r/IncestTabooStories

I stared at the pink Bible that night.

Turned it over. Checked the spine again. Ran my thumb along the gold-edged pages. No author. No publisher. No ISBN.

More questions than answers. And no way to chase any of them.

I sure as hell wasn't going back to Keeler's to ask. What would I even say? Excuse me, do you know anything about the pink Bible wedged between the King James and the ESV? The one that somehow made me confident enough to kiss my sister and grab her breast?

No. That conversation wasn't happening.

I set the book back on my nightstand and lay in the dark staring at the ceiling.

---

I tried to pretend everything was normal.

For the next few days, I went through the motions.

Normal. Fine. Nothing happened.

But Shelby changed.

It was subtle. Nothing that would trip an alarm in our parents' heads. She didn't throw herself at me or make declarations. She just... shifted.

She started sitting next to me at breakfast instead of across from me. Her knee would press against mine under the table.

She listened to me. Actually listened. When I talked about something her eyes would lock onto mine and stay there. Like every word I said carried weight.

She'd find excuses to touch me. Her fingers brushing mine when she handed me a dish. A playful shove that lasted a beat too long.

None of it was enough to register on our parents' radar. To Mom and Dad, it looked like a brother and sister getting along. Maybe even bonding over the pressure of growing up.

They had no idea.

Meanwhile, the heat grew.

Not the August heat that baked Millhaven's roads. A persistent warmth that lived in me.

When I was near the book, the warmth pulsed. When I touched it, confidence ran through me. When I was away from it, the heat built. A pressure that wanted release.

The release it wanted was specific.

It wanted Shelby.

Every time the warmth crested, my thoughts went to her. The softness of her lips. The weight of her breast in my palm. The small sound she'd made when my thumb found her nipple.

It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. A book shouldn't make you feel things. It shouldn't make other people agree with you, or make your sister kiss you.

But it did.

And I kept it on my nightstand like a loaded gun I wasn't ready to fire.

---

Friday evening. Dinner.

Mom had made pot roast with carrots and potatoes, Dad's favorite. We sat in our usual spots, Dad at the head, Mom to his right, Shelby and me across from each other.

"Caleb."

"Yes, sir?"

"It's been a week. How's the training coming?"

Across the table, Mom's eyes flicked to mine. A look that said: I warned you.

I set my fork down.

"I've been practicing," I said.

Dad's eyebrows rose a fraction. Skeptical but willing to be convinced.

Before he could press further, Shelby spoke up.

"He practiced with me."

Dad turned to her. "Did he?"

"On Wednesday." She nodded, reaching for her glass. "I was his audience. He read me a passage and I gave him feedback."

"And?" Dad leaned back in his chair. "How was it?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but Shelby was faster.

"It was perfect." She said it without blinking. "Honestly, Dad, it was one of the best sermons I've ever heard."

Dad's chin lifted.

"He's got this... authority," Shelby continued, turning her fork in her fingers. "Like, when he speaks, you actually want to listen." She looked at me. "He's got a natural gift, Dad. Seriously."

Dad looked at me. Looked at Shelby. Looked at Mom.

His face broke into the widest smile I'd seen from him in months.

"I knew it." He slapped the table with his palm, rattling the silverware. "I knew you had it in you. It doesn't skip generations. Your grandfather had it. I have it. And now you've got it."

"Thank you, sir."

"This is exactly what I wanted to hear." He picked up his fork again, pointing it at me. "Now, I was thinking, this Sunday. You should give your first sermon. Nothing too long. Ten, fifteen minutes. Introduce yourself to the congregation as more than just my son. Let them hear what you've got."

My stomach dropped.

"This Sunday?" I tried to keep the panic out of my voice. "Dad, I've only practiced once. With Shelby. That's not the same as standing in front of sixty people."

"You think I was ready my first time? Nobody's ready. That's the point. You step into the fire and let God carry you."

"I understand that, but I think I need more time. I'm still learning the material. Still finding my voice." I swallowed. "I don't want to get up there and embarrass you."

His smile faded. The fork went down again.

Mom caught Dad's face.

"Earl." Her voice was gentle. "Maybe there's a middle step."

Dad looked at her.

"What if Caleb starts with the Young Adult group?" she said, dabbing her napkin against her lips. She let the suggestion land softly. "It's smaller. More intimate. He can work on his delivery, get comfortable speaking to an audience, build his confidence. And honestly, those kids could use a leader closer to their age. Someone who speaks their language. You've said that yourself."

Dad chewed on that. His eyes moved between Mom and me.

"The Young Adult group," he repeated.

"It makes sense," Mom pressed gently. "Let him get his legs under him. Then, when he's ready for the main congregation, he'll be polished."

Dad pointed his fork at nothing in particular.

"You're right," he said finally. "Start small. Get into their hearts first. A young man their age, speaking with the fire of faith, that'll resonate."

"Exactly," Mom said.

"Fine. This Saturday. You lead it."

"Yes, sir."

I caught Mom's eyes across the table. She gave me the faintest wink. Quick enough that Dad missed it. I read the message: You're welcome. Don't waste it.

I gave her the smallest nod.

---

The Young Adult group was a joke, and everyone in the church knew it.

It met on Saturday afternoons in a cramped room at the back of Millhaven Baptist. The room had once been a Sunday school classroom.

No one volunteered for the Saturday slot. No parent, elder, deacon, or board member wanted to sacrifice their weekend afternoon to babysit. That was the entire point. It was the dead zone. The hour no one watched.

And the attendance reflected it.

Four people. That was the usual turnout. That was the total population of the Millhaven Baptist Young Adult group.

Me. Shelby. And our two cousins, Harper and Quinn Caldwell.

Harper and Quinn were the daughters of my Aunt Vivian, Mom's younger sister. Vivian had married a man named Roy Caldwell, a long-haul trucker who was home maybe six weeks out of the year. In his absence, Aunt Vivian had leaned hard into the church and she dragged her daughters along.

They did not like it.

Harper was twenty. The older of the two, though she acted younger. She had Aunt Vivian's dirty-blonde hair, usually yanked into a messy bun with loose strands falling around her face. She was lean through the shoulders and chest. Her breasts were small, barely filling the modest tops Aunt Vivian insisted on, and she'd made more than one bitter joke about being shortchanged in that department compared to Shelby. But what Harper lacked upstairs, she carried behind her in abundance. Her hips were wide and round, flaring dramatically from a narrow waist, and her ass made the old women in the congregation whisper behind their hymnals.

Quinn was eighteen. She was softer than Harper, quieter, with honey-brown hair that fell to the middle of her back. She had Mom's green eyes. Freckles across her nose and cheeks. A small mouth that defaulted to something between a pout and a frown. Like Harper, she was flat through the chest. Small breasts, barely more than gentle slopes beneath her clothes. But from the waist down, Quinn was built like her sister. Maybe more so. Her thighs were thick and smooth, pressing together when she walked, and her ass was round past what her frame suggested.

Both of them had been dragged to the Young Adult group since its inception two years ago. Both hated it. Both showed up because the alternative, defying Aunt Vivian, was worse.

Normally, the hour went like this: we'd arrange ourselves in the circle of chairs, someone would halfheartedly open a Bible, and then we'd give up and talk about nothing. Gossip. Complaints about Millhaven.

After sixty minutes, we'd file out and tell our parents that it had been an enriching, spirit-filled experience.

It was the one hour a week where no one was watching.

---

Saturday. Two o'clock.

We pulled up to the church. Dad had already left for a meeting with the deacons, so Mom dropped me and Shelby off at the side entrance. She leaned across the passenger seat as we climbed out.

"Caleb." Her green eyes caught mine. "Do well today. Your father's going to ask about it tonight."

"I know, Mom."

"Make me proud."

Shelby walked ahead of me toward the back entrance. She glanced over her shoulder.

"You nervous?"

"A little."

"Don't be." She held the door open for me. "You were amazing on Wednesday. Just do what you did then."

The back room was already occupied. Harper sat in one of the folding chairs with her legs stretched out in front of her, ankles crossed, scrolling through her phone. She wore tight jeans that looked painted onto her lower half and a loose flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows. Quinn sat two chairs over, curled into herself like a comma, knees drawn up, reading something on a cracked tablet screen. She had on leggings that clung to every curve below her waist and a baggy sweater that hung past her hips.

"Hey," Harper said without looking up.

"Hey," Quinn echoed, also without looking up.

Shelby dropped into a chair and crossed her legs. I stood in the center of the circle, waiting for the moment to start.

We talked. The usual nothing. Harper complained about Aunt Vivian making her iron church clothes. Quinn mentioned a show she'd been watching. Shelby asked Harper about some girl from their graduating class who'd gotten engaged. I sat and listened and waited for an opening.

After about ten minutes, Shelby provided one.

"Oh," she said, uncrossing her legs and sitting forward. "Caleb's been practicing preaching. Dad's making him take over the group."

Harper looked up from her phone. Her expression was half skepticism, half amusement. "Take over the group? This group?"

"Yep."

Quinn glanced at me over her tablet. "You're going to preach to us?"

"I've been practicing," I said. "Shelby heard me earlier this week. She said it was good."

"It was better than good," Shelby corrected. "Tell them, Caleb. Read something. Give them a taste."

Harper snorted. "We're really doing this?"

"Just listen," Shelby said. "Five minutes. If it sucks, we'll go back to sitting around doing nothing."

Quinn shrugged. Harper pocketed her phone with a dramatic sigh.

"Fine. Preach, preacher boy."

I reached for my bag. I'd packed a black Bible that morning. I was sure of it. I distinctly remembered pulling one from my desk, the one still in plastic wrap, and stuffing it into my canvas messenger bag.

But when my hand went into the bag, my fingers didn't find rigid black leather.

They found something soft and warm.

Pink.

I pulled it out.

I stared at it. I hadn't packed this. I was certain. It had been on my nightstand when I left the house.

Yet here it was in my bag.

A chill ran through me, immediately swallowed by that familiar surge of confidence. My spine straightened. My jaw set. The doubt that had been circling my thoughts all morning evaporated.

I opened the book.

The pages turned easily, almost eagerly. The header at the top of the page, in that same flowing cursive:

"The Shepherd and His Flock."

I scanned the first few lines. It seemed safe. The language of pastures and green fields and still waters. A passage I'd heard a hundred times in a hundred sermons.

I began.

"'The shepherd walks among his flock, and the flock knows his voice.'" My voice came out clear and unhurried. I didn't stumble over a single word. "'He calls to them, and they follow. Not out of fear, but out of trust. For the shepherd has proven himself. He has kept watch through the longest nights. He has driven away the wolf. He has carried the weakest lamb on his shoulders when its legs could not carry it home.'"

Harper's arms were still crossed, but she was listening. Quinn had set her tablet down on her lap.

I turned the page.

"'And the flock, in its trust, gives itself freely to the shepherd. Not in part. In whole. For what good is a flock that holds back? What good is a sheep that says, I will give you my wool but not my obedience? I will follow you to this field but not to that one?'"

Shelby was nodding.

"'The flock must surrender,'" I continued, and the warmth in my chest spread to my voice. Every word came out slow and thick. "'Surrender is not weakness. Surrender is the highest act of faith. The sheep that surrenders to its shepherd says: I believe you will not lead me to slaughter. I believe you will use me well. My fleece is yours. My milk is yours. My body is yours. Every part of me exists to serve the one who keeps me safe.'"

