The Brood of Hyacinthus Pt. 01

The Story So Far...

In the first volume, The Bored Housewives Club, the lives of five mothers - Beth Brookes, Annie Stewart, Tilda Ellis, Maria McNish, and Vicky Peterson - were disrupted by the arrival in the Village of the beautiful Isobel Carrington and her pulchritudinous niece, Olivia Hendry. Isobel, a relative of Beth's mother, Maggie, began to exert a subtle influence over all five, causing a dormant sexuality to awaken in the women. At first, they were provoked only to live out long-dormant fantasies. Beth explored her inner dominant, Annie her long-suppressed urge to submit. Tilda began to escape the tedium of her husband in Sapphic adventures, while Maria and Vicky tried swapping husbands.

But it soon became clear that it was not only the Housewives, but also their children who found themselves alive to new sexual possibilities. Beth's son and daughter, Clara and Owen, had begun going down on each other; Annie's daughter, Jemima, having spied on her brother, Jamie, with the beautiful Olivia, allowed the girl to seduce her; Tilda was becoming certain that her two elder children, Ryan and Harriet, were up to no good with each other; Meanwhile, while one of Maria's twin daughters, Natasha, was growing ever more curious about her parents' extra-curricular activities, the other, Belinda, was becoming romantically involved with Vicky's daughter, Dani.

Egged on by each other, and always subtly manipulated by Isobel and Olivia (who by this time had recruited Maggie back to her old Carrington allegiance), the Housewives become less and less bound by the shame and inhibition that had always moderated their behaviour. Matilda, vain and self-indulgent, was inevitably the first to succumb, seducing her son before overcoming her daughter's jealousy with a unique blend of punishment and pleasure. Next Clara, having finally taken the plunge in encouraging Owen to fuck her, obtained her mother's implied consent to seduce her father. Finally, Olivia triumphed over Jemima and Annie, when she persuaded each of them in turn to fuck the handsome Jamie. With Maria the only remaining hold-out, the Housewives' sex-lives entered a whole new era of transgression and incest.

Prologue: Visiting Grandma

Clara Brookes had always enjoyed visits to her grandmother's house, ever since she was an infant. It was not only that Grandma Maggie spoiled her and fussed over her, but that she enjoyed chatting with her, learning from her, being intellectually stimulated by her. Maggie Willis was a shrewd and knowledgeable woman, refined in taste, catholic in her interests. Though Clara still occasionally visited with the rest of her family, she also thought nothing of turning up on her own, unannounced, for a cup of tea and a chat. On this occasion, however, one Sunday in September, a tête-a-tête was not an option. Her grandmother had company.

Knowing what she now knew, Clara was not entirely surprised, as Maggie led her into her 'salon' (as she so pretentiously called it), to find Isobel Carrington and her niece, Olivia Hendry, sitting side-by-side on the chaise-longue, sipping tea from bone China cups as if they were prim parishioners visiting with the local vicar. They looked up as Clara entered, Olivia with the guarded wariness of a rival, Isobel with the hunger of a predator.

"You both know my beautiful granddaughter, I believe?" said Maggie.

"I make it a point to know all beautiful young women," said Isobel, earning herself a glare from her niece.

"Thank-you, Miss Carrington," said Clara, sitting down on one of her grandmother's hard-backed chairs but keeping her back erect and her head upright, as if ready to fight or flee.

"Oh, Clara! You must call me Isobel! And I believe you already know how beautiful you are."

"Modesty forbids," said Clara, unashamedly willing to match Isobel's disingenuousness.

Maggie, looking gorgeous herself in a low-cut, pea-green gown, took the other chair, placing one hand on either arm. "I believe we can take it as read that everyone present is, indeed, exceptionally pretty," she said, in a tone of mild annoyance. "But I think we can spare each other the love-in. We are family, after all."

"We are indeed," grinned Isobel. "And if there's one thing we Carringtons know about, it's the importance of loving our family."

"Oh for God's sake!" huffed Maggie. "Can we also cut out the bloody riddles and self-satisfied innuendo. Clara knows you're talking about incest, I know you're talking about incest, so can we cut the crap and call a spade a bloody shovel?"

"My, my, we are in a testy mood today, aren't we Aunty Margaret?" said Isobel.

"It's OK, grandma," said Clara. "I know how to read between the lines."

"We have high hopes for you, Clara," said Isobel. "You and Olivia are, I venture to suggest, my two greatest hopes for the future of the Carringtons. Well, this branch of the Carringtons, anyway."

"I can't imagine what that might involve."

"Really? Because my sources tell me you've already been rather... active, when it comes to loving your family. Have I been misinformed?"

"I don't have anything to hide," shrugged Clara. "My brother and I have been having some fun together for a while now."

"And what else?"

"She's asking if you've fucked your parents?" fumed Maggie.

"I know what she's asking, grandma. I fucked my dad. Once. He seemed to lose his nerve after that."

"And your mother?"

Clara shook her head. "That's never come up. It's Owen who has the hots for mom, not me."

"Then has he..."

"Not to my knowledge."

"How disappointing," slurred Olivia. "I know for a fact that Anna Stewart has fucked her son. I watched it happen."

"And Tilda Ellis has fucked her son, too," said Isobel. "She described it to me in some detail. It seems a little shameful that both these women have beaten a Carrington like Beth Brookes to the punch in matters of mommy-fucking."

"Why are you telling me this?" asked Clara. "I don't decide who my mother has sex with."

"You might at least encourage her," suggested Isobel. "Give her a nudge here and there. Or does Owen not want to fuck his mother? Because that would just be weird."

"Oh, he wants her," said Clara. She glanced at her grandmother. "Wants his grandma, too."

"Is that so?" Maggie feigned stoicism, but Clara could tell she was pleased with this information.

"Well, give them both a push," suggested Isobel. "It's your duty, you know?"

"My duty?"

"On an entirely unrelated matter, Julia has been commenting on how impressed she's been with you."

"Oh?"

"She looks forward to the days you come into CWD. Julia Thorne has never knowingly smiled in her life, but I know when she's pleased about something, and she's as pleased as punch with you."

"I hardly do anything," protested Clara. "It's Miss Carmichael who deserves any credit."

"How commendably loyal of you to say so. But who says I was talking about your work?" Isobel gave her a wink, which Clara resented deeply. "But I'm kidding. The truth is, Clara, I'd like you to come and work for CWD permanently. Is that something that interests you? Whatever Abi's paying you, I'll add, let's say, twenty-five percent. How does that sound?"

This was not something Clara had expected, and she was not at all sure how to respond. "Does Miss Thorne know about this?" asked Clara dubiously.

"Darling, it was her idea. I told you, she thinks you have all kinds of potential." There was something deliberately ambiguous in the way Isobel said this, a purr in her voice, a metaphorical wink of the eye, that left Clara wondering how much of that 'potential' was in regard to her professional abilities.

"I do like it there," she said. "But what about Abi? Is she OK with this?"

"Abi's a Carrington, didn't you know? She'll toe the family line, just like we all do."

"God, is she my cousin, too?"

"Sort of. Her mom's your grandma's half-sister. The genealogy's terribly complicated when it comes to Carringtons, on account of the fact that we all fuck each other."

Olivia, who had been looking bored for a while, did not bother to conceal a heavy sigh. "Have you finished with the shop talk yet, Aunty Isobel? Can't we get on to the sex now?"

"There's going to be sex?" frowned Clara.

Olivia did not deign to reply. Instead, she stood up from the chaise-longue, walked over to Maggie's chair and offered the old woman her hand. Clara's grandma, who still seemed to be in an irritable mood, took it and let Olivia help her to her feet. As Clara watched in some astonishment, the two of them fell into a kiss, with Maggie's hands roaming all over Olivia's smug arse. This was not at all something Clara was prepared for, and she could do no more than sit there, gawping at the scene.

"You look surprised," said Isobel wryly, uncrossing and re-crossing her long, shapely legs. "But after all, your grandma's a Carrington too."

She saw her grandma whisper something to Olivia, who broke the embrace with a cat-that-got-the-cream smirk and stepped back a pace or two. Holding the old woman's gaze, the younger girl took the hem of her T-shirt and lifted it up over her head. She threw it onto the floor at her feet and stood there topless, looking like the Goddess of Perky Boobs. Bitch! Clara drank in the sight like a thirsty dog confronted by a bowl of ice-cold water, filled with a sudden hate-lust for the skank. She was aware of Isobel watching her reaction, but she chose to ignore the woman for now. This was too appalling and too interesting to take her eyes off. She noted the way her grandmother's eyes were devouring Olivia's firm tits, with a look she had certainly never seen on the woman's face before. Olivia cast a quick, smug glance at Clara, who glared back. She was used to being the sexiest girl in any room and did not appreciate the competition.

Inspiration struck her and she turned to Isobel, caught the woman's eye and was met with a questioning eyebrow-raise - just one perfect eyebrow, naturally. Clara stood up and exactly parroted Olivia's action, pulling off her own T-shirt and tossing it aside. Unlike Olivia, she was wearing a bra, so it didn't have quite so dramatic an effect, but her tits were every bit as good as the other girl's. She had Isobel's full attention, anyway, and her grandmother's besides.

"Are you two planning to wrestle?" asked Isobel.

"I'd be up for some kind of wrestling," said Olivia, and all too late Clara was aware of the sudden interest in the girl's brown eyes. That was not what she had intended. Her intention was to seduce Isobel in the same way that Olivia seemed to be seducing her grandmother.

"Oh, yes please!" said Isobel. "I would very much like to see that. What do you say, Aunt Maggie?"

Maggie Willis coughed, evidently just as wrong-footed as Clara herself. "Are you proposing these innocent young girls provide us with... a show?"

"That is what I'm proposing. Well girls? Want to show us old folk how it's done?"

Having painted herself into this particular corner, Clara didn't see any way she could back down. Besides, why should she? If she had inadvertently manoeuvred herself into a situation whereby she was forced to have sex with Olivia Hendry, she might as well make the best of it. Was that the sound of her mouth watering? Something was definitely moister than it had been thirty seconds ago. She said nothing but looking from Isobel to her grandmother and back again, while studiously avoiding Olivia's gaze, she reached behind her to unclasp her bra, in what she could only think of as a tit-for-tat response.

Clara tossed her bra at Isobel, who caught it with a laugh. Olivia's tits were amazing. Clara's were better. So fuck her. All three pairs of eyes were unequivocally and unabashedly on them, so Clara cupped them in both hands, as if to offer them to whoever wanted them. Scoffing, Olivia responded by peeling off her skin-tight pants, which hadn't hidden a great deal in the first place. The girl's legs were gorgeous, and the bitch had a smooth-shaven pussy so perfect that even Clara was forced to stare at it thirstily. She started unbuttoning and unzipping her jeans when she remembered that she was wearing her Little Miss Naughty knickers, amusing but hardly sexy. Her solution was to remove jeans and knickers in one go and hope nobody noticed. She rolled them down and stepped out of them, leaving her and Olivia facing each other, bollock naked and sizing each other up like two feral cats about to have at it.

Well, they were about to have at it, in a manner of speaking, and the only words floating through Clara's mind at this point were 'hate fuck'. Not quite fair. She didn't hate Olivia, exactly, but she was a rival, and a self-satisfied, stuck-up cow who needed bringing down a peg or two. She was hyper-aware of the two older women's eyes on them both, hungry and expectant. As if they had come to a mutual decision at the exact same moment, Clara and Olivia stepped up to each other, Clara glaring, Olivia with a wry smirk that made Clara want to slap the skank's face. Clara had about four inches on the girl height-wise but Olivia showed no sign whatsoever of being intimidated. Instead, she launched herself at Clara, placing one open hand on her breast, using the other to take her about the waist, and going in for a kiss. Clara put one hand in Olivia's irritatingly shiny hair and drew her into it. And the two girls' mouths met in a passionate kiss, fuelled more by antipathy than lust. Clara put her free hand on Olivia's outrageously perfect arse, and it felt so smooth, so pliantly firm, that she lost herself in it for a moment as the kiss grew ever more heated. From the feel of Olivia's hand, the other girl was having similarly confused feelings about Clara's breasts.

