neither, sweetheart. There's a lot you don't know about me, and a lot more you don't know about your heritage. But what you've just told me shouldn't actually surprise or shock me at all. I can't say I like it, but now that I come to think of it, I can see that it was probably inevitable."

"My heritage?"

"Your Carrington heritage, I mean. I don't know whether you've heard this term already, but they talk about their 'Hyacinthid blood' or the 'Carrington Gene', which, as best as I understand it, is an inherited trait in all Carringtons that makes them... well, 'libidinous' would be one word for it."

"What would another word be?"

Her mother blew out her breath. "Raging nymphomaniacs with the morals of alley cats?"

"Cool!" Clara was impressed and didn't bother to hide the fact. "And we're part of it?"

"Seemingly. So when you tell me you made love to your brother, really that's just the family tradition shining through."

"So, did you? Fuck Uncle Greg, I mean?"

"No." She shook her head. "Just your Aunt Ursula."

"Mommalicious!"

"I'm glad you're so readily able to articulate your reaction."

"Don't be pompous. I just discovered my mom's a lifelong alley cat, and I'm here for it."

"Good. Does that mean you're now ready to admit to trying to seduce your father?"

"Oh, come on, mom! I didn't do any such thing. I just teased him a bit and did some fishing to see how much he fancies me. He didn't bite, though I suspect he wanted to."

"Yes, I've spoken to him about that. You didn't hear this from me, Clara, but if you were to try to seduce him, I'd put your chances of success fairly high."

"Are you serious?"

"You did not hear it from me."

Though shaken somewhat by her mother's revelations, Clara was also more than eager to put them to the test. It was not that she had a burning desire to fuck her father, when it came right down to it, only to explore the possibility that she had the power to seduce him. That was the enticing thing, and that she could not resist. So as soon as the opportunity presented itself, she sat down opposite him and crossed one slender leg over the other. In the thigh-length skirt she was wearing, this action revealed an inappropriate amount of thigh. That was why she'd chosen it.

"I'm not sure you should be dressing like that," he told her, with a palpable lack of conviction.

"Why not, daddy? Is it giving you impure thoughts?"

He stared at her. "Is that how you talk to your father?"

She shrugged. "I'm not forcing you to look. But I know perfectly well that when I dress like this it tends to make boys go a bit crazy. Some girls too. And men, of course."

"I'm your father!"

"Is that all you can say? But that makes it even more exciting, doesn't it? Come on, admit it! You have the hots for me. It's OK, I don't mind."

"Have you seriously thought through what you're suggesting, Clara?"

"Oh, I've thought about it a lot. I've thought about it hard. Haven't you?"

"I try not to."

"Do you succeed?" She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, like she was Sharon Stone (whoever the fuck that was).

"Not always." His voice was croaky, and he looked about as innocent as a puppy in a puddle of wee. That's how she knew she had him on the line and had only to reel him in.

"Good. Do you ever think about me and touch yourself?"

"Christ, Clara! Can you hear yourself?"

"It's OK, dad. I don't mind. It turns me on to think about it, in fact."

"You're my daughter!"

"So you keep saying, but I already know that. Are you just trying to remind yourself of the fact? Are you thinking about my pussy?"

"No!"

"You are now though!" she smirked. "If you want it, it's yours." She spread her legs with a purr. She was wearing no knickers, and he could see her neatly-trimmed pussy in all its glory. "Do you want it, dad?"

"No! Stop doing this!"

"Are you hard?" She knew he was. He hadn't insulted her intelligence by crossing his legs, and she could see perfectly well that his trousers were bulging.

"It's just a human reaction," he blushed.

"No, it's the reaction of a man who wants to be laid," she teased. "And here's the thing, daddy. If you want it, it's yours. I know mom makes you beg for hers, but mine's right here for the taking. Do you want to, daddy? Do you want to take what's rightfully yours?" Not waiting for his answer, she stood up, crossed the space between them with a couple of strides, and sat on the sofa beside him. She slid one hand from his knee, up the inside of his thigh, and brought it to rest on the bulge he could not admit to.

"You can't be doing this, Clara," he told her without, however, making any attempt to stop her.

"Is this all for me, daddy? Did I do this to you?"

"You know you did!"

"Well, if I caused it, then I own it. That's the law," she said, pulling down the zipper and sliding her slender hand inside. Her father groaned, though whether in despair or desire she couldn't be certain. Right now, it didn't matter what he wanted or claimed to want, he was being remotely controlled, and the controller was in her hand. She drew his cock through the open zipper and examined it. "Well now, daddy, isn't mom a lucky girl?"

"She's never complained."

"I'll bet! It's bigger than Owen's." He pointedly did not ask her how she knew that, and when she ran her hand up and down the shaft once or twice, by way of an experiment, he leaned his head back against the chair and whimpered. "My dad's cock!" she told herself. "And it's all mine." Still stroking it, she leaned over to kiss him. He tried to turn his face away, but it was a half-hearted effort, and the kiss became a thing. It turned her on to know how much he wanted it and how much he didn't want to want it. It turned her on because he had no choice in the matter. He was in her power. She kissed him more deeply, and he did nothing to stop her. She stroked his cock harder, and resigned acquiescence was soon turning into cooperation.

Clara slid down from the sofa seat until she was on the floor beside him. She took her father's cock in her mouth and, still running one hand up and down the shaft, teased the head with her tongue. She knew what she was doing. This was the same as any other cock. Except it wasn't. This was her father's cock.

"Yes!" he groaned. "Oh, Clara..."

She took him deeper into her mouth, tongue still swirling, letting its presence force apart her jaws, letting its head nudge the back of her throat before pulling back, then sliding back down it, over and over again until his knuckles showed white where he gripped the sofa cushions hard. But as soon as she sensed him getting close, she stopped. She looked up at him with a broad grin. "Tasty!"

"Is that all I get?"

"Oh no, daddy. You get everything." So saying, she stood up and straddled his lap. Hiking up her skirt, she took his cock in her hand and held it steady as she positioned herself over it. Gazing into his despairing eyes, Clara sank down on to her father's cock and took him inside her cunt. Heroically, he held her gaze as, with slow, disciplined control, she eased herself up and down. She put one hand on either of his shoulders and pushed herself in languorous fucking motions along his cock. He wasn't fucking his daughter... she was fucking him.

He put one hand on either side of her waist. She was bare between the waistband of her skirt and the bottom of her crop-top, so she could feel the warmth of his skin on her own, and that sent an unexpected erotic thrill through her, though she could not have said why. She tried to take in the full enormity of what she was doing, that she was fucking her father, right here on the living room sofa. And he was letting her do it.

"Do you like that, daddy?" she taunted. "Do you like having your dick in your little girl's pussy?"

"Not so little anymore," he replied. Would that be his defence in a court of law? It almost made her laugh out loud.

"Do you, though?"

"God help me, yes!" he wailed. "It's the best feeling I've ever felt!"

"Good answer!" she said, and began to move faster, grinding her hips as she rode him. His hands moved upwards, over her crop-top to take one breast in either of his big, strong hands. And now she felt protected, nurtured, cared for. Loved. Above all, wanted. "I love you, dad!" she told him, as she plunged her pussy up and down his long, hard cock.

"I love you, sweetheart." He was thrusting back at her now, no longer content to be the puppet at her command. They were hard thrusts, too, urgent and passionate. She almost wished she could step outside of her body and look at them both from a distance, see their clothed bodies writhing together as they performed their forbidden act of copulation.

"Yes, fuck me! Fuck your little girl! Fuck your little girl!"

"Oh God, Clara... Oh Jesus..." His face contorted and his hands clenched hard over her breasts, almost painfully so as he thrust deeper inside her than she would have thought possible. He was coming. He was coming inside her. Her own father! How could anything ever beat that feeling? She was a succubus, a goddess, a thing to be idolised and worshipped, adored. She plunged her hand between her legs and rubbed furiously at her clit so that, even before his own orgasm ended, hers began, and they were joined together, father and daughter, in shameless, liquid lust.

II. Matilda Calls the Shots

If your husband's decisions are not to your liking, then command him to make different ones

Sir William Carrington, Advice to Wives, Maxim 2

When it came to the younger children, Aaron and Chloe, Matilda had kept them scrupulously in the dark about what she been doing with the older pair. But when it came to Tobias, she was a lot less careful. The problem was that after more than two decades of marriage, she had developed a deep and abiding contempt for him. In the early days they had been unable to keep their hands off each other, hence the four children in five years, but raising four young children had killed off his libido altogether, while leaving hers on life support. And while hers had made its recent and spectacular recovery, his was still dead, buried alongside whatever personality she had once imagined him to have. She didn't need his penis, she didn't need his money, and she didn't need his company. They had stayed together mostly through habit, and a desire not to disrupt their children's lives. She didn't hate him. She didn't really feel anything for him, positive or negative. He was just Toby. He just existed in close proximity to her, producing reactions of complete indifference. As a consequence of all this, when she started carrying on with Ryan and Harriet, she didn't much bother to hide it from him for very long. Which meant that, eventually, even someone as completely oblivious as Tobias Ellis was going to notice.

"Tilda, what's going on?" he asked her one night in bed.

"What's going on with what?"

"You know what I mean. I see the way Ryan keeps looking at you, and the secret glances and whispers between you. What are you two up to?"

"I don't know what you mean. You're imagining things."

"I don't think so. I know you better than that, sweetie."

"Don't call me 'sweetie', you know I hate it. Why can't you just mind your own bloody business, Toby?"

"He's my son too, you know."