Quinn uncurled from her chair. Her knees came down. Her feet found the floor. She was leaning forward now, elbows on her thighs, green eyes wide and fixed on me.

Harper's arms had uncrossed.

"'Trust your shepherd,'" I read. "'Give him your morning and your evening. Give him your strength and your softness. Give him your voice, let him hear you call his name. For the shepherd does not take from the flock. He receives what is freely given. And in receiving, he multiplies. The flock that holds nothing back will never go hungry. The flock that offers everything will be filled beyond measure.'"

I turned another page. The annotations in the margins were denser here. The handwriting more urgent.

"'And when the shepherd lays his hand upon the sheep, the sheep does not flinch. Does not pull away. The hand of the shepherd is the hand of providence. His touch is direction. His grip is safety. To be held by the shepherd is to be known. Fully known. And to be fully known is to be fully loved.'"

The room was silent except for my voice. Even the muffled sounds from the main hall, where Dad and the deacons were meeting, seemed to have faded.

Three faces stared at me.

"'So give yourself, little sheep. Do not hold back your flesh from the one who tends you. Your body was made to serve. Your warmth was made to comfort. Your surrender was written into your bones before you were born. The shepherd knows what you need before you know it yourself.'"

I closed the book.

The warmth inside me was enormous. I was ten feet tall. Every word I spoke would be believed. I could say anything and the three women in front of me would nod and do exactly as I asked.

Nobody spoke.

Then Shelby exhaled.

"See?" she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She turned to Harper and Quinn. "See what I told you?"

Harper's mouth was slightly open. She closed it. Opened it again.

"That was..." She shook her head slowly. "Caleb, what the hell. That was the best thing I've ever heard in this building — in my life. Where did you find that passage?"

"I've never heard anything like it," Quinn said softly. "It was like... you were talking directly to me. Like every word was meant for me specifically."

"He has a gift," Shelby said. "I told you."

"You weren't exaggerating," Harper admitted. "You sounded like a real preacher. Better than your dad. No offense."

"None taken," I said.

The heat was building. That specific, directed heat. The ache that wanted release.

I looked at them. My sister. My two cousins.

The words came before I could weigh them. Before I could second-guess or hesitate or think about what I was saying.

"A good flock serves its shepherd," I said.

"You just heard the passage. A flock that holds nothing back will never go hungry. A flock that offers everything will be filled beyond measure." I held each of their gazes in turn. Shelby. Harper. Quinn. "You're my flock. And I'm your shepherd."

Nobody laughed, flinched, or looked away.

Quinn's lips parted.

Harper swallowed hard, her throat working.

Shelby's eyes dropped to my belt, then came back up. Waiting.

"Serve your shepherd," I said.

I unbuttoned my jeans and pulled down the zipper. My cock sprang free from my boxers, thick and flushed and fully hard, the shaft veined and swollen, the head dark and slick with pre-cum.

Shelby didn't move from her chair. She leaned back, one leg crossed over the other.

"Well?" Shelby said to them. "You heard him."

Harper moved first.

She slid off her folding chair and onto her knees. Quinn followed half a heartbeat later, dropping beside her sister, their shoulders touching.

Shelby watched them settle into position. A satisfied smile played at the corner of her mouth. She looked up at me with pride.

"Go on," Shelby said softly, her eyes on the cousins. "Show him you were listening."

Harper's hand found me first. Her slim fingers wrapped around the base of my shaft, and the contact sent a jolt through my entire body.

"God," she breathed, staring at it. "It's so fucking hard."

Quinn's smaller hand joined her sister's, wrapping above it, and together they held me, their faces inches away.

Harper leaned in. Her tongue dragged along the underside from Quinn's fist to the tip. She groaned against my skin.

"That's it," Shelby murmured from her chair. "Don't be shy. He's your shepherd. This is what you were made for."

Quinn tilted her head and pressed her lips to the side of the shaft. Soft at first. Then her mouth opened and she sucked, pulling the thick flesh between her lips.

They traded.

Harper took the head into her mouth, her lips stretching around it, her dark eyebrows knitting as she worked it deeper. Her tongue swirled, spit already pooling at the corners of her mouth. Quinn dipped lower, nuzzling into the heavy sack beneath, her nose pressed into the musky crease where my balls met the shaft. She breathed deep.

"Fuck," I hissed.

Shelby stood up. She crossed the small distance and stood beside me.

"Deeper, Harper," she said. Then her hand found the back of Harper's head and pushed. Harper gagged and her eyes watered, but she took another inch, her throat bulging around the swollen head. "There you go. Good girl."

Harper pulled off with a pop, a thick string of spit connecting her lower lip to the tip. Quinn replaced her immediately, taking me deep in one motion, her small mouth stretching wide, her throat convulsing around the head. Her honey-brown hair fell like a curtain around her face. I gathered it in my fist and held it.

Shelby's hand slid from my neck to Quinn's head, adding her grip to mine. Together we held the fistful of honey-brown hair. Shelby pushed down, slow and firm, and Quinn whimpered but didn't resist. Her nose mashed against my pelvis. Her throat worked in desperate, fluttering swallows.

"That's a good little lamb," Shelby whispered. She looked at me, her face inches from mine. "They're yours, Caleb. Both of them. Look at how well they serve."

"Good," I said. My voice didn't sound like mine. It sounded like authority itself. "Good flock."

"You hear that?" Shelby said, pulling Quinn back by her hair just enough to let her gasp for air before pushing her down again. She turned to Harper, who was kneeling there panting, spit smeared across her chin. "He said good flock. That means you're not done. Get back on it."

Harper didn't wait for her turn. She pressed her face against the shaft from the side while Quinn bobbed on the top half, and their mouths met around me. Lips sliding against lips, tongues tangling over my skin, spit and pre-cum mixing into a frothy mess that dripped down onto their chins.

Shelby crouched behind them. One hand on the back of each cousin's head. She guided them, pushing Harper in when Quinn pulled back, steering Quinn down to the balls when Harper swallowed the tip.

"Worship him," she breathed. "Don't miss a drop. Give everything. Hold nothing back."

Quinn pulled back, gasping. A thick strand of saliva hung from her lip, swaying.

"Let me," Harper said, and took me again, all the way this time. She held there, throat working, eyes watering.

Shelby pressed Harper's face tight against me and held her there for an extra beat. Harper's eyes streamed. Her throat clenched and released, clenched and released. Shelby finally let go, and Harper ripped back with a choking gasp.

"Good," Shelby said, and wiped the tears from Harper's cheek with her thumb. The gesture was almost tender. "Now let him finish."

The heat crested, and I came.

I pulled back. My cock slipped from Harper's throat with a wet sound. She gasped, mouth hanging open and tongue out.

The first rope hit Harper across the bridge of her nose and forehead. It splattered and clung, dripping down over her eyebrow and into the corner of her eye. She flinched but didn't close her mouth.

I turned. Quinn's face was upturned, freckled and expectant, eyes squeezed shut. The second and third shots landed across her forehead and cheeks in heavy, crossing lines. A fourth hit her chin and dripped down her neck.

Back to Harper. Another thick spurt across her lips and chin. She caught part of it on her tongue, the rest smearing across her jaw as she tried to lean into it.

More came. And more. A fifth pulse, a sixth, thick white ribbons that seemed to have no end. I'd jerked off plenty of times in my life. I knew what my body was capable of. This wasn't that. This wasn't normal. The volume was obscene.

Quinn opened her eyes. Blinked through the white glaze on her lashes. A drop fell from her eyebrow onto her sweater.

Another spurt landed on the bridge of Quinn's nose. She whimpered. I was still cumming. Still pulsing. It didn't stop.

Shelby stared. Her lips were parted. Even she looked stunned.

"Jesus, Caleb," she whispered.

I looked down at them. At the sheer volume dripping off two faces, pooling in the hollows of their collarbones, soaking into their collars. This wasn't me. I'd never produced anything close to this.

The book. It had to be the book.

They knelt there, shoulder to shoulder, faces painted, breathing hard.

The room smelled like sex and dust and lemon cleaner.

Harper let out a shaky laugh.

"That was," she started, and stopped. Tried again. "That was the best meeting we've ever had."

Nothing hotter than seeing family members naked. Something about it is a rush n hotter than seeing anyone else

My mom and I have been having sex almost every day since December 2025.

It's the best sex you can have, knowing your cock is inside the pussy that gave birth to you.

My mom always wants me to cum inside her.

It's so wonderful to see how happy she is after I've come inside her.

The storm kept raging outside, thunder cracking so loud the cabin walls shook. Uncle Teddy’s thick fingers were still glistening from my pussy as I sucked them clean, my tongue swirling around every drop of my own juices. His massive cock was throbbing hard against my bare ass, the fat head already leaking a sticky trail of precum between my cheeks.

I was still trembling from the orgasm when he suddenly flipped me onto my back. The room was pitch black except for the flashes of lightning that lit up his face hungry, dark, and locked on me.

“Take the shirt off,” he ordered, voice low and rough.

I pulled the oversized t-shirt over my head and tossed it. My perky tits bounced free, nipples rock-hard and aching. He didn’t waste a second. His big mouth closed over one nipple and sucked hard while his hand squeezed the other, pinching and rolling it until I was whimpering.

“Uncle Teddy… please…”

He bit down lightly on my nipple and I gasped, hips bucking. His other hand shoved my tiny panties down my legs and threw them somewhere in the dark. I was completely naked under him now, legs spreading automatically.

Lightning flashed again and I saw his cock thick, heavy, the veins standing out, the head shiny and purple. It looked even bigger this close. My mouth watered.

He knelt between my thighs and rubbed that fat head up and down my soaked slit, coating himself in my cream.

“Look at this messy little cunt,” he growled. “Dripping for your uncle’s cock. You’ve been walking around this cabin all week showing off that tight body, haven’t you? Wanting this.”I nodded desperately. “Yes… I want it so bad…”

He pushed the head in slowly. Just the tip. My pussy stretched wide around him and I cried out, nails digging into his shoulders. It burned so good. He was huge thicker than anything I’d ever taken.

“Fuck… you’re tight as hell,” he groaned, holding still so I could adjust. “This virgin pussy is gripping my cock like a fist.”

I wasn’t a virgin, but under him I felt like one. He started working more of that thick shaft into me, inch by thick inch, until his heavy balls pressed against my ass. I was stuffed full, gasping, my walls fluttering around him.

Then he started fucking me.

Deep, slow strokes at first, pulling almost all the way out so I could feel every ridge and vein, then slamming back in until the wet slap of skin filled the room. My tits bounced with every thrust. Thunder crashed outside while my uncle’s cock wrecked my tight hole.

“Take it, baby girl… take every fucking inch,” he grunted, picking up speed. His hips snapped harder, the wet squelching of my dripping cunt getting louder. “This pussy belongs to your uncle now.”

I came hard around him, screaming into his shoulder as my walls clamped down and soaked his balls. He didn’t stop. He just fucked me through it, rough and relentless, chasing his own pleasure.