"I'm going to fuck you into the middle of next week," Olivia whispered as they came up for air.

"God, I can't wait to come in your smug, fucking face," Clara whispered back.

"Bring it on, bitch!"

The two of them, by unspoken consent, sank to the floor. Clara parted her thighs and watched Olivia dive between them, head-first, like a vampire going for her jugular. It was impossible for Clara to pinpoint the exact moment that her rage mutated into lust - probably there was no specific moment - but the feel of Olivia's cool hands on her thighs, and of the tip of her tongue on her clit were the chief suspects in this crime of passion. She tried not to whimper, tried very hard indeed, but she failed. Olivia might be the world's most slappable strumpet, but she knew how to treat a girl's pussy.

"Fuck! Bitch!" she opined. Olivia actually growled, which sent glorious vibrations through Clara's clitoris, causing her to let out a sigh of undisguised ecstasy. "Jesus mother-fucking Christ!" She arched her back in a subconscious attempt to mash her cunt even more intimately into Olivia's face. Olivia slid both hands under her buttocks, so as to raise her pussy higher (and, doubtless, to cop a free feel of her bum). Any lingering appeal of heterosexuality evaporated. If a girl could make you feel like this, who the fuck needed some malodorous bloke to give you the happies?

"Your niece really does have quite a talent for that," commented Maggie. Clara bent her head back enough to gain an upside-down view of her grandmother who, disturbingly, had her dress up around her waist and one hand in her M&S knickers. Could a girl be mentally scarred by seeing her grandmother wank? It was a problem for another day. Right now the only thing that really mattered was what Olivia Hendry was doing to her girl parts.

"I pride myself on having something to do with that," purred Isobel. "Tess laid the groundwork, of course, but I was the one who gave the girl her masterclasses."

"Tess?"

"My sister, Teresa. Olivia's mom."

"Ah!"

"You know, Aunt Maggie, I feel I could be of some assistance to you, if you'd like me to. If the pupil's so good at pussy-licking, imagine what her mentor can do!"

"How kind!" said Clara's grandmother. "Would you do that for an old woman?"

"For Maggie fucking Philips? I'd crawl through broken glass and horse shit to do it."

"What colourful imagery! But I'd settle for you crawling across my salon floor."

The sight of Isobel Carrington getting down on all fours and arching her way across the dozen feet to Grandma Maggie's chair was almost enough to make Clara forget what Olivia was doing. It was possibly the hottest thing she'd ever seen in her young life, her only regret being that Miss Carrington was still fully clothed. Olivia chose that moment, however, to suck Clara's clit between her teeth and start attacking it with the stiffened tip of her tongue. When she had been much younger, Clara's parents had taken her to Disney World in Orlando, and she had taken huge, childish delight in the nighttime firework display. Now, something fairly similar was going off behind her closed eyes eliciting a delight that was rather more intense and a lot less childishly innocent. "Holy fucking shit!" she breathed.

So all-consuming were the sensations now being provoked by Olivia's prodigious tongue that she forgot all about the other occupants of the room and so missed Isobel burying her face between Maggie's thighs and treating the woman to her Cunnilingus Masterclass, at least until her grandmother started sighing and cursing in fairly similar vein to Clara. Maybe that was where she got it from. When discussing inherited family traits, responses to lesbian cunnilingus were rarely discussed.

Olivia was bringing her to the edge now and knew exactly what she was doing. She had freed Clara's clit from between her teeth and was, instead, attacking her clit with broad brushstrokes from her tongue. And then, the coup d'etat - she stabbed two fingers, unannounced and uninvited, deep into Clara's slit and started fucking her with them. Clara's cry of ecstasy might very well have been heard the length of Banbury Road because orgasm took control over her with such suddenness, such force, and such intensity that it felt like a spiritual experience. She did not have a vision of any god, but when she finally opened her eyes, she did see the vision of a goddess. Olivia Hendry was looking up at her, framed by Clara's thighs, her face sheened in Clara's girl-cum, even smugger than ever, a sight sufficient to part any girl's legs.

"You fucking slut!" complained Clara breathlessly. "You fucking killed me, you dirty, fucking whore! Christ on a fucking stick! You killed me!"

"Happy to oblige," grinned Olivia. Without wiping her face clean of Clara's spending, she slithered her way up the girl's body and lay on top of her, bosom to bosom, pussy to pussy, kissing her. Clara was hyper-aware of the smell of her own cunt radiating from Olivia's face, and it turned her on all over again. She pushed Olivia's head back just sufficiently to allow her to lick the girl's cheek and taste herself on it. This made Olivia wriggle a little, and the feel of the girl's body undulating against her own caused choirs of angels to sing to her. How could such a trollopy bitch be so impossibly hot?

"That did not suck," commented Clara.

"I'm not just a pretty face," laughed Olivia. "I'm a woman of many talents."

"I'm getting that."

They tore themselves away from their mutual admiration to watch Isobel taking Clara's grandmother to similar heights and similar depths. Clara was surprised to find that watching her grandmother screaming her way through orgasm was not only not gross but was quite the turn-on. She made a mental note of this, if only to rub Owen's face in it when she got home.

Later, after Isobel and Olivia had left, and Clara finally had her grandmother to herself, the two of them regarded each other, searching for any hint of awkwardness or embarrassment. Somewhat to Clara's surprise, she neither felt any nor detected any in Grandma Maggie.

"That was... not what I came here for," said Clara.

"I can imagine." The old woman had rearranged her clothing, at least, and even managed to look prim, perched in her hard-backed chair. Clara, on the other hand, was still naked. She wasn't sure why, except that it kind of felt right, and she had the distinct impression that her grandmother liked her that way. She was reclining on the chaise-longue, one leg draped over the side like she was about to have her portrait painted by Goya. "You didn't seem to mind much."

"I came like a train," replied Clara mildly.

"I noticed."

"You did too, grandma."

"I truly did. Those women... I know they're trouble, Clara, and it may have been better if they'd never come to the Village, but..."

"But they make life a lot more exciting. In my opinion."

"Mine too."

"I hope you don't mind me saying this, grandma, but if anyone had told me I'd spend this afternoon watching my grandmother having lesbian sex, I'd have been, well, a bit disturbed to say the least. But... I'm not quite sure how to put it, but..."

"But?"

"It made me happy. I mean, it was kind of exciting and sexy, which I most definitely wouldn't have expected. But more than that. It made me realise that you don't have to be young to enjoy sex, that you can carry on enjoying it. Like... like it's a lifetime project, you know?"

Grandma Maggie smiled. "You're a clever girl, Clara. I always knew you were. Your mother was worried that all this Carrington business would be too much for you. And for Owen. But I've never thought that, not really. True, I resented the idea of Isobel muscling in and forcing the pace, but I always knew you would handle it well. Not because of your Carrington blood, either, but because you're, well, you."

"Oh, thank-you! Look at us getting all soppy!"

The old woman laughed. "It's a bit incongruous, isn't it, what with you naked and both of us in a state of post-fuckedness."

"I like being naked," said Clara. "It feels comfortable. Normal, almost."

"Oh Clara, can you imagine how many thousands of people out there would give everything they own to see you naked?"

"I clean up nice," grinned Clara. "Almost as nice as Olivia Hendry, maybe."

"Oh much, much nicer than that vile creature."

"She licks pussy like a goddess, though."

"She really does," agreed her grandmother. "And so does her bloody aunt!"

"Mom keeps warning me about Isobel. Is she right?"

"She is most definitely right. But that only means you should keep your wits about you, not that you should shun Isobel, or stop your ears against her. She may be dangerous but she's also right. We're Carringtons, you and I, Clara. Your mom too, suffused with the blood of Hyacinthus."

"I think mom's on a journey of her own."

"She is indeed. Only, you really ought to give her a push on the incest front. I can't help sensing that you and Owen could use a bit of maternal affection."

"Owen's desperate for it," she smiled.

"A mother should fuck her children," said the old woman. "Once they're grown up, of course, and assuming they want to. But who wouldn't want to? I wish I'd fucked my children, it's the biggest regret of my life that I didn't. But there's still time, Clara. There's still time."

Part One: New Ways of Living

I. Housewives Revisited

Who is my primary object of desire? My mother, of course. Then my own children, then my siblings, then my father. After that, every other relative. After that, the rest of the human race, without exception

Sir William Carrington, On Family, Maxim 12

i. Something Must Be Done

Elizabeth Brookes felt like she was falling behind the curve. Sometimes, these days, it felt like everyone she knew was enjoying some sort of incestuous shagging except for her. And presumably Maz McNish. This seemed unfair because once upon a time she had been a long, long way ahead of the curve, as Ursula would testify (or deny, but it was true either way). It had been two months since Ashley has succumbed to his own incestuous lusts and allowed Clara to seduce him. If there had been any kind of repeat performance since then, she was unaware of it. Frankly, she was convinced that Clara was more into girls than men, anyway. All of this notwithstanding, it was time something was done. She didn't need her mother's nagging or her daughter's broad hints to tell her that.

The time to do it came one Saturday in mid-September. Ash was giving Clara driving lessons and Owen was up in his room, doing whatever teenage boys did, and Elizabeth busied herself by doing the laundry and the housework, which struck her as being deeply at odds with the persona she was seeking to project these days. Maybe I should order Ash to do all this stuff, she thought, but the truth was she didn't really want that. Around one o'clock, she went upstairs to put the laundry away and realised that neither she nor Owen had had any lunch yet. She put her head round his bedroom door to see what he wanted. Her son was peering into the screen of his laptop, headphones on. He started when he noticed her, hurriedly closing the lid of his laptop and whipping off the cans.

"Hi mom. You've been busy!" he said, nodding at the pile of clean clothes in her arms.

"Owen, if you were watching porn you don't have to hide it, you know."

He bit his lip. "I was," he admitted.

Elizabeth put the pile of clothing on his chest-of-drawers and went over to tousle his hair. "You know," she said, with a sudden rush of blood to the head, "we could watch it together, if you wanted to."

Her son looked at her. "Wouldn't that be a bit weird?"

"Deeply weird," she agreed. "I just have a feeling you'd quite enjoy that. Call it a mother's intuition."

"I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do, sweetheart. Admit it, you think your mom's hot." She said it light-heartedly, in case she needed to extricate herself from the statement, but she really wanted to see if he would admit it.

Instead, Owen rolled his eyes. "All boys think their moms are hot," he told her.

"I'm not sure that's true, Owen."

"Well, maybe it isn't. I always sort of assumed it was, but maybe I'm just as weird as you. It was your idea to watch porn with me, though, not mine."

"OK, fine." She turned and started putting his clothes away. "Just trying to indulge you."

"Meaning what?"

"You've heard of the Oedipus Complex, I take it?" she asked, busily opening and closing drawers.

"Freud. Greek mythology. All that stuff. I do read, you know."

"When you're not busy watching porn," she chuckled. "So, how about it? You have any of the Oedipus Complex going on, son?"

"Are you asking me if I entertain fantasies of having sex with you?"

"That is, in fact, what I was asking, yes." She turned back to him, leaning back against the chest of drawers, and fighting hard against the instinct to let embarrassment take hold.

Owen swallowed hard. "If you must know, what I was watching when you barged in was a clip of a mother and son, imagining it was you and me."