"He's my son. All four of them are mine. I was the one who pushed them out of my fucking gash. What the bloody hell did you do? I know it's quite an achievement for you to actually shoot some cum into a woman's fanny, Toby, but it's not really that impressive."

Her husband shook his head. "Why are you such a bitch to me?"

"I'm a bitch to everyone. You're nobody special, you're just the one who was stupid enough to marry me."

"I can't even remember why I did, now."

"You can always leave," snapped Matilda, "hard though it would be for me to give up my twice-yearly fuck."

"I suppose we just don't really turn each other on anymore," he said, though if he was sad about it, she would never have guessed.

"Tobias, you're a stout, balding man in his forties. You're not likely to turn anyone on."

"And you're still as gorgeous as ever," he said, as if it were something he bitterly resented. "Apparently, even your own son thinks so."

"He's inherited his good taste from his mother."

"Maybe so, but don't you think it's a bit off, the way he looks at you? The way you look at him, too, while we're on the subject. It's not on, Tilda. It's really not."

"He fancies me," she shrugged. "It's a thing. They write fucking plays about it."

"You shouldn't encourage him, at least."

"I told you, Toby, you need to mind your own fucking business. And let me mind mine."

The six of them sat down to dinner. Matilda was amused to note how much Harriet was squirming in her seat, doubtless owing to the fact that her mother had recently given her a damned good spanking. "Harriet, can't you keep still?" she said. "All I can see is you fidgeting!"

"Sorry mom," she muttered. "I can't think what's got into me."

The answer being, of course, Matilda's fingers; After the spanking, she had frigged her elder daughter to a pretty intense orgasm. There was a glint in Harriet's eye even now as if to say, 'I'm not satiated yet, mommy.' But with Aaron and Chloe at the table, not to mention Tobias, neither of them could give voice to their thoughts.

But after the sixteen- and seventeen-year-old had gone to bed, and she had heard their bedroom doors close, Matilda turned to Ryan and said, "Your father thinks we're up to something behind his back."

"What do you mean?" asked Ryan, clearly alarmed.

"I think he believes we may be behaving inappropriately with each other," she smirked.

"Mom!"

"He's wrong of course. Nothing we do is remotely inappropriate, don't you agree?" Both of her elder children were blushing, not knowing what to say or what their father might infer, so Matilda decided to spell it out for him. "I mean, what could be more appropriate than a woman getting physical with her children. You are my children, after all."

"What the hell are you saying?" demanded Tobias, flushing not with embarrassment but with anger.

"I'm saying, sweetheart, that if I want to fuck Ryan, or Harriet for that matter, I'll do it. Understand?"

"I know you're trying to goad me," he said, though he didn't seem quite certain of that. "But this is hardly something you ought to be saying in front of the children, is it?"

"Are you telling me what I can or can't say?"

"I'm saying you're being outrageous. I know you like to shock people, Tilda, but you really are going too far. I think..."

His words were cut off as Matilda slapped him, incredibly hard, across his face. "Shut the fuck up, Toby. Did I ask what you thought? What's it got to do with you, who I fuck? It's not like you want to fuck me, now, is it? At least Ryan can get a hard on."

"Tilda!"

"It's OK, dad," said Ryan. "Mom's never done anything with us against our will. On the contrary."

"But I..."

Another slap to Tobias' face silenced him. "God, you're a fucking buzz kill!" Matilda told him.

"Mom..." Harriet began. Her eyes were troubled.

"It's OK, sweetheart," said Matilda, smiling at her elder daughter. "I won't be leaving you out of the fun."

Tobias stood up. For a second, Matilda thought he was about to strike her and was quite disappointed (but not at all surprised) when, instead, he simply stormed away from the table and stomped off upstairs.

"Thank fuck for that!" she said.

"Mom, you shouldn't goad dad like that," said Harriet.

"But darling, I enjoy goading your father. He's such a boring old fart."

"He's still my dad!"

"Maybe. But unlike your mother, he's never going to fuck you, is he? What about you, Ryan? Are you going to side with your father too, or would you rather feel your cock in mommy's juicy cunt?"

Ryan's mouth fell open. "Are you serious? You mean, properly fuck you?"

"Properly, improperly, however you want to do it," she laughed. "Right now!"

"What if Aaron or Chloe come down?" asked Harriet.

"Well then, they'll get quite the show, won't they?" She knew it was an outrageous thing to say, and obviously she didn't mean it, but it provoked a reaction and that was the main thing. She was in a wild mood and the only thing that would cure her of it was a good, hard fuck. "Now, Ryan darling, do you want to fuck mommy, or not?"

"It's not something I'm likely to say no to, is it?"

"Good boy." She took Ryan's hand and led him into the kitchen, aware that Harriet was following them. Without a word, she hiked her skirt up around her waist and sat herself on the edge of the kitchen table, the same kitchen table where she had first licked Isobel's pussy and thus fired the first shot in her sexual revolt. Ryan, not sure what he was meant to do, stood in front of her while Harriet lingered in the doorway. Matilda had to smile at her son's ingenuousness. "Is your cock nice and hard, sweetheart?" she asked in her most maternal voice. He nodded. "Well, get it out then!"

While he did so, she lay back on the table, drawing her legs up to her chest, from which position she took her knickers off. It was a bit of a struggle, but worth it for the look on Ryan's face. The young man, confronted by his mother's exposed vulva, had his mouth agape. He stepped closer, preceded by his cock. Matilda obligingly used her finger and thumb to open herself to him and, with a glance at Harriet that she did not miss, guided his cock into the Holy Grail of all young men's cocks - the same pussy he was spawned from. She heard Harriet mutter, "Jesus Christ!" under her breath as Matilda draped both of her long legs over her son's shoulders and as, tentatively at first, Ryan began to move his hips.

As the full enormity of what she was doing struck her, Matilda let out a groan of pure lust. "Oh that's it, sweetheart, fuck your slut mother!"

"This is so fucked up!" complained Harriet, moving closer to her mother and her brother.

"Oh stop whining, you miserable cunt!" Matilda told her daughter, as she felt her son's cock fill her, felt his balls slapping against her arse. "Can't you see that mommy's tits need some attention. The only question you need to be asking, Harriet, is what are you going to do about that?"

Harriet stared hard at her mother, but Matilda was in no mood to back down. The girl caved and, still muttering to herself, stepped up beside the kitchen table and busied herself unbuttoning her mother's blouse. Matilda smirked at her. God, this was hot! Fucking her own son in front of her daughter, while her husband steamed and fretted about it upstairs. Even Isobel would be impressed by this. She groaned as Ryan, gaining confidence with every thrust, began to up the tempo. Harriet pulled open her blouse and stood for a moment, admiring her mother's tits.

"Don't just look!" she admonished. "Give them some attention!"

"It's all about attention with you, isn't it?" smirked Harriet. Nevertheless, she put one hand over each breast and squeezed them with a purr. They looked good enough to eat, in Matilda's opinion, half-encased in the lace of her bra, and was not particularly surprised when her daughter pulled her bra down to free them, then bent over the table to suck on her elongated nipple. Just like old times, she thought wickedly. But pleasant though it was to feel her daughter suckling at her breast, it was really all about Ryan's filial cock pounding in and out of her like Toby used to do. He took after her more than his father, in looks anyway (not so much in temperament), and it was kind of like being fucked by a younger, male version of herself. Some women might have found that weird, but she wasn't some woman, she was Matilda fucking Harrison!

"God, it feels so good to be me!" she exclaimed. "Fuck me, sweetheart! Own my fucking cunt!"

Ryan was cupping both her buttocks, holding her up off the table to give himself a better angle to slam into her pussy, and his face was furious in concentration. Harriet had moved to the other breast now or rather was suckling on one and fondling the other with impertinent fingers. What divine children she had. She found herself wishing Aaron and Chloe would hurry up and be old enough so she could make all four of her brood into lovers. How magnificent would that be? She grabbed Harriet by the hair and forced her face close to her own so that she could kiss her daughter. Soon, their mouths were locked together, tongues duelling while Harriet squeezed and groped her tits, and while Ryan railed into her. If anyone had come downstairs at that moment, they would have been treated to full-on X-rated porn. She moved her hand down to her clit, playing with it furiously as her son fucked her.

Such intensity could not last for long. Ryan pulled out of her and stroked himself violently, while she masturbated with equal urgency. Why had he pulled out of her? She drove her tongue deeper in Harriet's mouth, gripping hard on the girl's hair with her free hand. Then Ryan was jetting cum all over her hand and her stomach with a stifled cry. Harriet batted her mother's hand away and took over the duty of rubbing her desperate pussy, still kissing her with a most unfilial passion. Her daughter raised her head just long enough to hiss, "Come for me, you dirty, fucking slut! I want to see you come like a bitch!"

And that was all it took. Covered in her son's cum, frigged to buggery by her wild-eyed daughter, Matilda teetered at the edge for a moment, then plunged over it. Unwilling to make too much noise, despite her bravado, she plummeted into orgasm with stifled cries of, "Fuck, fuck, Jesus fuck..." Her whole body shook, and she gripped the edges of the kitchen table until her fingers hurt as climax overpowered her.

By the time she remembered who or where she was, Ryan and Harriet was standing side-by-side and hand-in-hand looking down at her, Ryan grinning and Harriet smirking. "That," she told them, "was fucking epic."