He flipped me onto my stomach, yanked my hips up, and slammed back in from behind. One big hand gripped the back of my neck, pinning me to the mattress while the other spanked my ass hard enough to leave a handprint. The new angle made him feel even deeper. His heavy balls slapped against my clit with every thrust.

“Gonna fill this little niece cunt,” he snarled. “Gonna pump you full of uncle cum.”I was a moaning, drooling mess, face buried in the pillow, ass up, taking every brutal stroke. My second orgasm hit like a wave I squirted around his cock, the wet sounds filthy and loud.

He buried himself to the hilt and roared, thick ropes of hot cum exploding deep inside me. Pulse after pulse, so much that it started leaking out around his shaft even while he was still buried in me. I could feel every throb, every jet of cum flooding my womb.

He stayed inside me for a long moment, breathing hard, then slowly pulled out. A thick river of his cum immediately poured from my stretched, red pussy and dripped down my thighs onto the sheets.

Lightning flashed and I saw him staring at the mess he’d made of me, stroking his still-hard cock slowly, coating it with the mixture of our juices.

He leaned down, voice dark and full of promise against my ear:

“We’re not done, sweetheart. Not even close. Tomorrow I’m going to use that pretty little mouth… and then I’m going to breed this tight cunt again until you can’t walk.”I shivered, still panting, pussy throbbing and leaking.

And I knew I was going to let him.

—-
let me know if you want more chapters :) I'm open to any story ideas or wild plot twists. If you've got something interesting in mind, send me a message! I love hearing people's creative scenarios. Thank you so much for reading! 🫶

I watched Taboo 1 (1980), and Taboo 2 (1982), and though 2 was wayyy better. Had it all. M/s, B/s, f/d, etc.

What are some other good full length porn in this genre is good that is out there?

Mom and dad’s friend

I never meant for any of this to happen, but the moment I saw my Uncle Teddy stroking his huge cock, everything changed.

It was the summer after I turned 19. My parents sent me to stay at Uncle Teddy’s secluded cabin while they worked through their marriage problems. He was 42, tall, broad-shouldered, and built like a man who spent his life doing hard physical work. I’d always had a secret crush on him, but I never thought it would turn into this

One night I couldn’t sleep because of the heat. I got up in just a thin tank top and tiny pink panties to get some water. The living room light was on. I froze when I saw him.

Uncle Teddy was sitting on the big leather couch in nothing but a pair of loose shorts pulled down around his thighs. His thick, heavy cock was rock hard in his hand. It was massive easily nine inches, veiny, with a fat purple head that was already leaking precum. He was slowly stroking it up and down, his big hand barely fitting around the girth. His balls looked heavy and full.

I should have gone back to my room, but I couldn’t move. My pussy instantly got soaked. I slipped my hand inside my panties and started rubbing my swollen clit in slow circles while I watched him. My nipples were so hard they hurt. I bit my lip to stay quiet as I pushed two fingers inside my dripping cunt, fucking myself gently while my uncle jerked his big cock.

Then he groaned..

“Fuck… that’s it, baby girl…”

My knees almost buckled. He was thinking about me. That sent me over the edge. I came hard on my fingers, biting my arm to keep quiet as my pussy clenched and gushed. When I looked back, Uncle Teddy was still stroking, his hand moving faster, his thick cock throbbing.

I quietly slipped back to my room, heart pounding, and fingered myself to two more orgasms thinking about that huge cock.

The next few days I became obsessed. I started “forgetting” to wear a bra around the house so he could see my perky tits and hard nipples through my tight shirts. I wore the shortest shorts I owned, letting my ass cheeks hang out. I could feel his eyes on me constantly, and it made me so wet I had to change my panties multiple times a day.

One stormy night the power went out. Thunder was shaking the cabin and I was scared. I went to his room in nothing but an oversized t-shirt that barely covered my ass.

“Uncle Teddy… can I sleep with you tonight?” I whispered.

He pulled the blanket back. I crawled in and pressed my ass right against him. Within seconds I felt his massive cock harden against me. It was burning hot and throbbing.

His big, rough hand slid under my shirt and cupped my bare tit, squeezing it possessively. His fingers pinched my nipple and I moaned softly.

“You’ve been teasing me all week, sweetheart?” he growled in my ear, voice low and dangerous.

I pushed my ass back against his cock in response. His other hand moved down, slipping into my panties. His thick fingers found my smooth, dripping pussy and rubbed my swollen clit in firm circles.

“Oh hmmmm…” I whimpered.

He pushed two thick fingers inside me, stretching my tight little hole. I was so wet you could hear the obscene squelching sounds as he fingered me deep and slow. His palm rubbed my clit while he pumped his fingers in and out.

“You’re soaking for your uncle, baby,” he groaned, grinding his massive cock between my ass cheeks. “This tight little pussy is dripping down my hand.”

I came hard, moaning his name, my pussy clamping around his fingers like I never wanted to let go. When he pulled them out, he brought them to my mouth and made me suck them clean, tasting my own sweet juices.

His cock was still rock hard against me, leaking precum all over my ass.

And I knew this was only the beginning.

I wanted my Uncle Teddy to ruin me.

To be continued…

This is a complete work of fiction. All characters are 18+.

The next few days were dangerous. David used me like his personal fucktoy. But the real risk came on Saturday afternoon.

We were driving back from the store. Mom was gone for the weekend again. I wore a tiny sundress with no panties underneath. Halfway home, I reached over and started rubbing his cock through his jeans.

“Daddy… I need you,” I whispered..

He pulled into a quiet parking lot behind an old closed store. The second the car was in park, I leaned over and unzipped him. His thick cock sprang out, heavy and already hard. The fat purple cockhead was leaking pre-cum. I wrapped my lips around it immediately, sucking sloppily while my hand stroked the thick veiny shaft.

“Fuck, baby… anyone could see us,” he groaned, but he didn’t stop me. He put his hand on the back of my head and pushed me deeper. I bobbed my head fast, drooling all over his cock, gagging as the fat head hit the back of my throat. The wet, filthy sounds of me sucking filled the car. I played with my soaked pussy while I worshipped his dick, two fingers plunging in and out of my dripping hole.

His balls tightened in my hand.

I sucked harder, swirling my tongue around his cockhead until he exploded. Thick, hot ropes of cum shot straight down my throat. I swallowed every drop, moaning like a slut around his pulsing cock.

We barely made it home before I needed more.

That night I took a long, hot shower, thinking about how full he made me feel. When I stepped out, I saw him sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee, still in his gray shirt and boxers. My body was on fire. I was at peak ovulation , my pussy was swollen, sensitive, and dripping constantly. I felt so fertile and horny I could barely think straight.

I walked into the kitchen completely naked, my heavy tits still wet from the shower, nipples rock hard. Without saying a word, I locked the door and closed the blinds. Then I dropped to my knees between his legs.

David didn’t even have time to put his coffee down. I pulled his thick cock out and took him straight into my mouth. I sucked him sloppy and loud, spit dripping down his shaft, coating his heavy balls while I bobbed my head fast and messy. I looked up at him with innocent eyes as drool ran down my chin onto the kitchen floor.

“Goddamn, you’re such a greedy little slut,” he growled, grabbing my wet hair.

He drank his coffee with one hand while I worshipped his cock with my mouth. After a few minutes he couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up, bent me over the kitchen table, and kicked my legs apart.

My big tits pressed against the cold wood as he rubbed his fat cockhead up and down my soaked pussy lips. I was ridiculously wet strings of my juices dripping down my thighs.

He slammed into me in one hard thrust. I moaned loudly as his thick cock stretched my tight, ovulating pussy. “Fuck, Daddy… you’re so deep!”

He fucked me like an animal right there on the kitchen table. Hard, fast, possessive strokes. The sound of his heavy balls slapping against my clit echoed through the kitchen. My juices were everywhere, coating his cock, dripping down my legs, making a wet mess on the floor.

“It feels so good,” I whimpered. “This is wrong… but I’m addicted to your cock. I’m ovulating so hard right now… my body needs you.”

David gripped my hips tighter and pounded me deeper. “That’s right, baby. This pussy belongs to Daddy now.”

He reached around and rubbed my swollen clit while he destroyed my cunt. I came so hard my legs shook, squirting all over his cock and the kitchen floor. He kept fucking me through it, using me exactly how he wanted.

He pulled out at the last second, flipped me around, and shoved his cock between my tits. He titty-fucked me until he exploded again, painting my neck, tits, and face with thick ropes of hot cum.

I licked my lips, tasting him, my body still trembling with need.

This is so dangerous… but I don’t want to stop. Getting fucked by my stepdad is the best feeling in the world.

—————————
Sorry I got busy these past few days guys.
Thanks for reading! I’m always open for feedback.
What did you think of Part 4?Want Part 5? Also drop any scenes you want me to add , the riskier and dirtier the better. I read every comment and messages! 🫶

The only son of Pastor Earl Whitfield. That's who I was. That's all I was ever going to be.

My name is Caleb.

I sat in the first pew of Millhaven Baptist Church, a creaky little building made of whitewashed wood. Dad's hands gripped the edges of the pulpit. Eyes closed. Chin raised. Every word punched out of his chest.

The congregation, close to sixty people, which was a good turnout for a town of three thousand eight hundred, nodded and murmured and clapped on cue.

I sat still. Hands on my knees. Back straight. The obedient son. The heir.

That was the plan, anyway. Had been since before I could walk. Earl Whitfield didn't have a backup. My mother gave him two children. My older sister, Shelby, and me. One boy. One shot at continuing the ministry. Dad never let me forget it.

It should've been flattering. It wasn't.

Being the pastor's kid in a town like Millhaven was a special kind of punishment. Every girl within fifty miles knew my last name. Every mother in the congregation had already decided I was either marriage material or untouchable, and around here, untouchable won by a landslide.

Nobody wanted to date the boy who'd grow up to be a pastor.

And the numbers were brutal. Millhaven sat halfway between nowhere and nothing. Subtract the married, the elderly, the children, and the ones who were my family, which was a disturbingly large number, and you were left with almost no dating pool.

I was nineteen years old and had never been kissed.

Dad wrapped up the sermon with a prayer that lasted six minutes. I timed it. Then there was the usual shuffle of handshakes and small talk and old women pinching my cheeks telling me how much I looked like my father. I smiled. That was the job.

We piled into Dad's truck. Dad drove. Mom rode shotgun. Shelby and I sat in the back.

"Caleb," Dad said. His eyes found mine in the rearview mirror. "We need to talk about your training."

I knew this was coming.

"You're nineteen now. When I was nineteen, I'd already preached my first sermon. Your grandfather had me reading Scripture front to back by the time I was sixteen." He turned onto the two-lane road that cut through town. "You need to start preparing. Seriously preparing. No more putting it off."

"Yes, sir."

"I mean it. You need to know the Word inside and out."

"I understand."

"Do you?" He glanced at the mirror again. "Because understanding and doing are two different animals, son."

Mom turned slightly in her seat. Lorraine Whitfield. Blonde hair pinned back tight. Sunday dress buttoned to the throat. Her face agreed with everything.

But underneath that agreeable mask was a face that had no business being in Millhaven. High cheekbones. Full lips the color of ripe peaches. Skin that stayed smooth and luminous without creams or effort — a complexion women in cities paid thousands to fake. Her eyes were a pale, startling green.

She was thirty-nine and looked thirty.