"And what were they doing, this mother and son?" She sat on the bed beside him, feeling suddenly as awkward as a girl on her first ever date. "Not playing chess with each other, I take it."

He cleared his throat. "She was, you know, doing mouth stuff on him."

"You mean she was sucking his cock?" He nodded and gave a half-embarrassed grunt. "Show me."

With little more than a show of reluctance, Owen reopened his laptop. It was paused on an extremely graphic close-up of a hard-on in a woman's mouth. He clicked Resume and unplugged the headphones, so that they were both treated to the sight and sounds of a woman in her early forties sucking off her 'teenage' son (the actor was plainly in his late twenties, but who the fuck cared?)

"She's good," enthused Elizabeth, after watching for a few seconds. Her own embarrassed arousal was more than matched by Owen's. "It makes me wonder what it would feel like, as a mother, to suck your own son's cock. If only we had a way of finding out!"

"Are you serious?"

"I can't necessarily claim to be as good at it as your sister, Owen, but I'm willing to give it a try."

"Oh!"

"Yes, oh. Well?"

Like someone diving headfirst into a pool of ice-cold water, because he knew that the slightest pause would bring to mind a thousand reasons not to do it, Owen unfastened his jeans and drew his cock out through the gap in his boxer shorts. Elizabeth, sharing the same mood of reckless urgency, immediately took it in the fingers of her right hand.

"And aren't you a handsome boy?" she said, more to herself than to him.

"God, mom, it feels so good to have you touch it!"

"Sweet boy," she smiled. "There's no touch like a mother's touch." And so saying, she moved her fingers up and down the shaft, holding it lightly so that the touch was soft. Owen whimpered. Such a sweet boy.

"Mom, I..."

"Hush! Just lie back and let me take care of you." And it did feel like that, at least to her, that she was showing maternal care to her boy, a natural successor to the suckling, and nurturing, and clothing, and feeding that a mother provided to her child throughout his childhood. He was a man now, or very close to it, and needed care of a different kind. His cock was like steel wrapped in silk and it felt undeniably good in her hand, though not as good at the little gasps and sighs she was provoking in him. There had always been a girlishness to Owen, a vulnerability that was utterly lacking in Clara, and she had always treated him with a gentleness that she knew her daughter would have rebelled against. In defiance of this, she upped the tempo and tightened her grip, masturbating him with an ever-firmer purpose.

"Would you like me to suck it?" she asked him on a sudden whim. The strangulated reply could have been pretty much anything, but she chose to hear it as an assent, so she lowered her head to her son's cock. Pausing from stroking it, she held it steady, foreskin peeled back, while she gave a little attention to the head, circling it with her tongue and caressing it with her lips. Now she changed tack, moving her hand from the shaft to his balls and sinking her lips down until she had engulfed him in her mouth. She did not pause to consider the enormity of what she was doing but let her lips glide up and down the length of his cock, while gently squeezing his balls.

"Mom, I think I'm going to..."

The first jet of fresh, filial cum striking the back of her throat took her by surprise, but she didn't retreat. She kept his cock trapped in her mouth, and continued to squeeze her son's balls as he came, relishing the way her mouth was overwhelmed with the taste of fresh, fairly-won cum. She gulped it down as fast as he could supply it, because she hated to see it go to waste, and did not surface until the orgasm had ended. She sat back up and looked down at her son who, as his breathing slowed and his senses returned, was caught between shame and elation.

"How... did you know?" he asked.

She treated him to a smile she hoped was not too smug. "A mother always knows," she said.

That night she lay in bed with her husband (as equals, not as mistress and slave), wondering exactly how to broach the subject but knowing she had to tell him what had happened. "How are things between you and Clara?" she asked, searching for a suitable tangent.

"Weird," he admitted.

"You haven't, er, done anything together since that first time?"

"No. We haven't even alluded to it. I mean, how do you even bring up a subject like that?"

"Perhaps with actions rather than words," she hinted.

"Are you suggesting I go up to our daughter and start groping her?"

"I should have thought that even a man could come up with something a bit subtler than that!"

"Look at us, though, Beth, lusting after our own children. Did you ever imagine it would come to this?"

"As a matter of fact," she replied, "I've gone a bit beyond lusting after Owen..."

"You haven't?" She nodded. "I knew you'd shag him!" exclaimed Ash. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist, you bloody whore!"

"I am a bloody whore," she giggled. "And you love it! But I didn't shag him, I only sucked him off."

"Is that all?" he whispered, putting his mouth close to her ear as he spoke, causing shivers to thrill up and down one side of her body. "How was it?"

"He has a lovely, tasty cock," she grinned. "It felt nice in my mouth."

"Did he come? Did you swallow it?" grinned Ashley.

"Mm..." She purred at the memory of it. "The sheer, glorious wrongness of tasting your son's cum in your mouth! Fuck, it's making me wet, just talking about it." She slid her hand down to check the effect of her words on her husband. "Oh my, I see it turns you on too. We are such bad people!"

"At least we're good at being bad. Now how about you spread those delicious thighs so I can fuck you."

ii. The Newfound Land

It had been two months since Jemima had watched her brother fuck their mother, which was the wildest thing she'd ever experienced. So far as she knew, it hadn't happened again since, whereas she and her brother had fucked several times, sometimes with Olivia present, sometimes not. Jemima had changed, these past few months, into a much more confident, more self-assured young lady. Her mother had commented on it, though without discussing the reason it might be so. They both knew the reason and didn't have to spell it out. What she was not sure about was how much her father knew. Given how 'obedient' her mother was towards him these days, she was sure the woman must have sung like a canary but if so, it had provoked no paternal retribution.

Not that her father was behaving towards her as he always used to. She would sometimes catch him watching her with a wolfish look in his eye. Then she would see her mother notice him watching her, not with alarm but a look that was almost as hungry as his. When she discussed it with Olivia, who seemed to be her self-appointed confidante these days, the girl was amused by her naivety.

"He knows what we've been doing. Of course he does!" she laughed. "And now he wants a piece of the action. Or, to put it more bluntly, he wants a slice of Jemima pie."

"Really?" She wasn't sure how she felt about that but didn't want to admit to misgivings in front of Olivia, who already probably thought of her as some kind of idiotic ingenue. "What should I do?"

"I think you already know the answer to that question, Jem."

She nodded sagely, but in truth she did not know. However, she did know Olivia and could easily imagine that the girl was hinting at something dirty. That was a safe assumption. Olivia was always hinting at something dirty. She could have asked Jamie, but that would be a straightforward waste of time. He couldn't even take the mile-wide hint that he should fuck his mother again. Imbecile!

One Saturday morning, a few days after her parents' twenty-second wedding anniversary, as Jemima stepped out of the shower, the bathroom door opened. She didn't know it then, but her life was about to change again. She grabbed for the towel to cover herself as her father walked in. Smiling, he took the towel from her hands and cast it aside. Her first instinct was to cover her tits with her hands, but a stronger instinct (which took the form of Olivia Hendry's imaginary voice in her head) took over and she struck a pose for him.

"See anything you like?" she asked coquettishly.

"Plenty," said Will, shrugging off his robe. Underneath, he was naked. "See anything you like?"

Her father stepped closer, until they were almost touching, and slid his arms around her, placing both hands on his daughter's buttocks and giving them a playful squeeze. "Nice arse!" he commented.

"Dad!"

He pressed into her, squashing her naked breasts against his chest. This was unexpected, but it was by no means as unwelcome as it ought to have been. Water was still dripping from her hair and body, and she felt simultaneously super-clean and super-dirty. Her father planted a quick, playful kiss on the tip of her nose, but it was impossible to pretend this was innocent, paternal affection. Had there been any doubt of that whatsoever, the feel of his hardening cock against her thigh disabused her.

"Dad!" she squealed. "Are you getting a hard-on for your own daughter?"

"As a matter of fact, I am," he told her. "Does that bother you?"

"I'm just a bit... surprised, that's all."

"You shouldn't be," he told her. "You're a sexy girl, after all, as your brother can testify."

"Oh, you know about that..."

He laughed. "Of course I do."

"And you don't mind?"

"I'm a little jealous, if I'm honest."

"Dad, you're getting me all hot and bothered! You're really hard!"

"What can I say? Wet, naked girls get me aroused."

"Ew! What exactly are you planning to do with that thing?"

"I'm planning to fuck you with it, of course!"

"And don't I get a say in that?"

He stood back, holding her at arm's length, and regarded her seriously for a moment. "Of course you do, sweetheart. I'm not going to force myself on you."

She returned his serious gaze with one equally as earnest. It was several seconds before she spoke, making it plain to him that she understood the implications of what they were about to do. "Then it's just as well I want the same thing, isn't it?"

"Tell me!" he said, his voice hoarse and breathy.

"I want you to fuck me, daddy."

The words hung in the air between them as they looked at each other, each trying to encompass the significance of what they'd both just agreed to. Without another word, Will took his daughter by the hand and, without even giving her time to dry herself off, led her naked and dripping to the master bedroom.

"I can't believe this is happening," murmured Jemima to herself, as he guided her to her parents' bed, and encouraged her to lie down on it, heedless of her wet body on the clean duvet. It felt like she was in a dream, and no more responsible for her own actions than a dreamer for the surreal events she found herself in. She rested her head back on the pillow, and felt the mattress sink as her father lay beside her. Then his hands were on her breasts, careful and gentle, and his voice was murmuring tender nothings in her ear. She felt... safe. It was an odd reaction, she knew, but she felt what she felt. She wondered what her mother would say.

His hand moved down from her breasts, over the flat of her stomach with such a light touch it almost tickled. Involuntarily, her thighs parted as his fingers moved over her pubic mound, and she gasped as they reached their goal. She bit her lip as crackles of desire electrified her body. She should not be reacting this way. What could be more wrong than this? Yet the day she had let Olivia persuade her that a brother could be a lover, Jemima had crossed a line, entered a place that there was no going back from. But that was the thing - she didn't want to go back, she wanted to keep going on, keep exploring, keep experiencing the wonders of this terrible, dangerous, newfound land. She realised with a shock that there were tears rolling from her eyes.

"Are you OK, sweetheart? Do you want me to stop?"

"No! Please!"

"You're crying..."

"It's just... it's just me being a girl," she said. She didn't mean it to sound apologetic but somehow it did, at least to her own ears. "Keep touching me. Please."

His fingers were on her clit, brushing it in a tantalising way, and he was kissing her all over, her ears, her neck, her mouth, her breasts, warm kisses that sang more of love than of lust. It was wrong, and she didn't care. She wanted this. Then his finger was inside her, just one, like the first scout of an invading army. It slid easily into her pussy, telling her exactly how wet she was for him.

"I want..."

"Yes?"

"I want you inside me, daddy," she said. She never called him 'daddy', not since she was much, much younger, but 'dad' sounded wrong, and she couldn't bring herself to say it.

"You mean..."

She nodded. "Yes. Please."

And almost before she knew it, he was on top of her, and she was spreading herself across the bed in submission to him, opening the way for him, inviting him inside like he was a vampire, and she was longing to be bitten. And he was inside her, filling her up, body and soul, and when he began to move, she clung to him, burying her face in his neck and weeping because it felt so good, and so wrong, and so spiritual, and so physical, and she was consumed in the fires of it, and thus purified.

"Fuck me, daddy!" she whispered. "I need you to fuck me!"

iii. The People You Love

Matilda was feeling frisky. The younger children had gone to bed and her eyes roved over her two eldest, feeling a tingling at the sight of them. She contemplated playing it coy, to string them along, but she was certain that neither her elder son nor her elder daughter would survive the weekend unfucked.