III. The Advantages of Obedience

It is not enough to love your offspring; You must free them from ignorance and from innocence. In a word, you must fuck them

Sir William Carrington, On Family, Maxim 7

i. Anna Makes a Discovery

Anna stood frozen in the doorway. It couldn't be that they didn't know she was at home, of course they knew. So either they didn't care that she might see them, or they actually wanted her to. They hadn't even bothered to shut the bedroom door. She had come into Jamie's bedroom to ask him if he wanted a drink, not knowing that Olivia was even in the house. But the shock that froze her in place was not so much from seeing her son and his girlfriend in bed together, as discovering that Jemima was with them.

"What the hell is this?" She stormed into the room.

"Oh, hi Mrs Stewart," said Olivia sweetly, looking up from Jamie's hard cock, which she had had in her mouth. The girl was completely naked and looked exactly as amazing as Anna had supposed she was, but she refused to be distracted. Difficult, considering her shirtless son's cock was sticking out of his jeans zipper and her daughter, lying on his other side from Olivia, though mercifully fully clothed, had been running her hand over her brother's naked chest as she watched him receive oral sex from that hussy.

"Don't you 'hi Mrs Stewart' me, young lady. What's the meaning of this?"

"I was just giving Jamie a blow-job," said Olivia. "He seems to like them."

"Jemima?"

"Sorry mom. They said I could watch."

"Watch? That you could watch your brother having sex with this... strumpet?"

"Well, not just watch," smirked Jemima. "She was going to let me have a go, too."

"Excuse me?"

Jamie, who alone of the three of them seemed mortified by his mother's presence (though insufficiently mortified to lose his erection, she noted), closed his eyes as if hoping to wish the whole situation away.

"Jamie says I get better at it each time I do it."

"You... you've been sucking your brother's cock?" Anna spluttered. She was outraged, appalled, incandescent with rage, and only a tiny, tiny, tiny bit turned on.

"Jealous, Mrs Stewart?"

She so badly wanted to slap Olivia Hendry's smug face at that moment she had to clench her fists painfully tight to prevent herself from doing it. "At least tell me that's all you've done," she said, trying to focus her ire on her daughter.

"Are you asking me if I've fucked my brother?" asked Jemima innocently.

"That is what I'm asking, as you well know."

"Not yet," she replied, oozing with sass.

"But you intend to?"

Jemima nodded, a dreamy smile on her face.

"Is this your doing?" she demanded, wheeling on Olivia again.

"I don't get to control who fucks who, Mrs Stewart."

"But you manipulated them into it, didn't you, you little bitch?"

"I get that from my Aunty Isobel. She fucks your husband, and I fuck your son and daughter. That seems like a fair trade, doesn't it?" Anna actually raised her hand, but Olivia only laughed. "Now, now, Mrs Stewart, what kind of behaviour's that for a sub? Really, you ought to be on your knees. Isn't that where you prefer to be?"

"That's none of your business!"

"Do you, though, mom? Is it true that dad's your master?" asked Jemima.

"OK, girls!" said Jamie, unable to take it any longer. "That's my mom you're talking to."

"He's so gallant!" laughed Olivia. "No wonder everyone wants to fuck him. Well, I do fuck him, Jem's going to fuck him, which only leaves you who merely wants to fuck him. Isn't that right, Mrs Stewart? Wouldn't you just love it if Jamie started bossing you around the way his dad does?"

"Get out of my house, you disgusting trollop!" raged Anna. But the tables had turned, and she knew it. As soon as Olivia started acting dominantly towards her, something had triggered deep inside. She was starting to understand that she would respond to anyone who bossed her around, and the meaner they were, the more turned on she would be. Right now, her arousal was battling with her righteous rage, and though her rage had not abated, it definitely wasn't winning.

"I don't think so," said Olivia.

"No, mom. I'm sorry but you can't tell Olivia what to do," said Jemima. She got up off the bed and came over to take her mother in an embrace. Anna had no idea how to respond to that, so she didn't respond at all, she just let Jemima hug her. "Go with this, mom," her daughter whispered to her. "We're only trying to give you what you need."

Olivia, finally abandoning Jamie's cock (which she had been provocatively stroking during the entire conversation), also stood up, and came around the bed to stand in front of Anna. "I told you to get on your knees, bitch!" she said.

"Do it, mom!" whispered Jemima. "I think you want to, anyway."

And she did want to, although she didn't really understand why. Freeing herself from Jemima's embrace, and with Jamie looking on in frank confusion, she turned to Olivia. For a moment, even she didn't know whether she was going to punch the girl right in the face, but she didn't. Looking her defiantly in the eyes, she dropped slowly to her knees. She had always known how beautiful, how seductive Olivia was, but with the girl standing over her, naked as the day she was born, she was more than that - she was worshipful, impossible to disobey.

"You see," she said, "I've been urging Jamie to fuck his sister for some time now. The poor, fragile boy has all kinds of hang-ups and inhibitions to overcome before he gets there, but I think he's pretty close. Jemima's been ready for ages. She might be a virgin, but she has a libido as wide as your hips. But the fact is, Annie, that what I want even more than to see Jamie fuck his sister, is to see him fuck his mother."

Anna could feel her face burning but could no longer tell whether the emotion overwhelming her was outrage, shame, or excitement. "You're... you're evil!"

"Oh come on," went on Olivia. "You can't pretend to me of all people that you're not a total slut, just like I am. And we both know there's nothing you wouldn't do to scratch that ever-present itch in your whore cunt. So let's cut the crap, shall we? You want Jamie to fuck you, and I want to see him do it. What the fuck are we waiting for?"

"I... I..." Not knowing how to respond, or what to do, Anna got back to her feet and fled from the room, her mind whirling. She ran into her bedroom and threw herself on the bed like a teenager fleeing from a hormonal outburst.

It was Jemima who came after her. Her daughter said nothing at first but closed the door behind her and sat on the bed beside her. "I'm sorry, mom, we didn't want to upset you. It's just that... well, there's so much been going on lately, for all of us, I mean, and I think it's time everything came out into the open."

"Your brother, Jemima?" asked Anna, not quite daring to look her daughter in the eye.

"It's just a bit of fun, really," she said.

"Fun?"

"Well no, not fun, exactly. A turn-on. It's so... taboo, you know? And the things you and dad have been doing aren't exactly vanilla, are they?"

"That's private, between me and your father!" The protest was a feeble one.

"And Isobel Carrington, from what I hear. And the other members of your Bored bloody Housewives Club. So not really all that private..."

Anna managed a chuckle at that, though she still felt more like sobbing. "I'm forty-one, sweetheart. I've lived my whole life as a timid, little mouse, too scared to try anything, and soon it might be too late. Call it my last hurrah."

"Hardly 'last'," scoffed Jemima. "It sounds to me like there's quite a bit of life in the old dog yet. But once Isobel knows about something, it's definitely no longer private. She told Olivia, of course, and Olivia told me and Jamie. And I know you talk about this stuff with the other Housewives. I am friends with their daughters, you know. And we talk too. And what you and dad do is fine by me. We all have our kinks, I suppose. Yours is being bossed around. Mine is messing around with Olivia and Jamie. We're not hurting anyone, and neither are you."

"It's incest, though," she said.

Jemima shrugged. "You can put labels on anything you like. It's just a word. They only banned it to stop inbreeding, but we live in the Twenty-First Century and there's stuff like birth control. I don't want Jamie to put a baby in me, just his cock. And though I don't have much to compare it with, it strikes me as a rather handsome one."

"What I saw of it," said Anna.

"You got a great big eyeful of it, mom, don't lie!"

"I'm not going to sit here and discuss your brother's penis with you."

"OK, but just tell me this, mom - didn't it turn you on even the slightest little bit when you saw the three of us together just now?"

"I was so appalled! And so angry. But..."

"But?"

"God help me, Jemima, what's wrong with me? You're so beautiful, the three of you, part of me wanted to paint your portrait and hang it on the bedroom wall!"

"Well, you're a writer not a painter, mom. Maybe you should write a story about it instead," Jemima grinned. "And in the meantime, think about what Olivia said, and what I've said. Because, although he's really reluctant to admit it, it's pretty obvious that Jamie's really into you, mom."

ii. Giving Annie Her Due

Snuggling up to her husband the next night, Anna spooned him so that her naked breasts were squashed provocatively against his back, and her groin pressed against his buttocks. This enabled her to cup his balls and whisper directly into his ear.

"I need to confess something to you, sweetheart. Your wife's been an extremely bad girl."

She felt Will's cock twitch. "Is it something that's likely to require a spanking?"

"A spanking is the absolute least I deserve," she told him. "I can't think of a punishment severe enough."

"Well, you can leave that to me," he answered in a low growl. "I think we can both agree that I'm good at choosing appropriate punishments. Isn't that so?"

"Yes, Master," she simpered. "You're so good to me. You treat me exactly how I deserve."

"I can't decide what you deserve until you tell me what you've done."

"I walked in on Olivia giving our son a blow-job."

"Deliberately?"

"No! God!"

"Well, how does that deserve punishment?"

"Jemima was with them."

"Really?" He was surprised, maybe, but she detected no outrage. Interesting. "Then maybe I should be punishing her."

"Would you like to punish her?" Where did that come from?

Will shucked off her tight embrace and rolled over to face her. "What's this all about?" he asked.

She took a deep breath, then another. "Olivia said she had nearly persuaded Jamie to fuck his sister... and she told me I should fuck him, too."

"That girl is seriously fucked up in the head," he said.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"I can see why you'd think she might need punishing. And I can see why our over-sexed children might need a talking to. But you still haven't told me why you deserve to be punished," he observed shrewdly.

"Because afterwards, when I was thinking about it, I started playing with myself," she said, lowering her gaze. "I'm sorry, Master, but I made myself come without permission, while I was thinking about our son's cock."