Every man in the congregation looked at her. I'd watched them do it my whole life. The quick glances. The lingering gazes disguised as polite attention during fellowship.

"Your father's right, Caleb. This is important," she said.

"I know, Mom."

"You should start this week," Dad continued. "Get yourself a notebook. Start writing down your thoughts on each passage. Practice delivering them out loud."

"Yes, sir. I will."

Shelby sat beside me, staring out the window. Her chin rested on her fist. She hadn't said a word since we left the church. Her mind was somewhere else entirely, probably with Tyler Greer. Her boyfriend of eight months, the only mechanic's son in Millhaven who had the nerve to date a Whitfield girl.

I envied her. The fact that she had someone.

Shelby was twenty-one and had inherited every bit of our mother's impossible genetics. Same full lips, but wider, quicker to smirk. Her hair was darker and she wore it long, past her shoulders, usually loose and slightly wild in a way Mom would never allow herself.

She had our mother's curves amplified. Breasts that had filled in early and kept going, heavy and round — enough to turn heads in church even under layers of modest clothing. Thick thighs. Strong legs from years of walking the property and waitressing on her feet.

Dad pulled the truck over in front of Keeler's Books & Sundries, the only bookstore in town. Calling it a bookstore was generous. It was a narrow storefront between the hardware shop and the post office, with dusty shelves and a bell above the door that hadn't worked in years.

"Go and get yourself a notebook," Dad said. "And a Bible. A new one. That one you've got at home is falling apart."

I climbed out of the truck.

"Get a good one," he added through the open window. "Leather-bound if they have it."

The door stuck when I pushed it. I had to shove with my shoulder. Inside, Keeler's smelled like old paper. The overhead fluorescents buzzed and flickered. There was no one behind the counter.

The place was empty.

I walked past the shelf of local history books, past the rack of greeting cards with faded envelopes, past the small spinning display of reading glasses, and found the religious section against the back wall. It wasn't hard to spot. In Millhaven, the Bible section was bigger than fiction.

A row of identical black leather Bibles sat on the middle shelf. King James. New International. English Standard. All the usual suspects. I reached for one, and that's when I saw it.

Wedged between two black covers, almost hidden, was something that didn't belong.

Pink.

A soft, muted pink, like the inside of a rose petal. The spine was unmarked. No title. No author. Just smooth rose-colored leather with faint gold edging along the pages.

I pulled it out.

It was lighter than I expected. Much lighter than the Bibles on either side of it. The cover was warm to the touch, almost like it had been sitting in sunlight, except there were no windows nearby.

I opened it.

The first page had a handwritten inscription in elegant, looping cursive.

"This book is made to spread love. Love does not always look the way you expect."

Below that, in smaller script:

"Read with confidence. Speak with authority. The words will do the rest."

Strange. I flipped through a few more pages. It was structured like a Bible — chapters, verses, passages — but the text wasn't anything I recognized. The books had different names. The language was different. Warmer. More intimate. Scattered throughout were handwritten annotations in the margins, notes from whoever had owned this before.

Some kind of devotional, maybe. Or a journal disguised as Scripture.

I should've put it back.

But it felt good in my hand. As I held it, a lock clicked into place in my chest.

Confidence. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt genuinely confident.

I stood there turning it over. Examining the spine. The pages. There was no price tag. No barcode.

I tucked it under my arm, grabbed a black Bible from the shelf and a spiral notebook from the front display, and walked to the counter. Still no one there. I pulled a twenty from my wallet and left it beside the register.

The pink book went into my jacket.

I climbed back into the truck. Mom turned around in her seat.

"Did you get everything?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good boy," Dad said, already pulling away from the curb.

I didn't mention the pink book. I don't know why. It just felt like mine.

Shelby glanced over at me, saw the notebook and the black Bible on my lap, and went back to staring out the window.

Nobody noticed the faint bulge in my jacket.

---

Days passed.

Life in the Whitfield house followed a rhythm as predictable as a hymn. Dad left early for church business. Mom cleaned, cooked, and prayed. Shelby worked part-time at the diner on Route 9 and spent most evenings with Tyler. I did odd jobs around the property, helped Mom with groceries, and avoided thinking about the future.

The pink Bible sat on my nightstand.

I hadn't opened it since the store. Hadn't needed to. But every time I walked past it, every time my hand brushed its cover reaching for my alarm clock or my phone, That same warm pulse of confidence ran through me — a soft current, like a battery under the skin.

It made me stand straighter. Speak more clearly. Look people in the eye.

On Wednesday, Mom knocked on my door after lunch.

"Come in."

She stepped inside, wiping her hands on her apron. Her eyes did a quick scan of my room — the unmade bed, the clothes on the chair, the black Bible still in its plastic wrap on my desk. She frowned at that but didn't comment.

"Caleb, I wanted to give you a heads-up."

"About what?"

"Your father." She lowered her voice even though Dad was three miles away at the church. "He's going to ask you how your training's going. Whether you've been practicing."

My stomach tightened. "I haven't really started yet."

"I know. That's why I'm telling you now." She gave me the look, the one that was equal parts love and warning. "You know how he gets when he's disappointed."

"Yeah. I know."

"Practice out loud. That's what he did when he was learning. He'd stand in front of the mirror and preach to himself for hours." She paused at the door. "Maybe practice with Shelby. She's still here. Hasn't left for Tyler's yet."

"Shelby?"

"It's good to have an audience, even a small one."

She left, pulling the door shut behind her.

I sat on the edge of my bed and looked at the black Bible on my desk. Still wrapped.

But my eyes drifted to the nightstand. To the pink cover glowing softly in the afternoon light that slanted through my curtains.

I picked it up.

That warmth again. That certainty. The feeling that I could walk into any room and own it. That I could speak and people would listen.

I carried it down the hall to Shelby's room and knocked.

"Hold on!" Her voice came muffled through the door. A drawer slammed. Fabric rustled. "Okay. Come in."

I opened the door. She was standing by her dresser in a pair of cutoff shorts and an oversized Millhaven High T-shirt, pulling her dark hair into a ponytail. She'd clearly been in the middle of changing — a bra strap peeked from beneath the collar of the shirt, and her cheeks had the slight flush of someone caught between outfits.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Mom said I should practice preaching. For Dad."

"And?"

"And she said to practice with you."

Shelby groaned. "Caleb, Tyler's picking me up in like thirty minutes."

"It'll be quick. I just need to run through a passage. Have someone listen. Tell me if I sound stupid."

She looked at me. Then at the clock on her wall. Then back at me.

"Fine. But make it fast."

She dropped onto the edge of her bed, legs crossed, arms folded.

I sat in the wooden chair by her desk, the pink Bible in my hands. I opened it, flipping past the inscription, past the first few pages, looking for something short. Something I could practice quickly.

The pages fell open to a section near the middle. The top of the page read, in that same elegant handwritten script.

"For My Sister."

I paused. That felt appropriate. Personal, even. A passage about siblings. That could work.

I started reading.

"'Love is the foundation of all bonds,'" I began, my voice steady. Steadier than I expected. "'But no bond runs deeper than the bond of blood. Brother and sister, born of the same flesh, raised under the same roof, they are not two. They are one body divided. One soul in two vessels.'"

Shelby uncrossed her arms.

I kept going. The words flowed easily, naturally, as if I'd rehearsed them a hundred times. My voice didn't waver. My hands didn't shake.

"'As they grow, so must their love grow. Not shrink. Not retreat behind walls of modesty and silence. Love between siblings must evolve as their bodies evolve, as their hearts deepen, as their understanding of intimacy matures.'"

I glanced up. Shelby was leaning forward now. Her eyes were fixed on me, genuinely focused.

I turned the page and found the handwritten annotations.

"'Siblings who share a home share more than walls and meals. They share warmth. They share breath. They share the quiet language of touch that predates speech.'" I paused, reading ahead silently. The next part was different. More direct. "'A kiss between brother and sister is not sin. It is recognition. A caress is not transgression. It is the body remembering what the soul already knows, that they are one flesh. One creation. Made to love without shame.'"

The air pressure changed. The walls leaned in.

Shelby was nodding. Not the polite, absent nod she gave Dad during sermons. Her eyes wide and clear and locked on mine.

"'Let the brother know his sister,'" I read, "'and let the sister know her brother. In openness. In trust. Without the armor of false modesty. For what is the naked body but God's most honest work? And what is shame but the devil's favorite lie?'"

"Yes," Shelby whispered.

I looked up. "What?"

"That's..." She swallowed. "That's really beautiful, Caleb."

I stared at her. She meant it. Every syllable. Her face was open and earnest in a way I'd never seen before.

I closed the book slowly. The pink leather was warm under my fingers. Almost hot.

"What did you think?" I asked. "Honestly."

"I think..." She blinked, like someone coming out of a daydream but choosing to stay in it. "I think that was really eye-opening. Like, I've sat through a thousand sermons and never felt anything. But that? That made sense."

"It did?"

"It did." She nodded firmly. "If it's in the book. And you're saying it like that, with that kind of... I don't know. Authority. Then it must be true. Right?"

The confidence hummed inside me.

"Do you think I earned a kiss?" I asked.

The words came out before I could think about them.

Shelby's eyes widened for a fraction of a second. Then she smiled. Not a trace of hesitation.

"You definitely earned a kiss."

"On the mouth," I said.

It wasn't a question.

She tilted her head. A strand of dark hair fell across her cheek.

"Obviously," she said.

I crossed the three feet between us and stood in front of her, looking down at where she sat on the edge of her bed.

Her face tilted up toward mine. Lips slightly parted. Eyes soft, trusting — hungry in a way I'd never seen directed at me before.

I leaned down and kissed her.

It wasn't a sibling kiss. It wasn't quick or dry or aimed at the corner of her mouth.

It was slow. Her lips were warm and tasted faintly of strawberry lip balm. My hand found the back of her neck, fingers sliding into her hair, and she made a small sound, a hum of approval.

She kissed me back.

Her lips opened. Just a little. The tip of her tongue brushed mine. My free hand dropped without thinking. It landed on her chest.

On the heavy, soft fullness of her left breast.

Even through the cotton of her T-shirt and the thin fabric of her bra, I could feel the weight of it. I'd spent years training myself not to notice.

I was done training.

My fingers pressed into the yielding flesh. She gasped against my mouth but didn't pull away. Her back arched slightly, pushing into my palm. My cock stiffened instantly, straining against my jeans.

Her nipple hardened under my thumb. I felt it through the layers.

Her breath was coming faster. So was mine.

A horn.

Two short blasts from the driveway. Tyler's truck. The same obnoxious honk he always used.

Shelby jerked back. Her eyes were glassy. She blinked rapidly.

"I—I have to go." Her voice was thick. "Tyler's here."

She stood up fast, nearly bumping into me. Smoothed her shirt. Touched her lips with her fingertips, checking they were still there.

"That was..." She trailed off. Shook her head. Grabbed her jacket from the back of the door. "Good."

She was gone. The sound of her boots on the stairs. The front door slamming. Tyler's truck rumbling away down the gravel drive.

I stood alone in her room.

The pink Bible sat in the chair where I'd left it.

I picked it up and carried it back to my room.

I stared at the pink cover for a long time.

Then I opened it to the next page.