"Well now, what shall we do with the rest of our evening?" she asked. "Television? Stare at our phones? Discuss politics?"

"There's bound to be something on Netflix," said Tobias, a little bit desperately.

"Shut the fuck up, Toby," replied his wife. "Nobody wants your boring opinion. Ryan?"

"We should let Harry choose," he said, obviously not wanting to say what he was really thinking but trusting that his sister would."

"We all know what you're getting at," said Harriet. "You want to fuck."

"Harriet!"

"Sorry dad, you know it's true."

"Damn fucking right it's true," said Matilda vociferously. "Why don't you come and sit with mommy, Harriet, since you're the only one with the balls to do it."

Harriet shot a smug look at her brother and settled on the arm of her mother's armchair. With an evil laugh, Matilda toppled her elder daughter into her arms and kissed her. Harry always tasted good and felt even better. Matilda confirmed this by driving her tongue into her daughter's mouth and running her hands all over her flanks and buttocks, quickly losing herself in the teenager's presence. By the time she looked up and remembered where she was, Ryan was squirming on the sofa and Toby was watching his wife and daughter with unconcealed horror.

"I'm sorry," said Matilda sarcastically, "did you want a piece?"

"Hey!" protested Harriet. "I'm not a side of beef!"

"You kind of are," sniggered her mother. "All hot and succulent and ready to be tasted."

"Tilda!" fumed Tobias. "How can you behave like this?"

"What's the matter, Toby? Don't you want to fuck your little girl?"

"No! Jesus, what's wrong with you all?"

"Wrong with us? You're the one passing on the teenage pussy. Isn't that right, Harry?"

Harriet looked the discomfited man in the eye. "My pussy's all yours, daddy, you only have to ask!"

"For God's sake, Harriet, I'm your father," he said through clenched teeth. His eyes were all over her, though, Matilda noted with satisfaction.

"Look at you!" she told her husband. "You're quivering with lust. Why don't you admit it, you pussy!"

"Whether I am or not is irrelevant," he snapped. "She's my daughter. My teenage daughter!"

Matilda shrugged. "So? She's my teenage daughter too, and I'll fuck her any day of the week. Call yourself a man?"

"I call myself a father!"

"Oh bore off, you old fart! Ryan? As the only man in the room, do you want to come and join us?"

With an apologetic glance at his father, Ryan got up off the sofa, not trying overly hard to conceal his obvious erection, and went to sit at his mother's feet. He ran an adoring hand up her leg, under her dress to stroke and squeeze her inner thigh, which felt yummy, especially combined with her resumed snogging session with Harriet. Not to be outdone by her brother, Harriet moved one hand to her mother's breast, squeezing and caressing it as she returned her kisses. Now this, decided Matilda, was the way children ought to behave towards their mother. Tobias said nothing and did nothing. Matilda knew perfectly well that he was too weak of spirit to intervene (in either sense of the word) but also too weak of the flesh to look away. This was both disgusting him and turning him on, the fucking idiot.

"Harry, why don't you get naked," she whispered to her daughter. "Maybe that will be enough to get your father going."

Harriet stood up and, facing her father, did a slow striptease. Even seen from behind, it was pretty hot, and Matilda particularly enjoyed the slow reveal of her daughter's taut, athletic arse, the product of years of playing football and competing in school athletics. She ardently wanted to bite into it, but she was also aware of Ryan's needs. With Harriet approaching full nakedness, Matilda squirmed in her seat as she sought to lift up the hem of her dress and tuck it underneath her. A simple exchanged glance with her son was instruction enough to him. Tearing his eyes away from his juicy sister, he took his mother's knickers in both hands and peeled them down her legs. She could see Tobias torn between the intoxicating vision of his naked daughter, and the provocative one of his own wife's pussy. He could have done whatever he wanted with either of them, but he simply lacked the balls. She found herself wishing he would simply go away and leave her to her debauchery.

"Don't you want me, daddy?" Harriet was taunting, while Ryan was busy burying his face between his mother's thighs and nibbling appetisers from the feast that was her cunt. Matilda purred with satisfaction as his tongue went to work.

"I never raised you to be like this," whined Tobias.

"Don't you even want me to suck your cock?"

"No! My God, Harriet!"

"Your loss," she shrugged. "Ryan can tell you how well I do it."

"It's wrong!" he muttered. "So bloody wrong!"

Turning her back on him, Harriet stood beside her mother's chair and raised her right foot to plant it on the arm. This, of course, exposed her slit to Matilda who, unlike her hapless husband, was never going to turn away the offer of fresh, teenage pussy. Straining up, she began to lap at it, like a cat from a water fountain, revelling in the taste of it - salty, tangy, and unambiguously female. She supposed hers must taste similar in Ryan's mouth, and the thought was a satisfying one.

"Your sister's good and wet," she told her son conversationally. "I'm sure she's more than ready for a nice, fat cock."

"Fuck yeah!" agreed Harriet, cupping her own breasts and mauling them as her mother's tongue did noble work between her legs. "If daddy doesn't want my cunt, then maybe my brother does."

"Do you, Ryan?" asked Matilda. "Do you want to fuck your sister?" With a harrumph of impotent rage, Tobias finally got up out of his armchair and stormed out of the room, muttering about 'corrupted innocence' or some such nonsense. "Finally!" she smirked. "I thought he'd never leave."

In less time than it took to tell it, Harriet was on her hands and knees on the floor at Matilda's feet, and her brother was behind her, still mostly dressed, plunging his cock in and out of her cunt. Matilda herself was quite content to sit and masturbate as she watched her children fuck each other. Life was good when you knew what you wanted and weren't too cowardly to take it, she mused.

Afterwards it was, inevitably, Ryan who had the most misgivings about what they had done. "I'm worried about dad," he admitted. "None of this sits well with him."

"Your father has many qualities," she told him (though, if she had been completely honest, she would have admitted that she could not currently bring any of them to mind), "but an open mind is not one of them. You could see how turned-on he was by it all, but he lacks the moral fibre either to bring a stop to it or to join in with it."

"Still, what we're doing together... It's not something you'd be bragging about to your friends, is it?"

Matilda thought about her friends and almost laughed out loud. "Well, not to your friends, maybe. I don't want to be arrested."

"That's like admitting it's wrong," he pointed out.

"No, that's like admitting it's illegal. Not the same thing at all. You know, a friend of mine told me recently that there's nothing in the world more natural than to fuck the people you love. We all love each other, don't we?"

"Does that mean there are other members of your family you want to fuck?" asked Harriet shrewdly. "Since I assume you do love most of the members of your family."

This was not something Matilda had considered before, but the essential truth of it struck her straight away. "I suppose it does, yes. I never thought of that!"

"Who, exactly?" asked Ryan, frowning.

"Well, Harriet's not the only one with a brother," she mused.

"You mean Uncle Stephen?"

"Uncle Stephen, yes, not to mention his hot wife."

"Oh, Aunt Laure is hot," agreed Harriet, all but licking her lips. "And then there's Aunt Sara..."

"There you are! That's three just for starters."

"Dad would have an apoplexy," pointed out Ryan. "This... might be getting out of hand."

"Nonsense. Look, I don't particularly care what your father says, or how many apoplexies he has. As far as I'm concerned, the three of us can fuck each other whenever we like, as long and as often as we want to. I don't intend to stop, do you?"

"Not me," agreed Harriet, her nakedness making her seem all the more ferocious as she said it.

"I don't want to stop," admitted Ryan. "And it's true, I am fucking the people I love most in the world."

"Such a clever boy," smiled Matilda. "God, my kids are fucking sexy!"

iv. Peering Through the Shop Window

Maria listened intently to what her husband was telling her. It seemed unbelievable and yet, at the same time, almost inevitable. "Tell me again what happened. Omit no detail."

Josh sighed. He had already told the story twice, and it was pretty obvious he hadn't wanted to tell it at all. "Belinda came into the living room and started acting in a most un-Belinda-like way, all kind of sultry and brazen, like she was trying to provoke me. She sat next to me on the sofa and put a hand on my thigh. I asked her what she was doing, and she got all embarrassed and started blushing, then muttered something about a mistake and fled the room. It was all very odd."

Maria didn't think it was odd at all. As a regular attendee of the Bored Housewives Club, the idea of a daughter trying to seduce her father barely qualified as 'unusual' anymore, let alone 'odd'. Of course, the thought of her eldest daughter, the serious, studious Belinda, trying something like that was a bit more unbelievable. Natasha, maybe, but Belinda definitely not. Or so she would have thought.

"You're absolutely, definitely sure it wasn't Natasha pretending to be Belinda."

"Sweetheart, I know they're identical twins, but I can tell my daughters apart, you know."

"I know! Sorry. I just thought that if either of them tried to seduce their father it was a trick Natasha was more likely to pull. I thought better of Belinda."

"And you don't think it shocking, at all, that any of our children would try to seduce me. If that, in fact, is what she was trying to do."

"Of course it's what she was trying to do. It's what all her friends are doing, after all. Clara and Harriet, anyway, I happen to know for a fact. Maybe Jemima, too."

"Jesus! I never had that down as the latest craze for 2023. It's probably something to do with TikTok."

"Don't pretend you know what that is, sweetie," smiled Maria. "But what would you do if either of the twins made a more competent attempt at seducing you? They are, after all, beautiful young women."

"Are you serious?"

"Oh come on, Joshua, tell me with a straight face you've never fantasised about it."

"That's not really a question a man wants to answer to his wife."

"Obviously, but I'm not just any wife, am I?"

"No. You're my wife. That's the problem."

"The fact that you don't want to answer it, suggests your answer wouldn't be 'no'," she pointed out smugly.

"I wouldn't say 'fantasised' exactly," he said.

"But you have thought about it."

"Maybe," he muttered.

"I have too," she said.

"You have? I didn't think you were even into girls!"

"I wasn't. Erica might have changed my mind a tad on that matter."

"Bloody hell, that's equal parts disturbing and bloody hot, woman!"

"I feel like I'm undergoing a change in outlook," she said.

"Understatement of the bleeding century!"

"Does it bother you?"

He looked at her. "Does it bother me that my wife's turning into a raving nympho, who encourages me to fuck her best friend, and wonders if I fantasise about my daughters? You know, on balance, I'd say it doesn't bother me at all."

"Good," she grinned. "So I am married to a pervert."

"However much I try, I will never, ever be as profound a pervert as my beautiful, newly-depraved, disgusting wife."

She wrinkled her nose, which prompted him to laugh and kiss it. "If Belinda tries to seduce you again, maybe give her some encouragement. She's such a dork with that kind of thing."

"Encourage her?"

"What's the worst that could happen?"

"Is that meant to be a serious question?"

Maria laughed. "God, I really am changing, aren't I?"

II. Codex Web Designs

Fuck every day, come every day, induce orgasms every day. Until your last day

Sir William Carrington, Advice to Girls, Maxim 10

i. First Day in a New Job

Clara supposed she ought to be nervous. Everyone always said how nerve-wracking your first day in a new job was, but she didn't feel any nerves at all, really. Did that mean there was something wrong with her? Maybe she was simply too cool. That made her smile. She strode up to the entrance of the two-storey building and into the small reception lobby. A girl sitting at the desk looked up from her computer screen and smiled at her. "Welcome to Codex Web Designs," she said. "It's Clara, isn't it?"

Clara nodded. "I think Miss Thorne's expecting me."

"She is!" trilled the girl. "You know where her office is, don't you?"

"I do. Should I just go on up?"

"Yes, she's waiting for you."