"Bloody hell! Maybe you do deserve a spanking!" Will pushed the covers back, she assumed so that she could get over his lap to receive her due rewa... punishment, but as soon as he did so she could see, for the first time, that his cock was as hard as a steel bar.

"What's that?" she demanded, pointing at it.

"That's my cock," he told her. "You've seen it before."

"Why's it so hard?"

"Are you questioning me, slut?"

She dropped her gaze. "I'm sorry, Master. It's so beautiful! I just wondered..."

"Well you can stop wondering! My hard-ons are my own. And so is your fat, ugly arse. Now stand up and bend over the bed while I decide how to punish you!"

It was almost second nature now to do as she was told, so long as she was commanded in a firm enough voice. She heard Will rummaging around behind her but did not dare to look to see what was happening, knowing she would find out soon enough. And so she did. Her only warning was the swishing sound through the air before something lashed across her buttocks, causing her to cry out in shock and pain. She was fairly sure it was a leather belt, and it stung like fuck. It stung no less the second time, or the third, and by the fourth her arse was burning, and the tears were rolling from her eyes. Will said nothing but kept on lashing her. Five. Six. Seven. Well, she lost count after that, but she was forced to bite down on her lip to stop herself from screaming and risk the kids hearing her. He stopped, ran a rough hand over her tender backside, which was almost more painful than the belt, then slapped her with his open palm.

"Stand up and turn around."

Anna straightened painfully and turned to face her husband. Will did indeed have a long, leather belt in his hand and an expression on his face that was so gleefully cruel it scared her. He was also sporting a pointing-at-the-ceiling erection.

"Hands on your head."

She did as she was told but looked on in horror as he raised the belt once more, this time bringing it down on her tits. She choked out a sobbing cry, which only seemed to encourage him because he brought the belt down again, and then a third time, lashing her with such violence that her breasts were flattened against her rib cage. She was weeping openly by this time, aware that the tears were running down her cheeks and dripping from her chin. Will threw the belt to one side, to her everlasting relief, and pushed her backwards so that she fell on to the bed. Before she knew what was happening, he was on top of her, forcing his way into her pussy (which was a sopping-wet as her face, a fact which came as a revelatory surprise to Anna). He wrapped both his hands around her throat and pinned her to the bed, half-strangling her as he pounded into her cunt. He was a wild beast by this point, barely in control of his own actions, yet he never pressed hard enough with his hands to alarm her. But such was the intensity of his pounding that it could not possibly last long, nor did it, and soon he was shooting his cum inside her with deep, invasive thrusts.

"How do you like that, you dirty, son-fucking cunt?"

Anna could only murmur in reply, panting through the pain and the ecstasy.

Once Will recovered his equilibrium, she could sense that he was a bit ashamed of how far he had taken things - ashamed, but not regretful. They lay side-by-side on the bed, and his hand reached for hers, squeezing it in an unspoken gesture of reassurance. She loved him for doing that.

"Thank-you, Master," she said at long last. "Thank-you for giving me what I deserved."

"Did I hurt you, Annie?"

"Yes," she smiled.

"Good. Did you come?"

"No, Master. It was almost more intense than coming."

"Do you want to bring yourself off?"

"No, Master. My orgasms belong to you."

"Yes. Yes, they do. But tell me something - when Olivia told you that you should fuck Jamie, why didn't you?"

"I... didn't have your permission, Master." It wasn't the only reason, of course, but it seemed like the best answer at the time. "Did I do wrong, sir?"

"No... No, not really. But Annie..."

"Yes, sir?"

"The next time Miss Hendry tells you to do something, you will fucking do it."

iii. The Now-or-Never Offer

Jemima spread herself on the bed, just like Olivia told her to. She felt horribly self-conscious, being naked and all, when nobody else was. They stood beside each other, hand-in-hand, looking down at her, and she couldn't be sure whether they were laughing at her or turned on by her. Olivia always looked pleased with herself, a smirk never far from her perfect lips. Jamie was embarrassed, that was obvious, but he wasn't looking away. On the contrary, his eyes were roving all over her, like he was trying to memorise every inch of her body. Was he regretting her taking her clothes off? Did he think that, after all, his sister was too skinny or too ugly? She couldn't hold a candle to Olivia Hendry, that much was undeniable. She hoped she wasn't too much of a disappointment to him. Still, he did have a bulge in his tracksuit bottoms, so something was turning him on.

"Now isn't this a sight for sore eyes?" asked Olivia. "Jemima Stewart in the raw. Hands up anyone who isn't hard or wet!"

"I... I'm not really all that," she protested.

"Oh, hush! Firm, little tits, lovely legs, flat stomach, and what I happen to know for a fact is a tight, tasty cunt. Who wouldn't want a piece of Jemima? I know Jamie would. Isn't that so, stud?" Jamie swallowed hard and tried to croak out an answer, but he couldn't really speak. "I believe what he's trying to say, Jem, is, 'I desperately want to stick my thing in her thing.'" Olivia laughed, characteristically pleased with herself. "And frankly, I can only wonder what the fuck is stopping him!"

"Yes, come on Jamie," said Jemima, her own voice not much better than a croak. "Pretend this is a one-off, now-or-never offer. Because it might be."

Somewhat like he was in a dream, Jamie pulled his rugby top off to reveal his muscular chest and arms, the torso of an athlete. Jemima's eyes roamed her brother's naked flesh every bit as thoroughly as his had roved hers. Then off came his tracksuit bottoms and her eyes stopped roaming. Instead they attained a predator-focus on the only thing that now mattered - her brother's cock. It was rock hard and, in Jemima's data-limited opinion, deeply impressive. The weeks of doubt, of conflict, and of self-recrimination on the matter evaporated, to be replaced by a monomaniacal urge. All that mattered, in that mad moment, was to have that beautiful thing inside her.

Jamie dared to look her in the eye, sheepish but overpowered with desire. "Is it... is it OK?"

Jemima smiled. "It's more than OK, you idiot! It's what I want!" Still he hesitated. Still looking into his eyes, she spread her legs, offering herself to him. "I want you to fuck me, Jamie."

"You heard the girl," said Olivia, running one hand over his arse. "Are you going to keep us waiting?"

Still in his dreamlike trance, Jamie joined his sister on the bed. At first, all he could bring himself to do was trail his fingers over her stomach, wandering gradually further north without daring to touch her breasts, and further south without daring to dip into her pussy.

"Fuck me, Jamie!" she whispered to him.

"Yes! I... I want to... I..."

With a patient smile, Jemima took her brother's naked shoulder and rolled him on to his back. Then, with him still looking up at her with something akin to bewilderment, she knelt up, threw one leg over him, and positioned herself above him. She licked her lips as she took his cock in her hand. She could hear Olivia murmuring some kind of obscene encouragement behind her, but she wasn't really listening. Instead, with the greatest of care, she sank down on her brother's cock and engulfed it.

iv. A Rugby Player's Stamina

Anna was in the kitchen, vaguely assembling the materials to bake an apple pie. It had been a while since she baked anything, though she used to do it all the time. Her various roles of writer, mother, and wife seemed to leave her less and less time, but since she had persuaded Will to be more... she wanted to say 'assertive' but she knew the real word was 'dominant'... she felt the need to do more wifey, girlie things, you might almost say submissive things, in the hope of pleasing him. Yet at the same time, she didn't want to please him too much, in case he stopped punishing her. It was a dilemma she was still mulling over when she became aware that someone was watching her work.

She turned with a start. Olivia was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, that same, almost ever-present smirk on her offensively gorgeous face. "The apron suits you," she said. The girl always sounded sarcastic, but Anna had the feeling that she was not, on this occasion, mocking her. She was wearing an apron that bore the legend, 'Good Cook... Bad Girl', with a picture of a cartoon she-devil in a chef's hat.

"Er, thank-you," she said.

"I hope I didn't upset you the other day."

Anna pressed her lips together. "You mean, when you suggested I do inappropriate things with my son?"

"I don't think they'd be inappropriate. Quite the opposite." Olivia stepped into the kitchen. "In fact, I can't think of anything more appropriate than a beautiful woman seducing a handsome, younger man."

"Even if she's his mother?"

"Especially if she's his mother. It might help you overcome your jealousy of me."

"I am not jealous of you, young lady. I was young and pretty too, once. We all age in the end."

"I didn't mean that. I mean you're jealous of me fucking your son. But you don't need to be."

"You really are an impertinent girl, aren't you?"

Olivia shrugged. "I've been told that, yes. I only mention all this, because Jamie's upstairs right now, with a very hard cock. True, it's currently embedded in your daughter's tight slit, but I'm sure, rugby player that he is, that he has stamina enough for two women. Well, three, technically."

Anna was halfway up the stairs before Olivia had finished speaking, still resplendent in her devil apron. She flung open the door (which, in fact, was already half open) to confront a disgraceful scene. Jamie was lying on the bed, completely naked, while Jemima, also naked, was writhing up and down on her brother's cock. Anna stopped, mouth open to speak but not having the faintest idea what to say. Jamie looked up with a gasp, and Jemima peered at her over her shoulder.

"Oh, er, hi mom," she said, with a kind of sheepish bravado which is actually pretty tough to pull off.

"How could you?"

"The mechanics are fairly simple," said Olivia, stepping up behind her. "I should have thought a married woman with two kids would have known."

"Jamie Stewart, I thought better of you!"

"Er, sorry mom," he said, not really knowing where to look but also, she noted in a tiny, detached part of her mind, not attempting to disengage from his sister.

"I'm not sorry," said Jemima, with unaccustomed sass. "It feels amazing, as a matter of fact. You should try it, mom."