My mother is 43 years old, and she has raised me on her own for most of my life. I am now 26. We have never been financially stable, so we continue to live together in a small one-bedroom rented apartment.

Because of our circumstances, we have always shared the same room and the same bed. Ever since I was a child, she had the habit of sleeping topless at night, wearing only her pajama bottoms. Her upper body would remain completely uncovered, and despite the passing years, that habit never changed.

As I grew older, my feelings and actions became increasingly confusing. After she fell asleep, I would sometimes touch her breasts, try to slide my fingers inside her vagina, and occasionally masturbate on her. Deep down, I have always had the feeling that she knows what I do while she is asleep. In fact, I am almost certain of it. Yet she has never confronted me or tried to stop me, leaving me confused about her silence.

There have also been moments when I caught her masturbating, and on a few occasions, she caught me doing the same.

When I wake up in the morning with an erection, she never appears embarrassed or uncomfortable by it. Living in such close quarters for so many years has blurred many boundaries, leaving me uncertain about how to interpret her behavior and the meaning behind her silence.

Questions:-

1. Is it normal for a mother to behave like this around her adult son?

2. Could her behavior mean that she wants a sexual relationship with me? I have those feelings toward her, but I'm afraid I'm misinterpreting her actions.

3. If there's any chance that's what she wants, should I make the first move, or should I wait for her to do something first?

4. How should I interpret this situation without jumping to conclusions?" or "Am I misunderstanding her behavior?

My aunt lives around a 2 hour car ride distance from us and we used to visit her during my vacations regularly, she lives with my maternal grandma, and her 3 sons who are way elder to me. Those guys are very close to me and I used to play games on their PC and mobile phones. My aunt was widowed in 1997, that time her younger son was just 6 year old. Since then she has been speaking less and doesn't open up much. She has been chubby ever since I have known her and used to hug her while sleeping. I took interests with her chores like pottery, crotcheting, cooking etc. I grew up and got busy with my schedule so we visited them less often.

The event happened around 2017, when I was about to join my university and was preparing for JEE Main and Advanced. That time, I was 19, my mom met with an accident and had ligament fracture on the knee, my dad used to attend her at the hospital managing his work parallely, my parents decided to have my aunt (aged 51 that time) at our home to be there for babysitting me and help prepare meals for us. She agreed to live with us as all her 3 sons were busy with their married life and work, and she had adequate time to spend at our home. It was the first time after 12 years we were together. We started sleeping again and had our routine going for a few months.

One night while lying together on the bed, her hand moved over my shorts and it rubbed against my crotch, it felt tingling sensations and I got hard, I had weird thoughts and held her hand and used it to masturbate. I did for a few minutes and then she pulled her hands back, I got scared and immediately pretended to be asleep, but soon she moved her hands and pulled my shorts to get her hands in and caressed my penis to feel its shape and size in the dark and stroked a couple of times, then she grabbed my penis and moved her pelvis closer to me and got on the side facing me and lifted her one leg up to spread and pulled my penis into her vagina, she tried very hard to get it in but due to her chubby body she could only manage to get my penis head to graze over her labia.

To make things easier, I got up and set myself between her legs. She held onto the grip from the beginning and guided my penis inside. It slid and went in all at once and I found myself inside her. I felt a lot of tickling and I started thrusting in same position for a while until I came. After the coitus, we turned away from each other and went back to sleep.

Since all of that happened in the dark, we couldn't see each other's face or expressions, so it was not awkward for us to behave normally next morning and we were on our routine for the next 2 weeks pretending as nothing happened.

Then, one afternoon, we both were resting together after lunch gossiping about stuffs, and then suddenly she said, "Close the door and curtains. I don't want anyone to see us." I thought it is a simple request so I went to close them without having any thoughts but I saw her moving her gown upwards, and showed me her vagina. It was hairy and I was seeing it first time. None of us said a single word, it was pindrop silence and there was me standing and she lying with her vagina facing me. I approached her and touched her vagina lips and then the clit, she vibrated then I slid two fingers inside, it was slippery and she shook a little and gave me a look to do something, so I pulled down my pants down and showed my penis without hesitation and got myself between her legs, She separated her both legs and her vagina was wide open, I gave her both legs support on my shoulder and I took squatting position and aimed my penis to the vagina orifice and pushed my hips and next moment I was inside her vagina and started fucking, I opened her blouse and bra to see her breasts dangling. It was the first time we fucked in the broad daylight seeing each other's body and face, she had her eyes closed and felt every thrust, I requested to make eye contact so we won't have any regrets or awkwardness after sex. She liked the initiative and gave in completely, and got her body relaxed. That day we had multiple coitus sessions throughout the day and one before going to bed.

After that day, we kept fucking regularly in various positions around the house, once I offered my penis for a blowjob but she straight away rejected stating it is disgusting, so I never asked her for a blowjob ever again. For sex, I tried making her a cowgirl/reverse and to move/shake her waist while being on top. we even tried having standing sex In the kitchen, but she got tired soon because of age and her own body weight, so we mostly engaged in missionary and its other variants along, and always wanted me to be in control. This thing went for around 8 more months while she was at our house at that time, and when my mom was back from hospital, she went back to her home.

Last year, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. I prayed for her good health, she had to undergo mastectomy so got her right breast removed. And now she is healthy and fine but takes regular medicines. I still visit her occasionally during Diwali. She still casually mentions our activity during conversations. But I don't think we could find some alone time any sooner.

As of now all her 3 sons are married and has two grandsons.

Michel squirmed in his chair, his hands pinned behind his back, while his two younger daughters - the twins - were forced to face each other on the bed. They were dressed in their fine, well-tailored dresses, their hair flowing in blond manes over their backs. Their eyes were red and big and the round cheeks were wet from the many tears that had spilled during the hour they’ve sat tied on the floor and receiving both slaps and hard-handed grips over their hair and neck. 

They glanced desperately at Michel - or more specifically at the dagger held to his throat. 

“What are you waiting for? You want to see your dear father leave this place alive?” The man, who also happened to be the owner of the dagger against Michel's throat, was icy cold in his voice as he pressed the edge against Michel's neck. 

His two eighteen-year-old daughters, identical in but a few features that only those in the family could discern, sobbed again before their lips met in a shy, awkward kiss. Michel looked around, trying to find something that could save him and his poor daughters from this living nightmare. 

A woman stood next to the bed with a narrow riding stick in her hands. She had dark red hair in a tight ponytail, looked to be in her mid-twenties, and wore a tight, blood-red dress with a black corset that cinched her slim waist and shapely bust. She was also an incredible beauty, perfectly suited for her self-proclaimed role of dominatrix over the two unwilling girls. 

Beside her, still on the floor, sat Michel's older daughter - Maia. She had just turned nineteen, had darker hair than the twins but shared their beautiful, sweet features. Her mouth was tightly bound by a rope tied in a thick knot between her teeth, but her eyes were wide with horror and despair. In addition to the girls in the room, half a dozen men stood along the walls, dressed in dirty and dented armor, their hands resting on their sword belts, as well as Michel's own companion - the gentleman with the dagger - who remained. Based on the lust filled eyes and the clattering of the watching warriors, there was no help to be had. 

A lot had happened in a short time. Two days earlier, Michel had received news that one of his vassals had been attacked by a rival - Duke Armond, who had long been critical of Michel's rule. As a king who took pride in his responsibility to his vassals, Michel had immediately ordered the bulk of his military force to march to Sir Geofran's estates to rescue him against Armond's forces. 

His troops had barely entered the gate of the city before they were ambushed by the combined forces of Sir Geofran and Armond. The siege that followed was short and bloody - Michel did not even manage to mobilize the remainder of his army before the walls were taken and the fires began to spread across the city. 

And now he sat tied with several layers of rope between his teeth and Sir Geofran's own dagger against his neck while his youngest daughters - the twins Emilie and Rosa - crying and whimpering were forced together in a most forbidden kiss. Michel tore at the ropes, tried to pull himself free from his captivity, stop it if he so had to throw himself on Geofran's dagger. But without success. The ropes were tightly tied by people used to handling prisoners. He was completely in their power. 

“Don't be shy. You know each other. Give each other a real kiss, as is appropriate between close sisters!” The woman struck the mattress with a riding stick and Emi and Rosa gasped and pressed their lips harder against each other. It was still not a kiss between lovers - but rather two pairs of lips rubbing against each other in horror. But it seemed to make the onlookers happy, based on their laughs of pleasure and… lust. Had Michel had a sword in his hands, he would have cut off every one of their depraved limbs. 

"That's not what I'd call a kiss," the red-haired young lady announced. "I'll show how it should look." With that she tore Emi away from her sister and brought her mouth to the eighteen year old girl's face. Ariela Armond was known for her hot temper and unflattering rumors had long circulated about her promiscuous attitude to carnal pleasures. As the daughter of Duke Armond, she was a constant participant among the finer gatherings of the aristocracy, but despite her fine background, there were whispers about how she indulged in occult traditions and rituals. A few years earlier, she is said to have been found naked in the forest, surrounded by a pack of equally naked slaves - both male and female - who were forced to satisfy her with their tongues under the clear full moon. According to the whispers, she lay in the center of a pentagram of wax candles, chanting in some unintelligible language with the face of a young slave girl between her legs, while the rest of the slaves were forced to lie with each other within the diameter of the pentagram. Some of the more gossipy tongues had even claimed that the men were forced to squirt their seed all over young lady Ariela's exposed body before the slave girls were forced to lick her clean. 

Michel had always been careful not to succumb to rumours, but now as he saw the young lady thrust her tongue into his daughter's mouth and hungrily kiss the terrified girl, he feared he had been naive in his gullibility. Emi chirped against Ariela's lips as the red haired woman's hand closed around her breast and squeezed casually. 

"This is what a kiss should taste like, little Emilie," Ariela whispered as she yanked the girl by the hair and threw her back against her twin. “Now show your sister what you learned.”

“AHH!” moaned Emi as the riding whip hit her over the thin cloth covering her bum and she hurriedly crawled over to her sister, who was kneeling wide-eyed at Lady Armond's display. “AHH!” Emi chirped again as the riding stick once again bit through the fabric of the dress. The young girls doubt seemed to have been blown away - or at least suppressed - as she caught poor Rosa between her hands and closed in on her in a wet, desperate kiss. 

Michel thrashed fruitlessly at his ropes as the whiplash hit Emi again, forcing her to burrow deeper into her sister's mouth. Rosa seemed frozen in front of her sister, eyes wide and mouth agape as her twin sister's tongue brushed against hers in a clumsy, awkward kiss. 

“So, poor Emi shouldn't be the only one making an effort here. Return the kiss, Rosa.” To punctuate her words, she gave Emilie another merciless rap with the whip and the girl whimpered and sobbed into her sister's mouth. As if in a trance, Rosa began to meet her sister's tongue with her own and within seconds the two beautiful twins were in a sinful and sloppy kiss.

"Better. Much better." Ariela's voice was noticeably affected by the spectacle and she stroked her tight corset almost absent-mindedly. She fiddled with one of the strings, as if thinking about loosening her prison, as she walked around the bed with the whip in constant contact with Emi's back. "I think I have a couple of truly sinful little sluts of twins in front of me, don't you?" She put the end of the whip against Emi's cheek and brought it softly over to Rosa's. “Stop this shyness. It does not befit loving sisters. Touch each other. Run your hands over each other's bodies. Prove how much you love each other.”