She was, and she greeted Clara with a fake smile (it being doubtful, in Clara's mind, that the woman was capable of the genuine kind). Nevertheless, Clara was made to feel welcome, and spent the day being mentored by another girl, Shahina (to whom she awarded a fuckability rating of 73% - although pretty and pleasantly plump, she had a slightly annoying laugh, which led to a down-grading from the mid-eighties). There was a lot to take in, and much concentration was required, so that by mid-afternoon she was already looking forward to getting on the bus home, closing her eyes, and switching off her brain. So it was somewhat frustrating when, at 16:23, just seven minutes before she was due to leave, Miss Thorne popped her head round her office door to say, "Clara, do you mind hanging around for a bit? I'd like a chat."

Clara kept her eyeroll metaphorical. "Yes, of course, Miss Thorne," she said obsequiously.

With everyone else getting their coats on (it was the second week in October, and the weather was turning wet and cold), Clara trudged into Miss Thorne's office, hoping she didn't fall asleep in the chair while the woman was talking to her. At first, it was just general enquiries about how she'd found her first day, whether she got on with her colleagues, and whether Shahina had mentored her well. But as soon as the last person exited the main office (you could see this because Miss Thorne's office had a window looking out into it), her tone and manner changed in a heartbeat.

"Now then, Clara," she said, folding her hands together on the desk in front of her, "let's start cutting out some of the bullshit, shall we?"

"Miss Thorne?" Clara frowned.

"We both know about our bloodline, I take it?"

The bloody Carrington Gene, again! "My mom told me about it."

"And you know it makes those who share it a little... different from other people?"

"You mean more libidinous."

"That would be one way of putting it, though it goes rather deeper than that. I understand you've met my business partner."

"Miss Carrington, yes."

"From what I hear, you got to know her quite intimately."

"Well, she was getting intimate with my grandmother while I was getting intimate with her niece," said Clara sassily.

"Quite so. Would you get undressed for me, Clara?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard. You're an intelligent girl. I think you will have worked out by now that, your design skills notwithstanding, Isobel and I had particular reasons for asking you to join our company."

"I'm not going to be your sex slave, am I?"

"Don't be flippant!" Julia Thorne regarded her through those compellingly severe eyes, enough to make a girl come over all... melty. There was something about Julia that made you want to obey her. "You're highly important to us, Clara. I think you know why."

"I mean, not really. I assume something to do with my grandmother?"

"Yes, you could say that. But let's not get off on the wrong foot. I believe I asked you to get undressed, Clara, yet you're still sitting there as fully clothed as you began."

"Sorry," said Clara, wondering why on earth she was apologising. Yet even as she was wondering it, she found herself standing up and unbuttoning her blouse. This was... unexpected. It was also pretty, fucking hot. The fact was, she liked being ordered to undress by this gorgeous, intimidating woman, with her severe business suit, and razor-blade cheekbones. She shrugged off her blouse and let it flutter to the floor. She never had been a tidy-minded, clothes-folder.

"Skirt next," said Julia.

Clara did not often wear skirts, but she had felt it appropriate for her first day in a new job. She hadn't, to be perfectly honest, expected to be shedding it before she even left the building. But in the penetrating heat of Julia Thorne's gaze, she didn't even hesitate. She unzipped it and simply let it fall, so that it created a puddle of material about her feet. And there she stood, in bra, knickers, and shoes, while her boss looked her up and down.

"Most agreeable," said Miss Thorne. "Please, continue."

"You mean?"

"Bra first, I think."

Before she could even think about it, Clara was reaching behind herself to unfasten the clasp. She was not the kind of girl who, in taking off her bra, would reflexively cover up her tits, and she wasn't about to start with that kind of nonsense now. She had great tits, everybody said so, and she had not the slightest hesitation about showing them off. Julia did not noticeably react to their divine-like revelation, however. She simply spun her finger in a 'keep going' gesture. This pretty much had to be a dream. One of those 'naked in public' dreams that everyone talked about, but which Clara had never had. She bent forward to take down her knickers, stepping out of them one foot at a time, and adding them to the scatter of discarded garments on the office floor.

"You can leave the shoes on and sit back down."

"Er, thank-you, Miss Thorne." Clara did as she was bidden, trying to behave as if none of this was in the slightest bit unusual or unexpected.

"Now, I have a few questions for you. But while I'm asking them, I want you to play with yourself. Understand?"

"I... yes, Miss Thorne." Pushing back her chair a little, Clara parted her legs and, looking down into her lap, ran two fingers over herself, one on either side of her labia, which was how she usually began.

"Look at me while I'm speaking to you!" barked Miss Thorne.

"Sorry, Miss Thorne!" Clara locked her gaze on Julia's unsmiling but undeniably beautiful brown eyes. It would be easy to become lost in those eyes, which were just as compelling as her voice and her commanding presence. There was something about sitting naked, masturbating, in the presence of such a woman that turned her on in ways she'd never been turned on before. At the same time, she felt ashamed, inferior, desired, and beautiful all at the same time. And Miss Thorne was, also at the same time, uninterested in her yet utterly focused on her. It was hard for her to explain, but God she was wet.

"First question, Clara: Do you prefer men or women. Sexually, I mean."

"Women, Miss Thorne."

"Exclusively?"

"No, Miss Thorne."

"Good. Which of your close relatives have you fucked?"

Clara gulped. Was that information she should be sharing with a stranger? Almost certainly not. On the other hand, while she gazed into those eyes of godlike authority, how could she possibly lie, or refuse to answer? "My brother and my father."

"Not your mother?"

"No, Miss Thorne."

"Do you want to?"

"I mean, maybe."

"And your grandmother?"

"I wouldn't turn her away, if she asked."

"Hm, tell me how it feels to be naked in front of me."

"It feels fucking amazing."

"Good. I was hoping you'd say that. Now I want you to make yourself come."

"Miss Thorne?"

"Come on, Clara. I want to see you come."

There wasn't any question of refusing. She didn't even want to refuse. Instead she slumped further into her chair, spread her legs still wider, and attacked herself with greater fury. The truth was that it wouldn't take a lot to put her over the edge. She was so hot there was probably steam coming off her. She plunged two fingers inside herself, revelling in the tight, hot depths of her cunt. She frigged herself hard.

"Show me how much of a slut you are, Clara," said Julia Thorne, leaning forward on her elbows. It was the first time she had shown anything but the most detached of interest.

"I am a slut, Miss Thorne."

"And whose slut are you, Clara?"

"I'm your slut, Miss Thorne!"

"Yes, you are. And as long as you work for me, you dirty cunt, you'll be at my disposal. Understand?"

And at that, Clara plunged over the beautiful abyss of orgasm, shaking and writhing as she screamed out, "Yes, Miss Thorne! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

ii. The Carrington Way

Matilda settled herself in Isobel's supremely comfortable armchair, one hand holding a whisky, the other casually tucked under the waistband of her knee-length skirt, lightly stroking herself through her knickers. Isobel sat opposite, clad in nothing but powder-blue lingerie - lacy bra, lacy knickers, and silk stockings held up by a suspender-belt - one slender leg crossed over the other.

"So, Toby won't fuck his daughter," she slurred. "What a bitch!"

"He's such a pussy!" complained Matilda. "It's so obvious that he wants to fuck Harriet. My only regret is that I don't have more children I could fuck."

Isobel frowned, puzzled. "You do, don't you?"

"I mean ones who are old enough."

"Really? Isn't Aaron eighteen already?"

Matilda shook her head. "Not until March."

Isobel smirked. "Do you have the date ringed in your calendar?"

"I don't know what you're suggesting. Aaron's a good boy. On the other hand, I thought Ryan was. Well, I mean, he is really. He's just surrounded by evil women."

"Lucky boy. Of course, as a Carrington, the notion of fucking close relatives is hardly an unusual one to me."

"And which of your family members do you fuck?"

"Pretty much all of them."

"Olivia?"

"Of course!"

"I'd dearly like to fuck Olivia," admitted Matilda.

"Why, sweetie, you only have to ask! Goodness!"

"I'll bear that in mind. But I'm not a Carrington. I don't have your excuse."

"Do you not? If I were you, darling Tilda, I'd have a conversation with your sister-in-law."

It was not often that Matilda was thrown off balance, but this threw her for a loop. "What do you know about my sister-in-law?"

"The lovely Laure, isn't it?"

"How did you know that?"

"We do our homework, Tilda. But we rarely need to look far from home," she added cryptically.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Isobel offered her only an infuriating smile. "Speak to Laure, and maybe she'll tell you."

Matilda thought of Laure Harrison née Colbert as her 'sister-in-Laure'. Laure was French and, as it happened, hold-on-to-your-seats gorgeous. This made it all the more remarkable that she had fallen in love with Matilda's dorky brother, Stephen, when by all rights it was her she should have fallen in love with. But such was life, and Matilda had learned to live with her disappointment. Except that these days she was no longer inclined to 'learn to live' with anything, especially when it came to her reborn libido. Maybe Matilda Ellis was no longer the kind of woman to give up on a particularly appetising pussy, especially not one with the taste of cross-Channel cuisine.

"Why can't you tell me?"

"I think it would be of more benefit to hear it from her. But I'm tired of talking. I have an itch I need scratching."

"Already? Didn't I just give you, like, six orgasms less than half-an-hour ago?"

"I only counted four," pouted Isobel. "That's not even close to my daily quota."

"My tongue's still tired," she complained.

"Poor baby!" Isobel got to her feet, a vision in powder-blue lingerie, and crossed the space between them with the egotistical grace of a cat. She settled herself on Matilda's lap, draping one arm around the older woman's shoulders, and ran one hand through her hair. "What can I do to make it better?"

Matilda's attempt to dream up a witty reply was forestalled by the sound of the front door opening. "Aunt Izzy? Are you home?"

"In here, darling!" called out Isobel.

Olivia came into the room, looking slightly flushed but as radiant as ever. Matilda was not used to being the third sexiest woman in any situation, and she fought down the jealousy that surged in her.

"Oh, am I interrupting something?" smirked Olivia, brown eyes drinking in her aunt's semi-naked form.

"Almost," said Isobel. "We're in a kind of inter-coital holding pattern."

"Well don't mind me. I'm freshly fucked myself."

"Oh? Who've you been fucking?" asked Isobel.

"Jamie," she said. "And Jemima."

"Greedy bitch! Have they exhausted you, poor thing?"

"Not particularly."

"Then why don't you come and join us? You do like hot, mature blondes, don't you?"

"They're my absolute favourite, since you ask."

iii. Isobel's Business Partner

It was an unseasonably warm Wednesday afternoon, and Isobel had invited Anna to lunch at the Village tearoom, because she wanted to introduce her to someone. By the time Anna arrived, Isobel was already seated at a table with another person sitting across from her, a slim woman dressed in an elegant dark-blue blazer and knee-length skirt, her dark hair cut short and framing a face that was both attractive and austere. She eyed Anna as she approached, with a disdain that left her feeling weak at the knees. She had to fight down the urge to curtsey.

"Ah, Annie," said Isobel, "I'd like you to meet Miss Julia Thorne."

The woman held out a hand to her but did not rise. Anna wasn't sure whether to shake it or to kiss it, so merely took it in her own and offered the woman a simpering smile. "It's nice to meet you," she said.

Julia Thorne looked her up and down with one raised eyebrow and no hint of friendliness. "Go and order us some tea. Perhaps chocolate cake."

Anna was taken aback, and glanced at Isobel as if for an explanation, but all Isobel did was wave a dismissive hand at her, as if to say, "Well, get on with it then."