"You should, Mrs Stewart," agreed Olivia, sliding her arms around Anna's waist and nuzzling the woman's neck. "He really does have a most impressive dick."

"I... I..."

Overwhelmed with so many reactions and emotions, Anna was as good as paralysed. And when Jemima resumed her sororal ride and Olivia moved both hands up to cup Anna's breasts, she was the proverbial rabbit in the headlights. Olivia's hands did feel rather nice, and Jemima looked incredibly sexy, her body undulating as she rode her brother's cock. No! For fuck's sake, Anna, what are you thinking of?

"You can't... You mustn't..." It was less a howl of outrage than a rather pitiful waving of a white flag. "I shouldn't... Oh God!"

The final exclamation was in response to Olivia sliding a hand up under her apron and down the front of her slacks. As two of the gorgeous girl's fingers slid along her slit, one on either side, she suppressed a shudder of pure desire. Olivia started nibbling on her neck and she knew she was lost. She stood there in her bloody ridiculous cooking-apron, while her son and daughter fucked in front of her, and her son's bloody girlfriend fingered her. All of her outrage, all of her anger, all of her shock, all of her shame died on the point of Olivia's fingers, and she was rapidly overwhelmed by a desire, an aching need to watch the siblings fuck, and to come while they did it.

Nobody spoke, except in the language of groans, gasps, and ragged breaths. Olivia's mouth was fixed on her neck like a vampire, frigging her harder and harder, while Jemima bounced with ever more vigour on Jamie's cock. He held his sister's hips in firm hands but was content to let her ride him as he stared up at her bouncing breasts. Jemima had her head thrown back and her eyes closed, lost in some private revelry as she impaled herself over and over again. Had she been a virgin before this? Anna had no way of knowing, but strongly suspected she had. If so, that made it even worse. That made it even better. She was aware of someone whimpering and whispering half-heard curses, and only slowly did it occur to her that that someone was herself. Olivia had brought her to the verge of orgasm, but she didn't want to come until one or both of her kids had. Was that sick? Well, obviously that was sick, but did she care that it was sick? Not in that moment, no, not even for a heartbeat.

"Fuck her!" she murmured. "Fuck her, Jamie..."

"Nice!" murmured Olivia in her ear. "Look at those kids go, Annie. Look at your kids go!"

"Yes!" She was speaking louder now, riding the edge on Olivia's fingers. "Fuck that bitch, Jamie!" she said, loud enough now for them to hear her. Jemima responded by clapping both her hands over her tits and mauling them as she writhed up and down. Jamie said nothing but had gone from being the passive recipient of his sister's pussy, to a more proactive upward thrusting motion, which made the impressive muscles in his thighs flex in such a way that she wanted to fix her mouth on them and bite!

"Yeah, come on Jamie!" urged Olivia. "Give it to her!"

Jamie took his sister bodily in hand and flipped her over, without warning, so that in an instant he was lying on top of her, barely missing a beat. And he was really going for it now, pounding into her pussy and treating Anna to a delightful view of his athletic arse and thighs while Jemima, trapped beneath him (but not at all seeming to mind), clawed at his back with desperate fingers.

"That's it!" yelped Anna, though whether in response to her son's vigorous activity or to Olivia's magic fingers in her cunt, even she could not have said. "Like that! Like that!" She knew she wasn't making any sense, but she didn't really need to. Olivia's tongue on her neck was almost as orgasmic as what her fingers were doing. Jamie's strangulated cries announced that he was even closer to orgasm than his mother, and Olivia looked up from her neck-licking duties to watch the denouement of the incestuous fuck.

"Fuck yeah! Rail that fucking bitch, Jamie!" she urged.

But he needed no such advice. He was fucking Jemima so hard and furiously by this point that it looked like he might break her. And then he was bellowing as her fingernails raked crimson pathways down his back, and he was coming. And the thought of her son pumping cum into her daughter's virgin pussy was just too much for Anna. Panting and quivering, she let Olivia finally take her over the edge. She ground herself into the girl's hand as she let orgasm take her with a string of expletives.

"Fucking, bastard, cunting fuck!" she hissed. "Fuck! Jesus fucking fuck!" Her body was shuddering, and lights were exploding in her brain as Olivia drove her relentlessly on.

"Yeah, come for me, bitch," the girl was whispering in her ear. "Come for me, you gorgeous fucking slut!"

She had her eyes closed as she climaxed, squeezing and mauling her own breasts as she rode the wave, and only wishing someone would spank her or whip her, because the only thing missing, that would have made it one of the truly legendary orgasms, was a bit of well-deserved pain. Instead, she had to settle for Olivia biting on her earlobe and stabbing her cunt with her fingers.

By the time she opened her eyes, and could breathe again, Jamie and Jemima were lying side-by-side on the bed, gasping and panting. Her son's cum was dribbling from her daughter's pussy. Olivia had stepped away and, if any of them thought the show was over, it was she who dispraised them of the notion by getting on the bed, crouching down between Jemima's splayed thighs, and helping herself to a feast of her boyfriend's cum slurped straight from his sister's quim. She made approving sounds in the back of her throat which Anna considered to be exaggerated but excusably so. It did make for a pretty scene, anyway. Olivia, still fully clothed, going down on the fully naked Jemima, next to an equally naked Jamie while Anna, who finally remembered to divest herself of her ridiculous apron, watched with an appetite that was wholly and shamefully inappropriate. For now, she didn't give a fuck.

With all filters finally off, Anna manoeuvred herself around the bed and perched on the edge, right next to Jamie, from where she would have a better view of Olivia's scandalous act of cunnilingus. The girl was driving her tongue in deep, holding Jemima's slit open with both hands to get at the sweetmeats within, while Jemima played with her own clit. Anna's daughter had not come during her sexcapades with Jamie, and was plainly still in heat, though no more than Anna herself. Barely even aware of what she was doing, Anna put one hand on her son's half-subsided cock and balls and idly fingered it as she watched. That caused Jamie to look away from his sister and his girlfriend.

"Are... are you OK, mom?" he asked.

"I've rarely felt better," she growled. "That was quite something..."

"You don't mind?"

Anna scoffed. "I'm probably scarred for life but right now I don't care. Does this feel nice, Jamie? Does it feel nice to have my hand on your cock?"

He cringed a little but said, "Yes. It feels amazing."

An exaggeration, perhaps, but nonetheless encouraging. What was even more encouraging (and testament to a rugby player's stamina) was the fact that his cock was growing harder in her hand. "You really do like it, don't you? It's really most inappropriate, you know!"

"Don't stop, mom! Stroke it for me!"

"Mm!" She knew how much she should not be doing this, but the truth was she loved the feel of her son's hardness in her hand, not to mention the wicked knowledge that she was giving him an erection. So, while Olivia slurped away (her head held in place by both of Jemima's hands), Anna stroked her son's cock and delighted in the way it hardened. He had only come less than five minutes ago! "Is this how you like it, Jamie? Slow and gentle? Or do you want me to go a bit faster."

"Uh... faster! Please!"

His wish was her command, so she began pumping her fist up and down his shaft, focusing her gaze more on it, now, than on Olivia's actions. Jemima was watching them too, with the intensity of a hawk watching its prey. It was she who, after a few minutes of this, said, "Why don't you fuck him, mom? I know you want to."

This caused Olivia to stop what she was doing and look back over her shoulder. She laughed when she saw Jamie's hard cock in his mother's hand, and said, "Oh, nice work, Mrs S. Look how badly Jamie wants his mommy!" Something in the way she said it, caused Anna's pussy to lurch. How did this girl exert such influence over the entire family? Tits and arse, I suppose, she concluded.

Anna leaned closer to Jamie, close enough to whisper in his ear, "Is that true, sweetheart? Do you want to fuck me?" She ran her tongue around the outside of his ear, then the inside, causing him to shiver.

"Yes!" he murmured. "God, yes!"

"You have to say it out loud," she told him. "You have to tell us what you want!"

"Fuck!" he exclaimed. "It's true! I want to fuck you, mom! I need to fuck you!"

"Then what are you waiting for?"

She stood up and unhurriedly stripped out of her clothes, three intense pairs of eyes fixed on her. She liked that. Yes, it felt shameful and humiliating for a woman in her forties to slow-strip in front of three young people less than half her age, revealing every inch of herself, every wrinkle, every flaw. But none of them appeared to be seeing any flaws to judge by the way their eyes caressed her. Besides, nothing turned Anna Stewart on more, it turned out, than being ashamed and humiliated.

"You can tell me to stop," she said. "If you don't like what you see, you can tell me how ugly I am."

"Mrs Stewart, I don't know how to tell you this," said Olivia, "but you're the most fuckable person in this room. No offence, J&J."

"None taken!" said Jamie.

"You're bloody hot, mom," concurred Jemima.

"This is turning into a most unusual day," she said out loud, as she discarded her final shred of dignity, namely her embarrassingly unsexy cotton knickers. She did look good naked. She was no goddess like Olivia or her aunt, couldn't hold a candle to Tilda, but she was unlikely to make anyone faint. To judge from her son's enduring erection, there must have been something arousing about her. Sure she must be blushing furiously, she asked Jamie, "How do you want me, stud?"

Jamie half-muttered, half-coughed a response.

"Speak up!" jeered Olivia. "Come on rugger-bugger, tell mommy how you want her!"

"Bent over the bed!" he blurted. "I want you from behind, mom!"

With a half-smile, provoked in equal parts by her son's awkward desire and her own willingness to comply with it, she put both hands on the mattress and spread her feet apart for balance. Jamie got off the bed and walked around behind her, preceded by his frankly mouth-watering hard-on. Standing behind her, he hesitated.