During the brief moment of hesitation, the whip managed to hit Emi once more, across the back, and soon the twin's hands were wandering over Rosa's body. Stroke the hip, waist and back. Massaged clumsily the soft skin. Rosa herself sobbed through her sister's mouth, but soon followed. 

"Damn me you bastard, what docile and well-mannered girls you have," Geofran murmured in Michel's ear. "I hope you are a proud father now, when you see how much they love each other."

Michel didn't even bother to answer. His inner spark was dying as he watched his daughters being forced deeper and deeper into Lady Armond's perverted games. He suspected that her limits weren't anywhere close to being reached. 

With the end of the whip, she forced Rosa's hand up, from Emi's waist to the side of her toned bust. "Feel," Ariela whispered. “Feel your sister's wonderful orbs. Surely no other hand has been there before. You will always be the first to caress and squeeze young Emilie's beautiful breasts."

Rosa, caught in her fear, mechanically squeezed Emi's bosom. The movements lacked emotion or skill, but Emi's face turned red. She didn't break the kiss, however, and before the young lady with the whip could even make the suggestion, she cupped Rosa's breast with her palm and returned the awkward caresses.

Ariela let them continue like this for several minutes as she whispered words of encouragement into both girls' ears. The warriors along the walls of the room were bewitched judging from the way they were twisting and adjusting their crotch. 

Michel got a foreboding feeling and he began to fear what would happen when half a dozen conquering warriors could no longer restrain their desire. 

Lady Armond hastily pulled her dagger from her belt and wrapped her hand around Emi's hair, pulling her away from her sister's mouth and forcing her neck back so her cleavage was clearly highlighted.

“This will not do! Two little sisters cannot be so shy and prudent when they have to prove their love to each other and to God.” Emi howled in horror and humiliation as Ariela's dagger cut into the fabric of her dress, opening the neckline to reveal the blonde girl's pale, well-toned breasts. With raw grip the lady detached the small pointed buds from the torn rags. 

“Touch them, this time for real, Rosa!” Ariela hissed and the hoarse, intense voice made poor Rosa flinch and rush to put her hands on Emi's naked breasts. 

*Smack!* “AHHH!” Emi howled as the whip hit her bum once more. “Please, no more! I will do anything!"

*Smack!*
*Smack!*
*Smack!*
*Smack!*
*Smack!*
*Smack!*
*Smack!*
*Smack!*
*Smack!*

The room was filled with a symphony of cutting howls and fabric tearing from its thin skewers. If Ariela hadn't pinned Emi to the bed with her grip on her hair, the young girl would have thrown herself left and right, but now all she could do was to flinch and writhe under the sadistic lady's firm grip, while Rosa fondled at her bosom, too afraid of to stop even for a second. 

“Do you want it to stop, little twin?”
*Smack!*
*Smack!*
*Smack!*

“Ggghhh! Yes! Please!” Emi wailed. 

*Smack!*
*Smack!*
*Smack!*
*Smack!*
*Smack!*

“Free your sister's breasts from her dress then.”

Emi didn't even hesitate for a second before she desperately tore at Rosa's laced neckline. With a force that shocked the whole room, she pulled the fabric with an almost snarling sound, and Rosa whimpered, reflexively pulling her hands up to protect her exposed, perky tits. 

*Smack!*
*Smack!*
*Smack!*
“Make sure your sister stops being such a tease. We all want to see those cute little tits, don't we?”
Emi wrestled her sister's hands away, forcing her to expose herself to the room and the strange men. 

Rosa's face turned red as the shy girl's breasts were exposed for the first time in front of strangers, sisters and her father alike. They were like a mirror image of her twin's - shapely without hanging, with bright nipples that almost seemed to melt into the surrounding skin and pink little flower buds on top that bobbed as she struggled fruitlessly against her sister's hands. It must have been the chilly evening air, but it looked like they were… stiff.

“Emi! Stop!" she whimpered, trying to break free from the tight grip, but her sister was either naturally stronger or desperation gave her strength, because she didn't budge an inch. Michel saw that Emi's buds had stiffened as well, but maybe that was an effect of the pain she took from the whip. "Let me go! Please please!"

“I’m sorry, Rosa…” Emi sobbed through clenched teeth. “I-I must!”

"So, so," said Lady Armond, placing the whip under Rosa's chin. “Now be kind to your sister. You don't want her to have to suffer because of you. Right?"

Rosa swallowed a sob but stopped struggling. If there was one thing everyone who knew Rosa agreed on, it was that she had a heart of gold. She would do anything to let her sister avoid the thin whip that was currently resting by her neck. So, dejected and with a single tear sailing down her cheek, she lowered her arms and let them fall to her side.

"Much better." The whip swept down Rosa's cheek and neck before stopping at the border of the bright little buds. She stroked the plump skin lightly, almost tenderly, and Rosa shuddered noticeably as the thin wood made contact with the sensitive, smooth surface. Then she returned with the whip to Emi's chest. Swiftly and without warning she snapped and Emi yelped in surprise. She tried to fling herself to safety, but Ariela's free hand had already anticipated the move and caught her hair between its almost unnaturally strong fingers.

*Smack!*
“AGGHH!”
*Smack!*
“AHH! Ahhh!”
*Smack!*
“Please! PLEASE!”
*Smack!*
*Smack!*

Five raps as fast as you could count one's heartbeats. Five red stripes over white skin. A squealing, blonde and gorgeous twin on one side, a silent and terrified twin opposite. And between the two of them stood Lady Ariela Armond, breathing heavily with her eyes almost glazy as the girl writhed under her hands.

“Do you want the pain to end for your poor sister, Rosa? Do you want to spare her tormented, fine little breasts?”

Rosa nodded with wide eyes. 

“Suck the little buds then. Heal her pain with your soft, wet lips. Make her moan by something other than despair and the sting of the whip.”

Rosa didn't seem able to quite take in what the merciless and depraved young woman meant. 

*Smack!*
*Smack!*
*Smack!*
“AHHHHHHHHHH!” Emi squirmed and struggled, but couldn't avoid the stinging raps that bit into the exposed skin, leaving streaks of red with each contact. 

“Suck your sister's stiff tits, whore!” Ariela hissed. “Or watch me destroy them with my whip!”

"Please Rosa, just do as she says," pleaded Emi. "It hurts so much! Please!”

Rosa cleared her throat, swallowed, and leaned down against her sister's red streaked chest. She closed her eyes as her lips embraced the hard bud. And there she stood, tense and with her arms hanging limply as she awkwardly sucked on her twin sister's breasts. Emilie let out a moan of relief and seemed to relax as Ariela demonstratively lowered the whip. 

"Massage her other breast with your hand." Rosa obeyed and began to squeeze and caress the free tit. “And use your tongue. Rub and lick the tip over the hard little bud. So yes, go ahead. Don't stop now while I direct some attention to your other sister here on the floor.”

Maia, who was tied with her hands behind her back and the thick knot between her lips now dark with saliva, backed away as Ariela turned to face her. “You must forgive me my dear. I have neglected you, but not forgotten you.” The young lady fished inside her neckline and picked up a glass vial filled with a dark, red liquid. She unscrewed the cork and stood over Michel's eldest daughter. “This is called Heart Arrow. It is a mixture that alchemists have long kept secret, but with which they have made a lot of money spreading in the right circles. Do you know what an aphrodisiac is? No? Let's say it spurs the parts of us that we spend far too much time suppressing.” She bent down, creating a gap between the rope and Maia's open mouth. “I've seen women go crazy within minutes by two drops of this little gift. Lose control of their bodies and lose all inhibitions. Take off their clothes and throw themselves on the floor. Rub themselves against carpets, against door frames. Legs and shoes. Sobbing and crying on all fours, desperate to get something to quench their… thirst. After three drops, I've seen innocent girls wiggle their flowing penises at aroused dogs, eager to be covered like the cunts they deep down are.” Ariela's voice became husky as she brought the glass container to Maia's quivering lips. With a quick movement she tipped the vial. Half its contents, many times the three drops she mentioned, poured into Maia's mouth, who gasped through the ropes as the red liquid hit her tongue. 

Ariela closed the glass container and set it aside on the bedside table as she began to lace up her corset. Rosa was sucking on her sister's breast while Emi… Michel must be going crazy, because it looked like she had started to squirm softly against her sister's treatment - eyes closed and teeth biting her bottom lip. 

By the time the corset hit the floor, Maia's pale skin had turned pink, with her cheeks red as if they were on fire. She twisted and threw herself against her ropes, her legs parting as wide as they would go with her bare feet still bound. 

Ariela kicked off her shoes and showed her own smooth feet, toenails colored dark red. She sat on the bed and brought one foot up towards the squealing girl on the floor. She stroked her cheek with her toes, dabbed the saliva that had leaked from the rope and spread it over Maia's poor, writhing face. 

She should have fought back, should have tried to avoid the sadistic lady's wandering foot, but Maia - lost in the fog of what that vial now contained - followed the foot with her face. Twisting her neck so the lady could more easily smear the saliva over her cheeks and chin, all the while whimpering like a wounded puppy. Her whole body shook and she spread her legs as wide as she could, struggling to reach the floor with her crotch and… rub it, Michel assumed. He sobbed, but was unable to help his poor daughter, who had already lost the strength to fight the drug that was spreading through her blood, turning her face and body red. 

“If you're a good girl, I'll be nice back. I will reward you and satisfy the itch spreading over your body. Do you understand, girl?”

Maiai nodded, quickly and eagerly, her eyes wide. 

"Good. When I cut the ropes around your face, you stick your tongue out and breathe heavily, panting. It shouldn't be too hard, I suspect. But you must do absolutely nothing without my permission. And from now on, you don't use words when you want to say something. From now on, you are a little puppy in heat, and everything you do should reflect that. If you want to be scratched, you bark. If you are in pain, you whimper. If you're hot, you pant, your tongue hanging out of your mouth. And if you're a really good little puppy, mom will reward you well. Do you understand?”

Maia nodded again and brushed her forehead against Ariela's foot in a dog-like gesture. Ariela nimbly cut the ropes between her lips, leaned back and stuck her foot out again. “Lick, cunt.”

Maia pounced on Ariela's bare feet. Her tongue was quick and wet as she eagerly, and very dog-like, licked over the bare toes and up the back of the foot. She gaped as Ariela pressed her toes against the opening of her mouth and forced herself inside. “Suck my toes, whore.” 

And Maia obeyed. Devoted, with searching puppy eyes directed up at the lady. 

“Good puppy. You wish you could do something about the fire between your legs, don't you? That someone, anyone, would direct their hands or tongue to the throbbing folds under that dress.” Maia rubbed her eyes close to tears. The lips tightened around the young lady's big toe and as the foot left her mouth to move down between the girl's legs she squealed in suppressed agony. She didn't seem to know what to do, bound hand and foot and kneeling in front of the excited domination, but when the ankle shot under the skirt and found its way between her thighs, she eagerly began to rub against Ariela's bare foot. 

“Breathe faster. Stick out your tongue. You are not human, you are a dog. Do you remember?"