Biting her lip, Anna hurried off to the counter, ashamed and, she had to admit, aroused. Being ordered around by a woman, not sexually but in a public setting like this, was different from how Will treated her, but it was threatening to trigger a similar response. She ordered tea and cakes, hoping the quaver in her voice was imaginary. She paid the assistant, whom she recognised as Emilia Rice, the vicar's daughter, and thanked her for her offer to carry the tray over to the table, but said she'd wait and take it herself, sensing that that was what Miss Thorne would want her to do. She could feel the woman's eyes burning into her, though she was surely imagining that, too, but when she turned round with the appetising tray, she found she was not mistaken. Julia Thorne's eyes were on her, judging her and finding her wanting. Anna walked back to the table, slightly weak in the knees, and laid down the tray. To her mild surprise, Miss Thorne shuffled her chair around to make room for her; She had half fancied she would be required to stand or even - and this really did send twinges of lust through her pussy - to kneel.

"Miss Thorne is a distant relative," Isobel told her, "but more importantly she's my co-owner of Codex Web Designs."

"And you, er, have young Clara Brookes working for you now, I hear," said Anna.

"I have her working hard," answered Julia. "I'm a bit of a slave-driver, you see." As she said this, she caught Anna full on in her steely gaze and ran the tip of her pink tongue over her scarlet-painted lips.

"I'm sure that's not true," stammered Anna.

"It definitely is," said Isobel, clearly enjoying herself. She picked up a generous slab of chocolate cake and took bird-sized nibbles from it. "Annie knows all about being slave-driven," she told her colleague conversationally.

"So I hear."

"I tell Julia simply everything. Don't worry, she's most discreet."

"Unlike you!" Julia told her.

"I can't imagine what you mean, Julia darling!"

"Whatever the antonym of 'discreet' is, Izzy, that would be your middle name."

"Bitch!"

"Isobel Bitch Carrington? Yes, that sounds about right."

If there was any animosity in their exchange, it didn't seem to perturb either of them and Anna guessed it was mere banter, as between friends, although it was quite difficult to imagine Julia Thorne capable of anything quite so warm as friendship. She was beginning to wonder why she was there. What did these two intimidating women want with her?

"Izzy says you're a writer."

"Yes, Miss Thorne, I am. I write children's books."

"Are they any good? I don't remember hearing your name before."

"They sell quite well. I write under a nom de plume."

"Which is?"

"Jenny Lee. It was my mother's name before she married my father."

"Ah, yes. 'The Big, Busy Bee,' was one of yours, no?"

"It was! How kind of you to remember."

Julia Thorne's expression radiated anything but kindness. "I'm not particularly interested in you for your authorial skills," she said.

"Julia has a thing for submissive women," said Isobel helpfully. "Especially if they're older than her. Interested? I know you're more into men, but nobody's perfect."

"Interested?"

"Since I'm clearly going to have to spell it out for you, you stupid cunt, Miss Carrington is suggesting that we take you back to her place and... see what use you are."

"Oh!" Anna's mouth was suddenly bone dry. The same could not be said of her pussy. "Thank-you, Miss Thorne. I, er... I believe that would be acceptable."

In Isobel's master bedroom, where a few months previously Anna had licked the woman's shoes, then watched as her husband fucked her, it was Julia Thorne who held court. She sat on the cushioned chair beside Isobel's dressing-table while Isobel settled herself on the bed, like a cat preparing for a nap. Anna knelt in front of Julia, hands on her head like an errant schoolgirl. The deep, pink pile of the bedroom carpet was more comfortable than she deserved. She was wearing a low-cut, pea-green dress, whose hem she had had to raise high above her knees in order to kneel so that, although fully dressed, she felt half naked.

"Is she always so obedient?" Miss Thorne asked Miss Carrington.

"When treated properly," purred Isobel.

Julia Thorne nodded. "What's she good for?"

"Nothing I can think of. Her husband likes to make her watch him with other women. I can't imagine why."

"She does have impressive tits," said Miss Thorne. She turned to Anna. "Show them to me."

Not hesitating, even for a moment, Anna slipped the arms of her dress over her shoulders and down her arms, peeling down the dress until her breasts were freed. She wore no bra - the dress did not demand one - and her heavy breasts rolled free. They were not as firm as they had been in her youth - who's were? - but they remained a source of pride to her, and she knew how they made men's heads turn. The nipples that crowned them were, she noted without surprise, erect.

Miss Thorne regarded them for a moment, then sniffed. Her own breasts might have been younger and firmer, but they were far less impressive, Anna thought, then reprimanded herself for being bitchy and impertinent. "Fine udders," said the younger woman. "Well suited to an ageing heifer."

Anna lowered her eyes for a moment before returning her gaze to Miss Thorne in a moment of defiance. Miss Thorne stood up, a darkness clouding her face, as if Anna had displeased her. She took hold of one of Anna's nipples in a tight grip between her thumb and forefinger, then pulled and twisted it, causing Anna to gasp with pain.

"On your feet!"

Julia Thorne kept hold of her nipple and pulled upwards, encouraging Anna to stand. "You dare to look at me?" she asked, but somehow Anna could not tear her eyes away from this living statue to harsh beauty. She let go of the nipple and slapped Anna's breast hard in its meatiest part. Anna looked down again, chastened, but this did not stop Miss Thorne slapping the other breast with equal ferocity.

"What would your innocent young readers say if they could see their beloved Jenny Lee like this?" That made Isobel laugh, a cruel, mocking laugh. "What would they think of you?"

"That I'm a slut, Miss Thorne," offered Anna.

"Would they be wrong?"

"No, Miss Thorne. I am a slut."

"What else are you, slut?"

"I... My husband says I'm a worthless cunt with a fat, ugly arse."

"And what would your husband do if he knew what you were up to behind his back?"

"He'd punish me, Miss Thorne."

"Hm. I'm not sure I approve of men punishing women," she said. "It seems to me that it's the wrong way around. But you should be punished, either way. Take your dress off and turn around. I want to see this fat, ugly arse. Call it my fascination with the grotesque."

Anna did as she was bidden, pushing her dress down and off in a motion that caused her to thrust her now near-naked arse (she was still wearing knickers) towards Miss Thorne. She rolled down the knickers too and stepped out of the pool of clothing at her feet. When she made to straighten, Miss Thorne slapped her arse.

"Keep it thrust out, slut!" she barked.

"Yes, Miss Thorne."

Anna rested her hands on her thighs, which were straining to keep her in a half-crouch, knees bent, arse thrusting back, heavy tits slightly dangling. It was a most ungainly and unladylike position, especially when she was naked, and the humiliation of being made to stand like this sent familiar tingles coursing through her.

"Good. Now stay like that. And keep those eyes on the fucking carpet, cunt!"

The strain on her thigh muscles, especially, was already acute, but Anna did not dare to disobey. She could hear whispers and rummaging, sounds she couldn't quite make sense of and then... She felt Julia Thorne step up behind her, felt cold, sticky fluid trickling between her buttocks, felt something hard and rounded probing at her arsehole. It all became obvious. Miss Thorne had donned a strap-on and was guiding the head of it into her arse. She felt it probing, pushing against the resistance of her sphincter, felt the head pop inside her, felt the invasive length of it sliding into her body.

"How does that feel, bitch?"

"It feels wonderful, Miss Thorne!" she lied. Actually, it felt rather uncomfortable, and gave her the sensation that when it exited her bowels it would take her shit with it and, even though she knew this was not the case, the mere idea of it caused her to glow with humiliation. None of that mattered. Julia Thorne eased the dildo in and out of her arse, sawing back and forth, fucking her with it. And before every in-stroke, she landed a resounding slap on her buttocks, each one causing her to yelp, which in turn provoked Isobel's mocking laughter.

"How'd you like it up the arse, slut?" asked Isobel. "Is that how Will fucks you nowadays?"

"Yes... I mean, yes, I like it, Miss Carrington. And... and yes, sometimes he does."

"He told me she'd never let him until he taught her how to obey, Isobel told Miss Thorne.

"Probably why she's so tight. This bitch needs loosening up. Starting now." And with that, Miss Thorne abandoned gentle easing in favour of hard, rough strokes, fucking her arse as if it belonged to her which, at least in that moment, it did. The spanking was harder, too. At least when Will buggered and spanked her, she could be confident it would end when he came, but there seemed little chance of such salvation here. Not that she didn't like it, it was just that her thigh muscles were screaming, and her buttocks were stinging, and her arse felt uncomfortably full, and Isobel was laughing at her. And... and... and she was coming. Oh God, yes, she was. She didn't know why, exactly, but she certainly didn't fight it. Nor did she try to disguise the fact. She groaned and sighed out her orgasm as the slaps rained down on her buttocks, and the dildo pounded in and out of her bowels, and Isobel's laughter rang in her ears.

iv. Work Colleagues

Since Clara's defection to Codex Web Designs, Abigail Carmichael had taken to bringing Aaliyah along with her when she visited the office and when, one Monday, her friend proposed they share a drink after work, with the promise of a lift back home afterwards, Clara jumped at the chance.

"So, how are you finding working for Miss Thorne?"

"It's... interesting," grinned Clara.

"The work?"

"Well, yes." She wasn't sure how much more she should say. She could hardly tell Aaliyah that Miss Thorne had taken to making her masturbate in front of her, some evenings, could she?

"What else?"

"Huh?"

Aaliyah leaned forward across the sticky table. "I'm not exactly oblivious to the kind of things Julia Thorne gets up to," she confided.

"Really? How come?"

The pretty Asian girl treated Clara to a coy, but not-at-all innocent smile. "I haven't been entirely honest about my own relationship with Julia Thorne and the other Carringtons."

Clara's mouth fell open. "You're in with them?"

"I am. Are you outraged?"

"Jesus! I'm starting to think my mom's right. This feels more and more like a conspiracy all the time!"

"You're not mad at me, are you? I really am your friend, Clara."

Clara regarded her sceptically. "Were you planted? To get close to me?"

"Abi asked me to... be friendly. But I would have been anyway. I'm always friendly to pretty girls."

"Abigail's part of it as well? I don't know why I'm even surprised anymore."

"Abi's a Carrington, too," she said. "Her mother is, anyway."

"I suppose you're going to tell me that you're a Carrington, somehow!"

"No, I'm a Khan," laughed Aaliyah. "But my parents were always adherents. It's not easy, when you come from an Islamic background. The Carringtons helped to free us from all that religious nonsense."

"Fuck! I can't help thinking I ought to throw this drink in your face and storm out."

"You could do that... Or you could come back to my place."

"What exactly are you proposing, Miss Khan?"

Aaliyah grinned. "I'm proposing we go back to my place and fuck, Miss Brookes. Text your mom, tell her you're staying the night with a friend. What do you say?"

"I say you're a conniving, treacherous, two-faced bitch. On the other hand, I have a bit of a thing for Desi hotties, and you do have enticing tits. I have wondered what it would be like to bury my face in your pussy. Fuck it, let's do it."

Though not drunk, both girls were slightly heady and giggly, and since Aaliyah's flat was only fifteen minutes away, they walked back there, hand in hand, pausing every now and then to kiss. Clara had always felt an attraction to the other girl and was excited to unwrap her and play with the goodies inside, without being too bothered about her Carrington-related revelations. If she refused to fuck anyone who was somehow involved with the Carringtons, she might end up permanently abstaining, which sounded like a horrible way to live.

Aaliyah's flat was small and untidy, and Clara had to move numerous books, magazines, stuffed animals, and remote controls before she could even sit down. Aaliyah apologised for her messiness, but she didn't really mean it, and Clara didn't really care. While her hostess was making them each a cup of coffee, Clara stripped out of her work clothes, so that by the time Aaliyah returned from the kitchen, she was sitting there in her underwear.

"Fuck!" whistled Aaliyah. "You don't waste any time, do you?"

"What do you think?" she asked, standing up and treating Aaliyah to a turn.

"Perfect tits. Perfect arse. Perfect legs. I already knew about the perfect face. What a bitch!"