"Now what?" demanded Olivia. "Do you want me to put it in for you?"

"It's OK, son," said Anna, "ignore the rude bitch. Wait until you're ready, then fuck me like a slut!"

That had the desired effect. She felt Jamie nuzzle the head of his cock into the folds of her pussy, then drive forward. She was so wet by this point, and wanted it so much, she all but sucked him inside herself. Could anything possibly be more wrong? Could anything possibly feel more right? He paused for a second, then began to move inside her, one hand on her bum, one on her thigh, balls slapping against her clit, cock where it belonged, deep in his mother's cunt.

Olivia and Jemima lay on the bed together to watch the performance, heads propped on the pillows. Olivia had one hand between Jemima's thighs, fingering her languidly, but all of her attention was fixated on Anna, and Anna caught her eye. Something unspoken passed between them, an acknowledgement of what was happening, gratitude from Anna for making this happen, respect from Olivia for going through with it. The girl was truly a witch, or an enchantress, or a succubus, and the influence she had had on Anna's family was surely leading to their complete moral collapse but right now none of that mattered. Morals were the last thing on Anna's mind.

"Is it OK, mom?" asked Jamie.

"No, sweetheart, its bloody heavenly," said Anna, closing her eyes and simply luxuriating in the sensation of being fucked.

IV. An End to Boredom

i. The Proper Usage of a Husband

Elizabeth leaned back on the sofa, arms spread along the back as if she owned it. Ash was sitting on the floor at her feet, deferentially silent as his wife spoke to their hosts. Simon occupied one of their two plush armchairs, Caroline the other. "This is the life," she said. "A comfortable sofa, a glass of good wine, and the company of my three bitches."

"We're your bitches?" asked Caroline coquettishly.

"Damn fucking straight you're my bitches. You're my alpha bitch, Simon's my beta bitch. Ashley's somewhere around omega, in case you were wondering. He's a bitch to my bitches, aren't you, my love?" When Ashley mumbled something inaudible in reply, she slapped his face. "Excuse me?"

"Yes, Mistress!" he said with more alacrity. "I'm the bottommost of all the bitches."

"And are you going to tell our hosts what you did?"

"Mistress?"

"How you disgraced yourself last week?"

"Please, Mistress!" He sounded distressed. Excellent.

"Tell them, bitch. I really must insist. And lift your head up. Look Mrs Wilkinson in the eye when you tell her."

Shamefaced, Ashley did as he was told. Caroline was all ears and Simon, too, was suddenly interested. "I allowed Clara to seduce me," he said.

"I said tell her what you did, not what Clara did."

"I fucked my daughter," he admitted.

Caroline's face was a picture. She was not shocked, not in the least, but impressed and excited. Elizabeth glanced at Simon, who did look shocked but also had a sudden hunger in his eyes. "Have you punished him?" asked Caroline.

"As a matter of fact, I thought I'd do it now, in front of witnesses," she said. "I want to make it clear, of course, that I'm not punishing him for fucking her. After all, a man should fuck his daughter. But he did it without my express permission, and he did it when I wasn't there to witness it. That's not only disobedient, it's downright rude!"

"That is rude," agreed Caroline. "How are you going to punish him?"

"Well, first of all I need him to stand up and get undressed. Can you do that, daughter-fucker?"

"Yes, Mistress." Ashley climbed to his feet and set to unbuttoning his cornflower-blue shirt.

"Faster than that, idiot!"

He fumbled with the buttons in his haste to comply, but soon had his shirt off, followed by his trousers, socks, and boxer shorts, to stand naked in front of his wife and neighbours. His cock was not hard but showing signs of life.

"Stand facing me, feet apart, hands on your head!" barked Elizabeth, getting to her feet. Ashley did as she told him. "Look at me! Now tell me you're sorry!"

"I am sorry, Mistress!"

"Sorry for what?"

"For fucking our daughter without permission and... and behind your back."

"And what will you do next time you feel unable to control your foul, incestuous urges?"

"I'll... I'll come and fetch you, Mistress."

"Good boy. Now, are you ready to take your punishment?"

Ashley swallowed, perhaps guessing what was coming. "Yes, Mistress."

"Good." So saying, she put one hand on either of his shoulders and brought her knee up between his legs with a thud that made Simon wince and caused Ashley to double over with a wordless gasp of pain. Elizabeth stepped back and waited for him to recover a little, though not completely.

"Stand up straight, you sissy little bitch!" she commanded. Ashley did his best, though he was clearly still winded. "Aren't you going to thank Mistress for being so merciful?"

"Y... Yes, Mistress. Thank-you, Mistress!"

"I believe I told you to stand with your feet apart and your hands on your head! Is there a reason you're not doing that?"

"No, Mistress! Sorry, Mistress!"

"Poor boy!" sympathised Caroline, leaning forward in her seat to get a closer view of the action. Simon still had that hungry look in his eyes and seemed more to relish Ashley's pain than sympathise with it.

Again, Elizabeth took her husband by the shoulders and kneed him in the balls, slightly less viciously this time, so that he only gasped and recoiled.

"Thank-you, Mistress!" he wheezed. His cock, she noted, was at something approaching half-mast by now. She took a step back and this time, instead of using her knee, she kicked him with the top of her foot. He staggered and swore but did not buckle.

"Can I have a go?" asked Caroline wryly.

"Would you like that, slut?" Elizabeth asked her husband. "Would you like Mrs Wilkinson to kick you in the balls for being a dirty, disgusting, daughter-fucker?"

A haunted look came over Ashley as he weighed the dangers of saying no against the dangers of Caroline Wilkinson busting his balls. But he knew there was only one correct answer, and he seemed to resign himself to it quite quickly. "Yes... yes, Mistress!" It was only when he said the words that his cock twitched, as if the prospect both terrified him and turned him on, which was probably true.

"Foot or knee?" asked Elizabeth in the spirit of scientific interest.

"Neither," said Caroline. Instead, stepping up to Ashley, she took his cock in one hand (or, more accurately, between her thumb and forefinger) and held it out of the way while bringing her other hand crashing into his balls in an open-handed slap. Ashley whimpered but stood his ground.

"Thank you, Mrs Wilkinson," he stammered.

"You're most welcome, bitch," she sneered. "Would you like another?" His cock was still stiffening in Caroline's fingers and did so even more in response to her invitation. He nodded, but could not bring himself to speak, and Caroline slapped his balls a second time. With a glance at Elizabeth, who nodded, she then did it a third time, by which point Ashley's cock was rock-hard and the pain in his eyes was mixed with open lust.

"Enough!" said Elizabeth. "On your knees now, like a good boy." He complied more with disappointment than with gratitude. Elizabeth looked up at Simon. "And how about you, Simon?" she asked. "Would you like your balls busted too?"

Simon hesitated. "No thank-you, Mistress Elizabeth." Elizabeth noted the pause before he had spoken and noted also the rather large bulge in his jeans.

"Ashley, it appears that your punishment has unaccountably turned Mr Wilkinson on. Surely, you're not going to let our host suffer an erection without an offer of assistance?"

Her husband, gazing at the floor, said, "No, Mistress."

"Then be a good boy and take care of it for him."

Elizabeth was impressed that her husband did not question the command or even hesitate in obeying. He was becoming a good boy. He certainly liked her bossing him around as much as she liked bossing him. He went over to Simon on his knees and looked up expectantly as Simon unzipped his trousers and drew out his cock, an arrogant sneer on his face. Ashley took it in his hand, drew back the foreskin, and circled the head with his tongue. Simon put his hands behind his head and slouched back in the armchair, happy to let Ashley get on with it. Ash ran his fingers up and down the other man's shaft, still flicking the head with the tip of his tongue, or probing the urethra with it.

"My Simon does appreciate a good cock-sucking," opined Caroline.

"And I, bitch, appreciate a nice cunt-licking," replied Elizabeth pointedly. Looking Caroline in the eye, she pulled down her leather trousers and sat on the sofa. Caroline hurried over to tug the garment off over Elizabeth's feet.

"No knickers!" she commented. "How convenient!"

"The leather's got me all sweaty," said Elizabeth. "I thought you'd appreciate the extra tanginess."

There was a fire in Caroline's eyes as she plunged her face between Elizabeth's naked thighs and into the pit of her pussy. With the woman thus occupied, Elizabeth turned her attention back to how her husband was doing. He had Simon's cock deep in his mouth now, sliding his lips up and down the shaft, which he held steady between thumb and forefinger at the base.

"Better than las time?" she asked Simon.

Simon nodded. "Has he been practicing?"

"I make him practice on a dildo," she replied. "He's a slow learner but he'll get there in the end."

"And what about my slut-wife? Is she giving good service?"

"Caroline's a woman who knows how to lick a cunt," said Elizabeth with a wry smile. "And besides, she has the perfect face for coming in."

"I agree. I love to see her decorated."

Caroline, not ceasing to lap away at Elizabeth's pussy, nonetheless found time to raise two fingers at her husband, who laughed. She really did know how to lick a cunt, and it was all Elizabeth could do to maintain her façade of calm control. The woman's tongue was exciting exactly the right sensations in exactly the right places. So much so, that the façade soon ceased to matter, and she failed to suppress a grunt of appreciation as electric current surged through her body. Nobody else really noticed - Caroline and Ashley were preoccupied with what they were doing, and Simon was coping with electric currents all of his own. The telltale sign, besides the increasing contortions of his face, was the placement of a hand in Ashley's hair, as if to steer him towards the finishing line.