Maia obeyed, unable to control either body or emotions. The only thing she knew was what her owner told her. All she could do was obey. And maybe, if she was a good puppy, she would be rewarded. So she humped, without a thought for dignity, nimbly and quick against the lady's raised ankle, leaving streaks of her running juices across the skin. 

"Stop!" Ariela roared, so loudly that almost everyone in the room jumped. “Don't move an inch, stupid little puppy!”

Maia's hip slowed and stopped, but she needed to brace herself against the floor to keep from falling over. Her eyes darted pleadingly up to Lady Armond, but through a force of will that seemed close to consuming her, she held still with her leaking pussy pressed against the lady's leg. Ariela slowly began to drag her ankle, back and forth, between the older daughter’s legs. “Completely still… yes. Do not move."

The poor girl seemed close to bursting into tears from the effort of keeping still as the naked foot massaged her between her legs. Her entire body, from her knees, hips up to her shoulders, trembled and she closed her eyes so tightly, contorting her face in a desperate look. 

"Taste your juices," Ariela said, raising her foot to Maia, who sobbed again but eagerly began lapping with her tongue over the toes, cleaning it from the liquid that flowed so freely from her pussy. If anything, the taste only seemed to make her even more lustful, as it wasn't long before she began sucking on the young woman's toes as she looked pleadingly at Ariela, who leaned back with a pleasurable expression, eyes half closed. 

At the same time, Emi started letting out moans of obvious pleasure as her twin massaged her breasts with his tongue. She even moved Rosa's red burning face to her other breast to give that side some love as well. Her more prudent twin cast a surprised eye at her, but dared not do anything but continue the same treatment as before, her tongue fluttering over the stiff nipple as her lips sucked softly. Emi's hand crept up to her saliva-moist, free breast and began caressing it. The other hand wrapped around her sister's neck and she began to gently fondle and massage the back of Rosa's head and hair. 

"Ohh," Emilie whispered, her eyes closed and her face painted with a lustful blush. "Keep going like that. Do not stop… please Rosa…"

"What a fucking slut," someone said. "She enjoys her own sister's tongue!"

Michel wanted to protest, to come to his daughter's defense, but even if he hadn't had a rope between his jaws… he couldn't deny that the rough warrior seemed to be right.. Emilie definitely enjoyed what Rosa did. Had she forgotten that it was her sister who was kneeling in front of her, sucking so softly and tenderly?

"Don't stop, Rosa," Emilie whispered. “Go on, Rosa… go on… use your tongue more…”

Apparently… not. 

Emilie's cheeks became redder and her hips moved rhythmically, sensually in time with the low moans. Ariela played with her toes over Maia's face absentmindedly as she looked at the two twins. She brought the whip to the hem of Emilie's dress, pushing it under the fabric and between the girl's legs. Emi whimpered as the rod began massaging her most sacred parts. 

“Oh… ahh,” she gasped. “K-keep going…”

“It's nice to give in, isn't it?” snapped Ariela. “We are basically just animals. Everything else is an illusion. And when that illusion shatters, only our desires remain. We crave food, we crave warmth. And we crave pleasure…”

Emi sobbed and shook her head, but bit her lip as the leather of the whip reached the sensitive spots between her legs. Her hands played with Rosa's hair, guiding her gently but firmly between her young, perky breasts. At the same time, Maia sucked the soft, red-painted toes that danced across her face. Ariela laughed and caught the girl's face between her feet, thighs parted and knees bent as she brought the desperate sister closer between her legs. “Stick out your tongue, whore. Be a good dog and maybe mom will reward you.”

Maia obediently stuck out her tongue and panted in a quick, shallow rhythm as saliva dripped down her red tongue. If she felt humiliated by being forced to behave like a dog in front of a dozen strange men, she didn't show it. The eyes were misty, as if caught in something uncontrollable and she winced as she dry humped against the empty air. 

“You want to be filled, don't you? That something hard and big will fill your burning cunt and free you from the fire that storms through every part of your little, stupid, desperate, virgin body.”

Maia nodded and whimpered with her mouth open, her tongue hanging down over her chin. “Woof! Woof!”

"Just as I thought. And luckily, I have just the perfect cock for a desperate puppy slut.” Dame Armond turned her eyes straight to Michel, where he sat strapped to the chair. "I think you need a hard daddy-cock."

Lily couldn’t sleep. She lay rigid atop the quilt, staring at the low ceiling, counting the minutes as the pale numbers on the bedside clock blinked sluggishly from 2:01 to 2:02. She’d pressed her palms so hard to her eyes the world shimmered green when she opened them. The echoes of her mother’s voice and the raw tremor of her own body still rang in her ears, unsettled and shivery.

She remembered her mother’s words: When it happens again, don’t touch yourself; come to me and I’ll help you. She rolled onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow. Maybe if she pressed hard enough, the feeling would flatten and die. Instead, it blossomed. She tried to count her breaths, then sheep, then seconds between the clock’s plastic ticks, but her thoughts always drifted back to the dark pulse that had taken over her body.

She whimpered, lips pressed tight to muffle the sound, and finally gave up. Her legs slid from under the covers and she padded to the door. The hallway was cold on her bare calves, the silence so thick that her own footsteps sounded like thunder. She hesitated outside her parents’ bedroom, palm flat against the door, the strange feeling surging in her stomach like she’d swallowed a living thing.

She knocked. It was a tiny sound, barely a tap, but her mother answered instantly.

“Come in, sweetheart.”

Lily opened the door, heart in her throat. The room was lit only by the amber glow of a salt lamp on the nightstand, washing everything in a thick, syrupy light. Her father was gone, off on another business trip, but her mother sat propped against a bank of pillows, a book resting on her lap. She was wearing a sheer white nightgown, and Lily could see the shadowy outline of her mother’s large breasts showing through. Elizabeth set the book aside, arms open in invitation. Lily crossed the thick carpet and climbed onto the bed, feeling her knees sink into the expensive mattress.

Elizabeth pulled her into a side hug, the heat of her body radiating through the thin cotton. “Is everything alright, baby?”

Lily nodded, lips trembling. “It’s… it’s worse, Mommy,” she whispered.

Her mother’s hand stroked the hair behind her ear, slow and methodical, like she was brushing out tangles invisible to everyone else. The touch was familiar, but Lily flinched anyway; her skin felt charged, hyper-alert.

Lily’s voice quivered when it finally arrived. “I can’t stop thinking about… last night.”

Elizabeth nodded as if this was the most natural confession in the world. “That’s very normal. It can be confusing the first time you see grown-ups being intimate.”

Lily flushed, the heat in her cheeks nearly painful. “It’s not that.” She looked away, ashamed to meet her mother’s eyes. “It’s what happened after. It’s still happening.” She tried to gesture at her body, but it just looked like she was hugging herself.

Elizabeth took Lily’s hand in hers. “You feel strange between your legs, yes?” she prompted, the question so direct that Lily jerked in surprise.

“I— yes. It’s like I have to pee, but not really. It’s itchy. I feel…” she trailed off, unable to find a word that wasn’t disgusting.

Her mother’s lips curled in sympathy. “That’s what I thought. It’s all right, honey. It happens to every girl eventually. That feeling is called arousal. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Lily’s voice was barely a squeak. “But you said not to touch it.”

“That’s right. Not by yourself. It’s important to wait for help, or you’ll teach your body the wrong lessons.” Elizabeth’s thumb stroked the back of Lily’s hand, slow and hypnotic. “That’s why you came to me. I’m proud of you for being so brave.”

Lily felt a warm glow from the praise, despite her mortification.

Her mother drew her closer, guiding Lily to sit between her legs on the bed. “Turn around, love. This is easier if you face away from me.” Elizabeth's fingers moved with gentle precision, deftly tugging at the hem of Lily's shirt. "Shh, darling," she murmured, her breath brushing against Lily's ear like a warm caress. "It's all right. Just trust me."

Lily squirmed slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features as her mother peeled away the fabric, exposing her skin to the cool air. "Mommy, I—" she began, but Elizabeth shushed her softly, cradling her daughter’s chin with a tender touch.

"You’re safe with me, sweetheart. This is just part of understanding your body," Elizabeth assured, her voice soothing and low. She continued to remove Lily's clothes, each tug met with a mix of hesitation and curiosity from Lily, who felt her cheeks flush with warmth. Lily's heart raced, a strange blend of embarrassment and anticipation coursing through her veins. She bit her lip, feeling the heat radiate from her face as she surrendered to her mother's guiding hands.

Elizabeth arranged her daughter like a delicate doll: spine pressed to her mother’s soft belly, legs together, hands folded neatly in her lap. As she settled Lily against her, Elizabeth spread her own legs, pinning Lily’s calves between her thick thighs, preventing her knees from closing. Lily could feel her mother's large breasts on either side of her head, warm and soft like pillows, enveloping her in a cocoon of maternal comfort.

Lily gasped at the sensation: safe in her mommy’s arms, but also trapped; her legs spread wide, and her private parts exposed to the air and her mother’s eyes. Elizabeth’s hands were soft, but they held Lily just firmly enough that she knew she couldn’t squirm away.

“First, you need to understand how your body works,” Elizabeth whispered. Her hands slid down Lily’s sides, gently kneading the flesh above her hips. “The feelings you’re having are normal, but if you try to take care of them yourself, you’ll always end up dissatisfied. That’s what makes girls and boys different. Boys get to finish. Girls are supposed to wait.”

Lily didn’t fully grasp what that meant, but she nodded anyway, not trusting her voice.

“This part of your body,” Elizabeth said, and cupped the mound with her palm, “is very sensitive. But that’s a good thing, if you treat it right.”

She started with the gentlest strokes, fingertips barely tracing the crease where Lily’s thigh met her hip. “You’re already so warm here,” her mother observed, voice proud and sad all at once. “That’s because your body wants to be close to someone. To be taken care of.”

Lily was breathing faster now, her head lolling back onto Elizabeth’s shoulder. She shut her eyes and tried to focus on the words, but every time her mother’s hand moved, it was as if her brain was being tickled from the inside.

Elizabeth’s touch became firmer, dragging the pads of her fingers along the outline of Lily’s underwear, then pressing down, flat and steady, right in the middle. “It’s ok to let yourself feel it,” she whispered, lips grazing the shell of Lily’s ear. “That’s the only way to learn control.”

Lily whimpered, and her mother shushed her gently, never stopping the motion of her hand.

For several minutes, Elizabeth did nothing more than stroke the outside of Lily’s labia, slow and steady, up and down, side to side. She explained, in a hush, that if you moved too fast, the feeling would fizzle out and leave you sad and empty. “It’s like blowing up a balloon,” she said, her voice dreamy. “If you go too quickly, it’ll pop before you’re ready.”

Lily’s legs were shaking uncontrollably now. She was dizzy, her entire world reduced to the small, hot point where her mother’s hand moved. She wanted to tell her mommy to stop, to go faster, to do anything, but she couldn’t get her mouth to work.

When her mommy finally dipped her fingers between the folds of Lily’s tiny pussy, she nearly screamed. The sensation was electric and sickening, nothing like what she’d felt when touching herself. Her mother’s fingers slid over the slick skin with practiced ease.

Elizabeth tutted softly. “Oh, you’re so wet, honey. Don’t be ashamed… it just means you’re healthy.”