"I am perfect, aren't I?" giggled Clara. "Now let's do you."

Balancing the tray of coffee precariously on the innumerable items that had annexed the coffee table, Aaliyah did a slow striptease out of her white blouse and black slacks, to leave her as equally underwear-clad as Clara, though whereas Clara's bra and knickers were pedestrian white cotton, Aaliyah's were sexy and elegant red. She looked good in it, too, creamy-textured, coffee-coloured skin, filling out her bra in a most magnificent way, but top-heavy contrasted to her slender waist and slim, shapely legs. It all made Clara want to lick her all over and drink in her every taste and flavour.

"Ah, the exotic spices of the Orient," teased Clara.

"Racist!"

"Would a racist want to get her face between your arse-cheeks and lick you 'til Sunday?"

"None that I've ever met."

"Exactly. Now why don't you place both hands on the back of your obscenely untidy sofa and bend over."

Still giggling tipsily, Aaliyah stood in front of the sofa, knees touching the cushions, and did as Clara told her. Clara got down on her knees (one knee on a copy of Hello! the other on a discarded crisp packet) and peeled down her friend's lacy, red knickers. She left them in a roll around the girl's knees, no longer an impediment, and used both hands to spread her mouthwatering buttocks. With a growl of hunger, she buried her face between them and helped herself to the evening hors d'oeuvres - arse à la Khan.

Aaliyah fidgeted and wriggled as Clara devoured her, complaining that it tickled and 'made her feel funny', as she writhed and wriggled in a way almost calculated to turn Clara on. More than once, Clara slapped her broad buttocks and told her to keep still, but she just couldn't help herself. Clara lowered her aim and turned the full attention of her tongue to Aaliyah's pussy, which left her nose pretty much buried in the girl's rectum, but that was a small price to pay; In fact, it was a reward all in itself. The girl's pussy tasted of sweat and arousal, and if she had wriggled and gyrated before, Clara's tongue-work made her so fidgety it was all Clara could do to keep her tongue attached to the slit before her.

"All right, Squirmy, why don't you sit down and spread your legs like a good slut should."

"I've been dreaming of spreading my legs to you, Miss Brookes!"

"Less dreaming, more doing!"

Aaliyah did as Clara suggested, and the new angle made it a lot easier for Clara to get at the girl's clit, which she attacked as if intending to devour it whole. This was evidently most agreeable to Miss Khan, who continued to writhe but to this now added a string of obscene encouragements. "Oh fucking yeah! Make me feel it, bitch! Get that fucking tongue up my cunt where it belongs!"

But Clara needed no encouragement. She placed her hands on Aaliyah's inner thighs and pushed them even further apart, opening the girl to her, and alternately stabbed her tongue into the girl's slit and swirled the tip of it around her clitoris until she was almost frantic. Aaliyah's own hands fled to her tits, which she mashed and mauled as Clara went to town on her pussy. Next thing Clara knew, the girl's hands were in her hair, clutching it painfully tight as she held Clara's face against her. She was about to come and could not risk Clara stopping. But Clara had no such intention. She redoubled her efforts, focusing on Aaliyah's clit now with rapid flicks of her tongue, putting her foot on the accelerator on the road to climax. With a long, ululating wail, Aaliyah came, clinging on to Clara's head as if she daren't let go, and riding her face through an epic orgasm that left Clara's nose, cheeks, and chin saturated in the other girl's wetness.

They took their cups of coffee to bed with them and fucked the night away. The next day it was all Clara could do to stay awake at her desk, but it was OK because, after work, Miss Thorne gave her a richly-earned spanking and sent her home.

III. The Family Dynamic

It is not enough to love your mother; You must kneel down before her and worship at the altar of her cunt

Sir William Carrington, On Family, Maxim 3

i. The Waking Dream

"So, what did you and Aaliyah get up to last night?" asked Elizabeth. Clara had left the house on Monday morning and finally got home on Tuesday evening.

"Girlie stuff," she shrugged.

"Which is?"

Clara grinned. "Licking pussy mainly, mom."

Elizabeth pursed her lips. "So are you officially gay now?"

"I'm not officially anything. I reject the very notion of labels!"

"Do you, now? Or is it that you only fuck men who are blood relatives?"

That made her laugh. "It does seem to be developing into a pattern. Not that you're in a position to judge, from what I hear."

"Oh? What did you hear?"

"That you sucked your son's cock. Did you?"

Elizabeth let out a long held-in breath. "I did. Does that bother you?"

"Should it? We seem to have become a full-on kin-fucking family, and that's fine by me."

"I haven't fucked him."

"Why not?"

"Honestly, Clara, I don't really know. It can't possibly be moral scruples, because none of us seem to have any of those left."

"If you want to fuck him, fuck him."

"Ah, such poetry! But I do, just for the record, intend to."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

"I don't know. I've a notion that the boys feel a bit more shame and embarrassment than we do."

"Well, they're just going to have to get over it, aren't they, mom?"

"You know what, Clara? You're absolutely right."

Though the time for secrecy within the family was close to ending, Elizabeth wanted this most important moment to be private and intimate. So she waited until the early hours of Saturday morning before she acted, when she could be sure that the others were asleep. She and Ash had spent a pretty wild Friday night together, in which she had treated him with all the contempt he craved, and left his arse smarting and his balls aching with all the things she had done to them. He was sleeping soundly in the afterglow of this debauchery, making it easy for her to slip from the bed and the bedroom without disturbing him. The debauchery had not left her in a sleepy afterglow - it had done no more than whetted the appetite in her pussy.

She slipped quietly into Owen's room. Her son was snuggled up under his duvet on this cold, November night, but she knew he always slept naked. All of them did. She clicked on his bedside lamp and stood watching him as he blinked awake with a gasp. She wondered if he had been dreaming, and whether the waking surpassed the dream. It was not every night, after all, that you woke to the sight of your mother standing naked beside your bed.

"Mom?"

"It's time," she said, bending down to peel back the duvet. She eyed his body, licking her lips in anticipation of tasting its youthful flesh.

"Time for what?" Being half asleep was leaving him obtuse, but he'd work it out before too long. She smiled at him, though she fancied it was a wolfish smile, and put one hand between her thighs, rubbing herself suggestively. "Oh!"

"Were you dreaming about me?" she asked.

"I am now! Are you... I mean, are we..."

"Yes," she nodded. "We are."

He smiled that beautiful, almost innocent smile of his and her heart melted. "Don't I get a say?"

"No, sweetheart, you don't. You're only job is to fuck me."

She watched her son's cock twitch into life. He took it in his hand and gave it a few supportive strokes but really, it needed no assistance. His pretty brown eyes roamed over her body and that was enough to make him hard. Everything about Owen was pretty - his wavy hair, his doe-like eyes, his smooth skin, his slender body, his cock... He was pretty in the way that a girl was pretty, yet without sacrificing an undeniable maleness. It was a potent combination, like looking at a hot girl and a handsome boy both at the same time. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted anyone.

"Should I..." he began, half-rising from the bed.

"No! Lie back down. Let your mother take care of everything."

She straddled him, guided his cock to where it belonged, to the place where he had come from, and sank her weight down on it until it filled her up and stretched her open. She looked down at her son, who was still in half a daze, and must have wondered if he was dreaming all of this. And it was a dream, in truth, a dream she had long had but rarely admitted to, even to herself. It may have seemed to the casual observer that there had been not a moment's foreplay but that was wrong - the foreplay had been going on for months. And now it was time to fuck.

She moved up and down her son's cock, rolling her hips and mauling her own tits as the thrill of it washed over her, the thrill of the young, hard cock inside her, the thrill of the secret, nocturnal liaison, the thrill of fucking her own son. He started to thrust upwards to meet her undulations.

"No!" she told him, placing both hands on his skinny chest. "Lie still!"

She didn't really know why she did that, except that this had to be about her fucking him, not the other way around. Perhaps she was just becoming used to being in control. And so she rode him, her compliant steed, sliding her dripping cunt up and down his shaft, rolling her hips, mashing her broad arse against his balls with every down-stroke, clawing her hands into fists and raking his chest with her fingernails, hissing with pleasure at how it made her feel. Apart from the hisses and the squelching, it was a silent fuck, not only for fear of waking the others but because all communication here was wordless. They knew what they were doing. They knew how wrong it was, and how much they needed it, him as much as her. He was biting his lip as she rode him from walk, to trot, to canter, to gallop. His face contorted as orgasm approached, so she rode him even harder and, with a long, drawn-out sigh, he came. She stilled her undulations and no longer resisted his urge to thrust as he pumped his mother's womb full of cum while she looked down into his adoring eyes.

Minutes passed with the two of them locked together, mother and son, just staring at each other as their urgent breathing slowly eased. Finally, she dismounted with a cascade of cum, flooding over his cock and balls. It randomly occurred to her that she'd have to wash the bedsheets in the morning. It was such a 'mom' thing to think she almost laughed out loud.

There wasn't really room on his single bed to lie comfortably next to him, but she didn't want to just up and leave, so she sat on the edge and ruffled his hair, then kissed him. It was intended to be a motherly kiss, but it didn't work out like that, and she soon found she was full-on snogging her son, cupping his sticky balls and squeezing them.

"How was it?" she asked him.

"I really hope I'm not just having an erotic dream," he grinned, "else I'm going to be really disappointed when I wake up."

ii. Family Dinner

The Brookes family sat down to dinner the next day, as they did every Sunday, and Elizabeth found herself scanning their faces - her husband, her daughter, her son - to see if she could detect any visible change in them. Certainly, they were not the same people they had been this time last year. She was not even the same person she had been this time yesterday! Ash looked contented, as if all he had been waiting for to make his life complete was to become his wife's subservient sex-puppy; Clara looked, if possible, even more confident and self-assured than ever, like a girl who knows how desired she is, even by her own father and brother; Owen remained a sweet boy but when he looked at her there was undisguised hunger in his eyes, which told her that their single fuck was never going to be enough for him.

"Well," she said to them as they tucked into their food, "it's been quite the year so far, hasn't it?"

"You could say that, mom," said Clara sardonically. "You started it by turning into a dominatrix, fucked the next-door neighbours, and crowned it all last night by fucking your own son."

"You, er, know about that, then?" she asked nervously.

"Wuss-boy wouldn't dare keep such a secret from his sister," she preened.

"Sorry mom," said Owen, while Ash gaped at her. "Sorry dad."

Ashley opened his mouth to speak but Elizabeth glared at him. "I don't need anyone's permission to fuck my own son," she said reasonably. "Especially not someone who has fucked his daughter. My only problem," pressed on Elizabeth, "is the secrecy. Of which we're all guilty," she added, off a look from her daughter. "I think it's safe for us to acknowledge that there has been a fair degree of sex going on within this family, but too many smouldering glances and secret whispers, but not enough openness, or honest conversation about what it all means."

"Oh!" said Ashley, a worried look on his face. "It's time for The Conversation, is it?"

"Quiet! I'm speaking!" snapped Elizabeth. "Now, before we say anymore, I want to make a couple of things crystal clear. While each of us can speak freely about how we feel, the final decision about what goes on within these four walls, indeed between any combination of the four of us, is mine. Understand?"

"That's not fair..." began Clara.

"I'm not interested. I am the head of this household, not you, not your father. Me. Got it?"

"Yes, mom."

"Good. Right. So, that's Rule No.1 - 'Mom's in charge'."

"Are you going to spank us if we disobey, like you spank dad?"

"Only if you want me to," said Elizabeth drily. "Rule No.2 is just as important. Because, while it's OK to have sex with each other, we have to remember that we're still a family, and we have to remain grounded."

"So what's the rule?" asked Owen.