"Jesus!" he exclaimed. "He really is getting better! May I come in his mouth, Mistress Elizabeth?"

"Oh, I insist on it," replied Elizabeth, her words coming out as staccato gasps under the diabolical influence of Caroline's tongue. "I'm going to come in hers."

Her words goaded on both service-providers to renewed efforts, and Elizabeth found herself having to grip on to the sofa cushions to avoid being bucked out of her seat. She clamped her thighs on Caroline's head as the fluttering of the woman's tongue intensified. Simon was in a similar place, seemingly, because he was uttering a steady stream of strangulated "Fuck... fuck... fuck..."

Elizabeth won the race to orgasm by a head, riding Caroline's face hard enough to break something, taking her by the hair and nigh suffocating her with her quim. She was crying out some nonsense words of her own as climax stripped her of her senses, but she was sufficiently aware to see that Simon was pumping his cum into Ashley's mouth, and that Ashley was taking it like a pro.

"Make... sure... you... swallow that!" she hissed at her husband.

Simon froze, his hands pressing Ashley's face into his groin and his face contorted as he came. He let out a long sigh of relief as he pumped waves of cum into his neighbour's mouth. "How'd you like that, you dirty slut?" he demanded, though whether he was asking Ashley, Elizabeth, or indeed Caroline, was not really specified. Elizabeth was focused on the flexing of her husband's throat muscles, which showed that he was, indeed, swallowing the other man's cum. Simon pushed him away, somewhat contemptuously.

"Stand up!" Elizabeth told her husband. "And face me!"

He did so, revealing to her and to Caroline just exactly how turned on he was. His cock was pointing north and bursting at the seams. Laughing, Elizabeth whispered into Caroline's ear, causing the woman's face to light up.

"Mrs Wilkinson is going to take care of... that." She pointed at his erection with an affected look of distaste. "You just need to stand there, hands on your head, and let her do it. Understand?"

"Yes, mistress!"

"Good boy."

If he had expected Caroline to go down on her knees in front of him, he was disappointed. The woman circled around behind him, pressed up against him, and curled her hand around to take his cock in her fist. Unceremoniously, she pumped his cock while telling him what a good little slut he was.

"Thank Mrs Wilkinson for volunteering to take care of you!" said Elizabeth.

"Yes! Thank-you, Mrs Wilkinson."

"For helping relieve me of my vile lusts..." she prompted.

"For helping relieve me of my vile lusts."

"Now, I want you to tell me when you're about to come. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress."

It didn't take awfully long, truth be told. He must have been so worked up by the humiliation of being forced to suck another man off, and by the sight of the gorgeous Caroline going down on his wife, that he was pretty close before Caroline laid a finger on him.

"Oh... God, yes... I'm going to..." The moment he spoke the words Caroline took her hand off his cock with a cruel laugh. "No! I..." The look of contorted need on his face was comical (at least to Elizabeth's eyes), and her pitiless amusement doubled when the cum began to ooze, unassisted, from his cock. He made as if to take it in his own hand, to finish himself off properly.

"Hands on your fucking head, you useless cunt!" screeched Elizabeth.

He had no choice but to reply and had to stand there in front of the three of them while the ruins of his orgasm dribbled pathetically from his cock. Laughing, Elizabeth sat back down on the sofa, naked from the waist down, and invited Caroline to sit beside her.

"He's so precious!" enthused her neighbour.

"He has his uses, so long as he's properly directed." They eyed Ashley with vicious pleasure as he stood there, eyes downcast, semen still leaking from his super-hard cock. "Speaking of which, slut, come and get on all-fours down here. I really need to put my feet up."

Elizabeth kicked back, feet resting on Ashley's back, while the three of them chatted.

"I do like seeing you humiliate your husband," confessed Simon. "I'm not sure that's because I find a sadistic pleasure in seeing another man being dominated, or because I like the idea of being dominated myself. The jury's still a bit out on that one. And he is starting to give good head, though quite honestly, I'd prefer to be sucked off by his ravishing wife."

"Simon! Show some respect to Mistress Elizabeth!" warned Caroline.

"Sorry, Mistress Elizabeth," he grinned. "Just trying to be honest."

"And what about you, Caroline? What gets your juices flowing?"

"I do like to see men humiliated by women," she said pensively, "though I've never been particularly good at being a domme. I prefer the idea of being, you know, bossed around and degraded a bit, but only by women. I'd never let a man do that to me. Ugh!" She pulled a face.

"Then you're happy for me to be your mistress?"

"Definitely! You're the daughter of a legend..." She checked herself, realising she had said too much.

"It's OK," said Elizabeth. "I know exactly who you are, Caroline."

"You do?" She subsided. "Of course you do, your mother told you. And it's true, I might be Caroline Wilkinson now, but I was born Caroline Christine Carrington."

"Don't worry, Caroline, I'll be sure your deception is properly punished."

"I shall look forward to that," she grinned.

ii. The Hostess and the Maid

Maria and Vicky were the last to arrive at this month's rendezvous of the Bored Housewife Club. They had come together, and Elizabeth led them back into her sumptuous living room, where Annie and Tilda were already chatting, laughing, and sharing a joint. It was quite the thing to arrive anywhere later than Matilda Ellis.

"Drinks, ladies?" asked Elizabeth, once the two late arrivals had taken their seats.

"Oh, what are we having?" asked Tilda. "I'm in the mood for a nice red wine, if you have it."

"White for me!" said Annie.

"Me too!" said Vicky.

"Any chance of a rum and coke?" asked Maria.

"Every chance," replied Elizabeth wryly. "Did you hear all that, girl?" she called out in the general direction of the kitchen.

"Yes, Mistress!" came the reply but definitely not from a girl.

"Did you just call your husband a girl?" asked Annie.

"And did he just call you 'Mistress'? grinned Tilda.

"I didn't know we were inviting husbands now," said Maria, more confused than annoyed. Elizabeth said nothing, not wanting to spoil the surprise, which dropped a couple of minutes later when Ashley walked into the salon with a tray of drinks. Her husband was wearing a full French-maid's outfit, right down to the black stockings and stiletto heels. He looked so embarrassed it was a wonder he could remain upright, but she could leave it to Matilda to lead the catcalls and applause as he handed out their drinks.

"Thank-you, girl," said Elizabeth, as he completed the round by giving her a glass of whisky and orange. "Go and stand in the corner until you're needed."

"Yes, Mistress."

Neither Maria nor Annie quite knew where to look, but Vicky was eyeing up the new 'maid' with lascivious interest, and Tilda was still cackling about it.

"I thought it was time my friends saw my husband for the pathetic little slut-boy he is."

"It kind of suits him," ventured Maria.

"He can give me a good dusting any day," leered Vicky. "So, is he your sub 24/7, or just when you're entertaining?"

"He's whatever I want him to be, whenever I say so," purred Elizabeth.

"Nice!"

"It's sort of the same as me and Will," put in Annie, "only the other way around."

"How's that going, then?" asked Tilda. "You enjoy being your husband's slave?"

"It's not my, er, only vice," she said. "Not anymore."

"Oh? And what has little Annie been up to now?"

"I, er, I'm not sure I ought to say."

"Really? Do we need to get Mistress Elizabeth to give you a spanking? Would that loosen you up?"

"Jesus, Tilda, do you always have to be so full-on?"

"I call it like I see it. As a matter of fact, I've been laying down the law to my useless husband, too. I mean, I'm certainly not going to dress him up as a maid." She pulled a face as if the very idea made her feel nauseous. "But I've told him I'm going to be fucking Ryan and Harriet from now on, whenever I please, and whatever he thinks of it. He doesn't like it, but he'll do as I tell him."

"Will doesn't know..." blurted Annie, then blushed when all heads swivelled towards her. "Will doesn't know that I let Jamie fuck me."

"Way to go!" exclaimed Tilda. "Shy little Annie pulls it out of the fire! How did you do it?"

She coughed, obviously embarrassed. But Elizabeth hadn't heard about this, and she was as curious as the other three. "I walked in on him, up to no good with Olivia and Jemima. Then I couldn't get it off my mind and Olivia... She came downstairs the other day to tell me Jamie was fucking his sister. I went up, meaning to throw a bucket of cold water over them or something. But somehow it didn't work out like that..."

"And how did it work out, exactly?" asked Vicky, leaning forward in her seat.

"Somehow, I ended up bent over the bed with my son giving it to me from behind while Olivia and my daughter watched it happen."

"And you haven't told Will?"

"I mean, not yet. I expect to get the spanking of my life so I... want to savour it."

Tilda actually began applauding at that point, and Vicky was not slow to join in. Annie gave a sort of embarrassed curtsey.

"This is so wrong," said Maria, though it didn't sound to Elizabeth like she was quite so convinced as she had been in previous meetings.

"Well," sighed Elizabeth, "I might as well tell you that my slut of a husband fucked my slut of a daughter. Don't worry though, he has been punished."

"Jeez, Mazza," said Vicky, "it looks like you and I are late to the Incest Train! Unless Richard has already fulfilled his longstanding fantasy of doing his eldest daughter."

"Is that on?" asked Elizabeth conversationally.

Vicky shrugged. "I've dropped broad hints that I wouldn't be opposed," she said. "I think he's working up the courage."

"And Lilah?"

"Don't know. She's a perceptive young woman. I'm sure she's picked up on the vibe, but whether she's made any moves, I couldn't say."

"I... I can't believe we're talking about parents fucking their kids. Our kids!" fussed Maria.

"I started to reason that it was inevitable at some point, for all of us," said Elizabeth. "And that being so, what was the point in waiting?"

"You haven't though..."