"The rule is that outside of sex, we remain a normal family. I'm the mom, your dad's the dad and you'll both respect that at all times."

"That's how I'd prefer it to be," said Owen.

"Fine," said Clara. "Outside of fucking, I'm not much bothered. Is there a Rule No.3?"

"Yes," said Elizabeth, "since you ask. Rule No.3 is 'No more secrets'. There will be no need for sneaking around, or behind-the-back liaisons. Within these walls, sex is in the open. I'm not saying you have to announce it in advance, I'm just saying there will be no attempt to hide it from the rest of us. There shouldn't be any need to, anyway. Because Rule No.4 is 'Each of us is allowed to have sex with any of the other three'. In other words, fuck who you want, when you want. From now on, we're a free-loving family."

"Cool!" breathed Owen.

"Very cool," agreed Clara.

"I can't help thinking," said Ash, contemplatively, "that things around here are about to get even weirder."

iii. Ashley's Proposition

Apart from Sunday dinner, the one time the Brookes family could almost guarantee being together was on Friday evening when, by tradition, they sat watching television while enjoying pizza and garlic bread. And this, Clara mused, was the first such occasion since her mother had so eloquently laid out her new philosophy. Everyone else seemed to be aware of it too, though nobody was saying anything. She noticed Owen's frequent surreptitious glances at both her and at their mother, while she often felt her father's eyes on her too. She didn't mind. She liked the attention, quite honestly, and after they had finished eating, she slid closer to Owen on the sofa, closer than was strictly necessary in fact, while their parents sat in their customary armchairs, facing each other across the room. It was only as Owen slid a hand over her thighs, though, that Clara saw her mother catch her father's eye and nod to him.

"OK kids," he said. "I have a proposition, since you're both so obviously under the control of your hormones."

"Hey!" protested Clara. "Owen's the one controlled by his cock. I can keep the contents of my pants in my pants."

"Oh, well if you're not interested..."

Owen looked as if he were about to protest vociferously but Clara beat him to it. "I didn't say I wasn't interested," she said primly. "I was pointing out that, unlike my wuss of a brother, I'm not sex-obsessed."

"Or maybe you're just too much of a girl to admit it, Clarabelle," huffed Owen.

"Oh, fuck off!" said Clara. "Sorry, dad. Of course we want to hear your proposition."

"Very well," nodded her father, "here's what I want you to do. I want you both to go up to our bedroom, get undressed, and lie on the bed. Lie side-by-side and hold each other's hands. Will you do that?"

Clara nodded while Owen let out a "Yes!"

"Nothing more, mind!" warned her mother. "Get naked, lie down, hold hands but don't do anything else. You hear me, Owen? No matter how full your little-boy balls are! Go on, off you go."

Owen didn't even pause to protest about being called a 'little boy', but raced upstairs, followed more sedately by his (secretly just as eager) sister. By the time Clara made it into the master bedroom, Owen was already shucking off his T-shirt. "Come on, Clarabell, show us your tits!" he enthused.

"So classy!" she said, though the truth was she was just as keen to see her brother naked.

"What do you think they have planned?" asked Owen, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans; At this rate he would be naked before she had finished unfastening her blouse.

"I assume they're going to fuck us," she said demurely, not shy about eyeing her brother's body as he lowered his jeans to reveal the growing bulge in his boxer shorts. She stripped off her blouse and folded it neatly over a chair while Owen ogled her breasts, encased in a lacy pink bra. He stripped out of his boxers and bounced on to the bed, lying with his arms folded behind his head to watch his sister strip naked. She climbed out of her jeans and coyly posed for him in her underwear. "How do I look?"

"Like someone whose knickers I want to get into," he said. Clara curtsied, then unhooked her bra and let it fall. "God, Clara, I love your tits."

"Maybe you'll get to suck them later," she teased, peeling down her knickers. She did a spin to show off her perfect body, taut, firm, and succulent. "Now keep your hands to yourself please." She lay down on the bed beside him, keeping a few inches between them. Remembering the instructions, she took hold of his hand, and they lay there, naked on their parents' bed, breathing hard, and wondering what would happen next.

"How long will they make us wait, do you think?" asked Owen.

"Probably they want us all wound up and ready to go."

"I've been wound up and ready to go all day!" he complained. "If I don't come soon, my balls are going to explode or something."

"I must admit I do spend an unhealthy amount of time thinking about sex," said Clara. "I think I might be a bit obsessed. Not like you," she hurriedly added. "I'm not a complete nympho!"

Their conversation was cut short by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. "They're coming!" breathed Owen. "God, I need to fuck!"

Clara lay in silence, squeezing his hand. The bedroom door opened, and their parents stepped inside. They both stared at their beautiful mother, stripped down to a pale-blue bra and knickers, lush, raven hair tumbling over her shoulders. Beside her, their father was in jeans but shirtless, looking handsome and sexy. Much as her eyes lingered over her mother's mouth-watering tits and firm, luscious thighs, Clara could not deny her father's broad chest and muscular arms turned her on almost as much.

"Are you kids ready for some action?" he asked.

iv. Drinking It All In

Elizabeth stood next to her husband and for a few moments, like him, drank in the sight of the naked siblings. Mouth curling up at one corner, she slinked forward towards her daughter. At the same time, Ash made a beeline for his son. As if overtaken by an irresistible instinct, Clara spread her legs and raised her hips, inviting her mother to feast. Kneeling on the bed, Elizabeth bent forward and, with her face only inches away, used careful fingers to part the petals of Clara's pussy. She looked up to check that her daughter was OK with this - there had never, until now, been any hint of the two of them being intimate with each other, despite all of the other goings-on within the family. Clara said nothing but returned her mother's gaze, urging her on with her divinely brown eyes. Coral-pink and tiny, the girl's pussy was an object of impossible desire, and Elizabeth was content to gaze at it in mute wonderment for nearly a full minute.

Beside her, Ash too had gone down on his knees, to take Owen's elegant cock between his lips, and his balls in his cupped palm. Owen looked a bit taken aback, this obviously not being what he had expected. To her knowledge, he had never expressed so much as a hint of an interest in his own sex, regardless of all the rumours about him. Yet he made no attempt to turn his father away as he began to suck his cock, even if he did turn a somewhat desperate gaze towards his sister. When she became aware of what was happening, she breathed out a quiet, "Fuck!"

For herself, though conscious of what her husband was doing, and of the wet sounds of cock-sucking, Elizabeth was too consumed with Clara's pussy to spare it much thought. She pressed her face in closer, inhaled her daughter's scent, then worked the tip of her tongue up and along, and between, the narrow folds of her labia. Clara gave a grunt, and clutched at the bedcover, as her mother gave her clitoris the slightest of flicks. The girl's thighs tightened and relaxed. Elizabeth knew that sensation; It was what she lived for. Again, she swiped up Clara's slit, from perineum to clitoris, then again, and again, this time pausing to plunge her tongue deep into the acidic opening of her vagina, curling it into a stiff curve, and flicking the inside of her cunt on the outstroke. Clara gasped and tensed again. Elizabeth paused long enough to look at the twenty-year-old girl. "Good?" she asked.

In answer, Clara could do no more than whimper and nod her head. Ash, meanwhile, was running the tip of his tongue down the underside of Owen's cock, and over his balls, then back up again. Their son's cock was iron-hard, marble-white and pretty as a picture. Yet still, it was not enough to distract her from her daughter's beatific cunt, which was wet enough to make sloshing sounds as she ran her tongue along it. She allowed herself to dwell for a moment on the enormity of what she was doing - she was eating out her daughter, and the thought sent a tingle through her loins, and a fever of lust through her brain. That's nothing, she thought, I'm going to make the bitch come in my fucking face. She took one slender thigh in each hand and gripped hard, enjoying the firm feel of their tense muscles and the impossible smoothness of her skin. God, to be so young again!

She set to work with a purpose, first plunging her tongue into the girl's slit, then teasing the tip up between her sopping labia, and finally flicking her clit. Each time her tongue flicked over the hard nub, Clara whimpered and stiffened. Her hands were in her mother's hair now, trying to force her still closer. Elizabeth focused for a while on her clit, swirling her tongue around it, or sucking it hard between her lips and flicking it again and again. Clara's thighs were aquiver, and her moans almost constant. She was so wet, Elizabeth's face was flooded in her juices. Beside her, she could hear sucking sounds as Ashley's mouth worked on Owen's cock, prompting the occasional grunt of approval from the boy.

This, thought Elizabeth, is what the past twenty years have been leading up to, this exact moment. There are a thousand reasons for having children, and for loving them and nurturing them, but none compares to the simple joy of fucking them.

It was, inevitably, Owen who came first. She was aware of his guttural cries and stiffening limbs as he pumped his cum into his father's greedy mouth. She wished she could have given more attention to such a beautiful moment, but she could sense the trembling in Clara's thighs as the girl climbed closer and closer to her own orgasm. She paused and looked up to find Clara staring back at her, lips parted and eyes wide open, hungry and questioning.

"Tell me what you want," said Elizabeth.

"I... I... I want to come," stammered Clara.

"Where, Clara? Where do you want to come?"

"In your face, mom!"

She buried her face in her daughter's pussy and licked her clitoris with savage fury. Within seconds, Clara's hands were in her hair, clutching hard, pulling her against her gash as she rode Elizabeth's face, bucking and screaming as she came, and came, and came. More than that, a hot gush of girl-cum erupted from Clara's pussy and splattered all over her face. From that point on, Elizabeth was relentless. Every time the orgasm petered out, she attacked Clara's pussy once again, driving her through two, three, four squirting orgasms. She stopped after the fifth, her face and torso sopping wet with her daughter's juices, her nose filled with the intoxicating scent of her cum, and her tongue aching from the effort of licking her own daughter's slit.

As soon as she straightened, Ash was upon her. He mashed his mouth to hers and parted his lips. To her surprise and joy, she found he had kept Owen's cum in his mouth all the time she had been tonguing Clara to orgasm, and they shared it now, pushing it and sucking it between them, crazed with the forbidden taste of their own son's semen in their hungry mouths. And when Elizabeth, no longer able to contain herself, swallowed it down, Ash took to licking her face, lapping up the taste of his daughter's pussy-juices from his wife's cheeks and chin. Their fury abated at last, and she once again became aware of her surroundings. She looked up to see Clara and Owen watching their parents, caught between astonishment and admiration. Both of them were sitting up, utterly entranced by their mother and father's animal frenzy.

"Lie back down," she snarled. "Both of you. On your backs, my beautiful sluts!"

She had seen, much to her pride and admiration, that Owen's cock was as fully hard as if he had never come, and she meant to make full use of it. Lip curled back in mind-numbing lust, she straddled her son, pulled her ice-blue knickers to one side, and guided his cock into her cunt. She sank down on him with a sigh, swallowing his entire length in a single go, then resting there, gazing into his eyes so that he would be able to see the full extent of her uninhibited desire.

Beside her, Ashley had taken their daughter by the ankles and dragged her to the edge of the bed. Quickly unzipping his jeans and letting them fall about his thighs, he roughly threw Clara's ankles over his shoulders and brought her dripping-wet pussy up to meet his desperate cock.

"Fuck her!" breathed Elizabeth. "Let me see you fuck our little girl!"

And in the moment that she saw her husband's cock sink into her daughter's beautiful cunt, it felt to Elizabeth that a new phase of their lives had begun, that the dilemmas of the past were over, that any lingering doubts were blown away on the breeze. She loved her family, and her family loved her. She desired them and they desired her back. There was no longer any need for any of them to hide it, at least not from each other. She rode her son's cock as, beside her, her husband fucked their daughter and she knew, with a certainty she had never dreamed of, that this was right.