Elizabeth held Maria's gaze. "Not yet. But the time is fast approaching. You should give it some serious thought, Maz. Obviously, you'll do whatever you think is right, but your twins are smart and sassy, and they're every bit as curious as my Clara, or Harriet, or Jemima, for that matter."

"Oh, imagine doing both twins at the same time!" leered Tilda.

"Fuck you!" snarled Maria. "I've raised my girls to make their own choices, not give in to peer pressure, or even parent pressure."

"Yes, but in principle," said Vicky. "Would you do it? Or let Josh do it?"

"I honestly don't know. Everything that's been happening recently. It's just dizzying. Don't you think so? Don't any of you feel the need to just stop for a bit, stand back, and take a good look at the choices we've been making?"

"No!" said Tilda firmly. "That's fucking coward's talk, that is. Don't you fucking get it yet, Maria? We all know what we want to do because it's already inside us, waiting to be freed."

"Unleashing the beast," said Elizabeth, half to herself.

"Yes! The beast! Once you start reasoning things out, you're letting your brain take control of your fanny. Well I say, the pussy knows best, and it deserves to get what it fucking wants. Mine does, anyway, and I'm not letting my boring husband, or a timid friend stand in my way."

"I'd hardly call myself timid," protested Maria. "I let three strangers gang-bang me, in case you've forgotten. But I still have principles I did not get from Isobel Carrington or her smug niece."

"Let your fanny do the talking, that's my principle," said Tilda.

"I hate to say it," said Elizabeth, "but Tilda's making sense. I know it sounds crazy but that's the thing, isn't it, ladies? It's only since we started acting crazy that we started enjoying life again. I don't know where it leads, maybe it leads us to prison or to Hell, but do you know what? I don't fucking care! I'm going to treat my pussy like a fucking princess - what she demands is what she gets - until I'm too old, or too dead, or someone physically stops me! So, if my pussy tells me to fuck my son, fuck my daughter, then I'm fucking doing it!"

"Well said," agreed Vicky. "My feelings exactly."

"God!" said Tilda. "This is getting me so turned on!" And without another word, she sank back in the armchair she was occupying and shoved her hand down into her knickers with a sigh. "Fuck!"

Elizabeth watched her, amused, for a few seconds as she unself-consciously fingered herself in front of the others. "Tilda, would you like my maid to help you with that?"

Matilda looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, she's here to be of service. For example, you might like her to lick your pussy."

"Oh! Really?"

"Really! Girl!" Elizabeth snapped her fingers at Ashley. They had anticipated, or in any case hoped for, this eventuality, and Ashley knew exactly what his instructions were. He dropped to all-fours and crawled across the floor to where Tilda sat. Raising an eyebrow at Tilda, Elizabeth said, "If you want your fanny licked, you're going to have to spread those sexy legs."

"Fuck!" said Matilda. She stood long enough to hike up her pencil-slim skirt and peel off her knickers, then sat back down and spread her elegant thighs as Ashley watched her hungrily, and the other Housewives looked on in various states of excitement (Vicky), embarrassment (Anna), and mild alarm (Maria). It was not every day, after all, that you saw one of your friends being eaten out by another friend's husband dressed as a French maid in the presence of his dominatrix wife. That was a 'count on the fingers of one hand' kind of deal.

Ashley attacked Tilda's pussy with considerably more enthusiasm than he had shown for Simon's cock the other day, and from the self-satisfied smile on Tilda's face he was doing a bloody good job of it (though, of course, a self-satisfied smile was never too far from that bitch's face).

"Oh, you are a good girl!" she swooned. "That's it! Get that whore face in my fanny, bitch!"

"You know what's missing from this scene?" asked Elizabeth, going over to the oak sideboard and rooting around in one of the drawers. "This!" She held up the item she had retrieved, which was a long, slender dildo, attached to a set of straps. "What do you say, ladies?"

"What... what's that for?" asked Maria obtusely.

"To thank the maid for her service with a good, solid pegging."

"Oh!"

"Fuck!" said Vicky. "And, er, which of us is going to do the honours?"

"I don't know. Ashley?" He looked up from Tilda's pussy, his face glistening with Tilda-cream.

"Mistress?"

"Tell me which of our guests you'd prefer to peg that sweet little arse of yours."

"They're all so beautiful and sexy, Mistress..."

"They certainly are. Now choose one, bitch."

"I... I..."

"I said choose, you stupid cunt!" She strode across the room to slap his thighs hard.

"Mrs Peterson!" he yelped. "I choose Mrs Peterson!"

Elizabeth turned to Vicky. "Are you game?"

"Fuck, yeah!" Vicky was already on her feet and stripping off her slacks. Clad only in a blouse, knickers and red, shiny shoes, she took the strap-on from Elizabeth and keenly climbed into it. Elizabeth helped her to tighten up the straps and made a 'he's all yours' gesture towards her husband, who had already gone back to the delicious treat of Matilda Ellis' pussy. She produced a bottle of lube from nowhere and squirted it between the cheeks of Ashley's upturned arse.

"I don't know whether I want to watch this," said Annie, eyes absolutely fixated on Vicky's newly-acquired cock.

"I definitely don't," said Maria, unconsciously rubbing herself through the fabric of her dress.

"I fucking do!" said Matilda, who had been uncharacteristically silent while Ashley did homage to her snobby, entitled snatch.

Vicky wasn't paying attention to any of them. She was too busy getting in position on her knees behind the French maid and lining up the head of her silicon cock with his tight, lubricated arsehole. "Tell me you want it!" she told him, getting into the general spirit of things.

"Please!" urged Ashley, looking up once again from Matilda's cunt. "Please, Mrs Peterson. I want you to fuck me!"

"Oh, baby!" sighed Vicky, nudging the cockhead into the tightness of his sphincter and then, with a deft little sway of her hips, sinking the dildo inside him. Ashley had already returned his mouth to Tilda's cunt, and let out only a slight, muffled 'oomph', as the strap-on was buried deep inside him.

"Come on, Vicky, give it to the bitch!" urged Elizabeth. "I want him well and truly fucked."

"My absolute pleasure!" declared Vicky, who now began to saw the dildo back and forth in the French maid's accommodating arse. "I always wondered what it would be like to be the fucker and not the fuckee."

"I can recommend it," replied Tilda, somewhat dreamily. She had a faraway look on her face as Ashley worked her. Elizabeth knew what it was like to have that tongue in her slit, and it was an experience to be recommended. Her husband was a man who knew his way around a pussy.

She glanced across at Maria and Anna, to check whether they really would look away so as not to witness this. On the contrary, they had huddled close together and were holding hands (she suspected they were unaware of this detail themselves), their eyes fixated on the debauched trinity of Tilda, Ash, and Vicky. Elizabeth smiled to herself. What friends she had! Saying nothing, she slid over to the sofa to join them. We could be the three wise monkeys, all in a row, she thought with a chuckle. See the filth, hear the filth, speak the filth! She put her hand on Maria's thigh, causing the woman to start, and leaned in to kiss her. She did not know why she did it, and it certainly caught Maria unprepared, but the sudden desire had come over her, and her life these days was all about giving in to her desires.

"Beth, I..."

Elizabeth put a finger to Maria's lips and hushed her, then leaned across her to kiss Annie too. "I love you both," she said. "You've always been my friends, but now you're my sisters."

"Is that how you kiss your sister?" asked Maria.

"It used to be," she said. "And it will be again." When she kissed Maria a second time, the kiss was returned, full value, and she slid her hand higher up Maria's thigh, not over her dress but under it. Annie, catching the vibe, placed her hand on Maria's other leg, and when Maz turned to her, she kissed her too. Elizabeth looked up to catch Tilda's eye. The woman was deep in the throes of Ash-induced ecstasy, but not so deep that she wasn't aware of her surroundings.

"Fuck!" she said. "I hope you three are about to get filthy."

"We're already filthy," scoffed Elizabeth. "And today we fucking own it."

By the time Elizabeth's wandering hand reached Maria's pussy, she found Annie had beaten her to it.

"What's happening?" breathed Maz.

"We heard you like being the centre of attention," smiled Elizabeth. "And if you can handle four men at a time, surely you can handle two women?"

"I don't think I recognise us anymore," complained Maria.

"Of course you don't," said Annie, kissing Maria's ear as she fingered her pussy. "You only remember us as five Bored Housewives, but that's not who we are now."

"Who are we then?"

"That's the thing, isn't it?" said Elizabeth. "We can be whoever we want to be."

"Amen to that!" said Vicky, plunging her ersatz cock into Elizabeth's husband. "I want to be a slut for all the world!"

"I want to be a sex goddess!" exclaimed Matilda, her voice rather shaky; Ashley had her on the point of orgasm. "I want men and women to worship my cunt!"

"I want to be used," breathed Annie, frigging Maria hard. "I want to bow down and fucking grovel!"

"I just want to fuck, actually!" sighed Maria, writhing against Annie's urgent fingers. "I want to fuck, and fuck, and fuck like there's no tomorrow."

"Here's to us, then," said Elizabeth, retrieving her half-drunk whisky-and-orange and holding it up in a salute to her friends. "Here's to filth, here's to depravity, here's to shamelessness and the end of fucking boredom!"

And it felt to her, in that insane moment, as if their old lives ended, unmourned. Free from that sense of duty, propriety, morality that had always burdened them, they could begin not a new chapter but a whole new volume with a blank page on which anything, literally anything, could be written.

This ends The Bored Housewives Club, first volume in The Village cycle. The story of Beth, Annie, Tilda, Maz, and Vicky continues in the second volume, The Brood of Hyacinthus.