She moved her hand in circles, sometimes pressing a finger right against the aching spot, sometimes drawing it away for long, torturous moments. Little whimpering moans were coming from Lily’s mouth as the itchy feeling grew and grew, just like the night before.

Elizabeth wrapped one arm around Lily’s chest, pinning her arms so she couldn’t move. The other hand kept working, two fingers now, fluttering over her clit and down, then back up, never quite in the same place twice. “Shhh, darling. It’s all right. You’re doing so well.”

Lily’s whole body tensed, her hips arching away from her mother’s lap. The balloon in her belly was about to burst. She felt the pressure build and build and—

Elizabeth’s hand vanished. She yanked her fingers free, clamping Lily’s thighs with her own to stop her from finishing. The absence of touch was worse than a slap. Lily wailed, “No! Please—” but her mother only rocked her gently, whispering, “Good girl, good girl, that’s enough.”

The ache in Lily’s body was so bad she thought she might die from it. She tried to claw at the heat between her legs, desperate to put her mother’s hand back where it belonged, but Elizabeth held her fast.

“You must never let yourself go all the way, Lily,” Elizabeth said, her voice firm and trembling at the same time. “That’s not for us. Orgasms don’t belong to women. Not unless a man says so.” She kissed the top of Lily’s head, her breath shaky. “That’s what makes you a good girl. Only bad girls finish themselves.”

Lily blinked through a haze of tears and sweat. “But… it hurts. I want to—” she stammered, her body still jerking with aftershocks of her denial. She wasn’t sure what exactly had happened, but she wanted more.

Her mother’s fingers, slick with Lily’s wetness, traced lazy patterns up and down her thigh, never quite returning to the source of her torment. “That’s the point,” Elizabeth murmured. “We get to feel everything, but we don’t get to finish. Not unless a man gives us permission. It’s how women keep their place. That’s why we stay on the edge; so we’re always wanting, always ready.”

Lily didn’t understand, but she nodded anyway. The pressure in her belly was slowly fading, replaced by a dull, bruised emptiness. Elizabeth cradled her close, rocking back and forth. For a long time, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the hum of the salt lamp and the sticky echo of their breaths.

Eventually, her mother helped Lily off her lap and tucked her nightgown back into place. She pulled the girl into her arms and stroked her hair, murmuring, “I’m so proud of you. You’re growing up so fast. Such a good girl, Lily.”

Lily clung to her mother, unsure whether she was grateful or furious or both. Her whole body was trembling, but her mother’s hands steadied her, rubbing gentle circles between her shoulder blades. When she finally found the courage to speak, her voice was small and desperate. “Does it always hurt like this?”

Elizabeth’s mouth twitched, an almost-smile. “It gets easier, sweetheart. But you must promise me you’ll never touch yourself alone. If you do, you’ll ruin everything Daddy and I have worked so hard to build.”

Lily promised, because there was nothing else she could do. Her mother kissed her forehead and whispered, “Go back to bed now. You’ll feel better in the morning. And if you ever need help again, just ask.”

Lily staggered out of the room, legs weak and sticky, and made her way down the dark hallway. The ache that had kept her awake was worse than ever, and she wondered why her mother thought this was supposed to help. She finally collapsed into bed, and fell into a fitful sleep, pressing her thighs together to ease her desperation.

Every night after that, as the weather turned sticky and the sun hesitated just above the horizon, Lily lay awake in the deranged pulse of her own body, haunted by the memory of her mother’s hands and the sharp, malicious ache that followed. It was a feeling with no name, or maybe with too many, and it scorched her from the inside out. She tried to obey, clenching herself tight as she drifted off, but the need gnawed at her until she was raw.

The ritual became a rhythm. It was never spoken of during the day, but every few nights, when her father was gone, Lily would find herself hovering outside her mother’s door, the ache so familiar now it may as well have been a sixth sense. If she waited, the ache would only gnaw at her harder; if she knocked, her mother would be there instantly, as if she’d been expecting this exact collision of need and shame. Sometimes, Elizabeth’s voice would reach her before she could even rap her knuckle: “Come in, baby.” After the first few times, Lily stopped wearing pajamas to bed, the path from her own room to her mother’s a direct line, almost gravitational.

Elizabeth stopped wearing nightgowns to bed as well. Lily noticed the first time when she slipped into her mother’s room expecting the familiar cotton halo, and instead found her mother perched among pillows, her pale skin moonlit and unadorned, nipples shadowed against the slopes of her heavy breasts. Elizabeth didn’t acknowledge the change, but Lily’s eyes couldn’t look away. Each visit after that, her mother’s body became as familiar to Lily as her own reflection.

The lessons changed, too. Elizabeth tried new things, each night a different flavor of guidance. Sometimes she would warm a bottle of oil between her palms, then coat herself and Lily with it, their bodies sliding against each other with a frictionless, slippery warmth that left Lily gasping and giggling. Elizabeth would drizzle a ribbon down the line of Lily’s stomach, then push it into every crease, every dip, massaging it under her arms, behind her knees, between her toes. She’d cup Lily’s bottom in her hands and knead, rolling the flesh as if testing the ripeness of fruit. When she was finished, Lily glistened in the light like a newborn animal, sticky and impossible to hold onto.

On other nights, Elizabeth made Lily taste herself. She’d coax her daughter’s chin up, locking eyes, then slide two fingers into her mouth, slow and wet, and wait until Lily licked them clean. Sometimes Elizabeth would taste, too, sucking the glistening tips with a savoring, greedy hunger, as though she hadn’t eaten in weeks. The taste wasn’t what Lily had expected, but the thrill of watching her mother savor it was dizzying.

Elizabeth’s methods were devious and sometimes humiliating. One night, she produced a makeup brush from her vanity and explained, with a straight face, that “sensation is everything for a girl’s body.” She began with Lily’s face, stroking her cheeks and eyelids with the soft bristles, then trailed it down her neck, across her collarbone, pausing at every hollow. Lily moaned helplessly as the brush tip circled around her nipples, then lower, painting invisible trails down her belly. When Elizabeth finally let the brush skim over the top of Lily’s slit, it drove her wild with frustration; a touch so maddeningly light it made her want to scream. Elizabeth spent what felt like hours teasing her, drawing delicate lines up and down, skimming Lily’s trembling thighs, dipping just inside, and then pulling away the moment Lily’s hips jerked up in search of more. When the desperate trembling grew too much, Elizabeth would put the brush aside and use her mouth; tongue and teeth and lips everywhere, wet and questing, lapping at the sticky points where Lily’s arousal had begun to pool. Only then, at the very edge of a scream, would her mother withdraw, leaving Lily dangling and wild, her body fuzzed with electricity.

Elizabeth never let her finish. If Lily’s body went rigid, if she started to make the noises she’d heard from the hallway that first night, Elizabeth would stop cold and fold her in tight, arms squeezing all the movement out of her. A pillow pressed to Lily’s chest, a breathless “Shh, shh, it’s all right, let it pass,” her mother’s voice slipping into her ear and freezing the moment in place until the moment receded and left only the hungry, stupid ache. Lily hated her mother for it, sometimes. She wanted to scream, to punch, to slam her fists on the mattress and tell her to stop being so cruel. But even as the tears slid down her cheeks, even as she swore that this time would be the last, she found herself crawling back to that door, fists curled and thighs sticky, waiting for the ritual to begin anew.

On the days her father was home, Lily started to see him differently, to sense a gravitational force that pulled every moment in the house towards him, no matter how far she was from the center. It wasn’t just the way Elizabeth orbited William, never letting his glass go dry or his shirts come back from the laundry with a single loose thread. Lily found herself watching him with new attention: the way he used his steak knife, the steady click of his watch, the low, deliberate cadence of his voice. She began to anticipate his needs before he said a word.

She started by bringing him his slippers. He was always home by six, and by 5:45 Lily would sneak into the front closet, pluck the leather pair off the top shelf, and set them at the base of his favorite chair. Then she’d hover nearby, pretending to sort the mail or dust a table, waiting for him to see her work. He’d nod at her, and the acknowledgment sent a thrill through her chest, like a secret handshake.

At dinner, Lily made it her mission to refill his water glass before he asked. She watched for the moment when condensation beaded on his fingers, the glass half-empty and the ice already melted, and she’d leap up to the kitchen, return with a fresh one, and set it quietly by his right hand. William would barely look at her, but when he did, his eyes lingered a little longer than before. Lily glowed under the attention, even when it came in the form of silence.

Elizabeth noticed, of course. She watched the interplay with a satisfaction that bordered on smug. Once, when William was out late at a dinner meeting, she caught Lily at the kitchen table, arranging his morning vitamins into color-coded piles.

“You really do want to please him, don’t you?” Elizabeth asked, voice soft and conspiratorial.

Lily’s cheeks went hot. “I just want to help.”

Her mother beamed, brushing Lily’s hair back with a tenderness that was almost worshipful. “That’s my good girl.”

Some nights, after William had gone to bed, Lily would curl up on the living room sofa with her mother, TV flickering in the background. Elizabeth would stroke Lily’s hair and tell her stories about the old days, how she met William in college, how he used to show up at her apartment with a bottle of cheap wine and lecture her about politics, how he’d always had a vision for their future.

“He picked me, you know,” Elizabeth said once, her voice dreamy. “Out of all the girls in the city. He said I had the right temperament.” She stroked Lily’s cheek, a thumb grazing the curve of her jaw. “He was right.”

Lily wondered what her own “temperament” was. She wondered if William saw anything worth picking in her.

The next night, Lily awoke to the sound of her parents’ voices. Lily lay with her knees drawn up, covers bunched at her chest, listening to the hush and surge of her parents’ words. They weren’t fighting; the sound was more like a game of catch, words tossed and retrieved with a mutual glee. She could only catch fragments, but the rhythm was familiar: her father’s measured rumble, her mother’s breathless giggle. The air in Lily’s room felt thick, still buzzing with last week’s memory. She sat up, swung her feet to the floor, and pressed her ear to the wall.

She heard a high, staccato laugh, followed by a series of small, pleading noises that made Lily’s breath go sharp in her lungs. She hesitated, then crept into the hallway, heart knocking against her ribs. The carpet muffled her steps. This time, the door to her parents’ room was open just a sliver, and Lily’s feet moved before her mind had time to scold her for it. She leaned in, cheek pressed to the glossy paint, and peered through the gap.

The room was dim and glowing, light seeping out from behind heavy curtains. Her parents were on the bed, but not how she’d seen them last. Elizabeth was straddling her father this time, her wide hips rocking in slow, greedy circles. The sight should have made Lily’s insides knot with shame, but she felt the opposite: a wild, reckless curiosity, as if the ache in her core had grown eyes and was staring right back.

William’s hands gripped Elizabeth’s waist, his knuckles white, but her mother was the one making all the sounds, those same little yelps and whimpers, but now layered with words. “God, you’re so hard tonight, Sir,” Elizabeth panted, her voice high and frantic. “I can feel you everywhere inside me— oh God, I can feel you everywhere.” The rhythm of her hips changed, faster now, her voice rising in little increments, each moan sharper than the last. William’s hands left her waist and slid up to her chest, squeezing her breasts so hard Lily thought they might leave marks. Elizabeth shrieked, head thrown back, hair wild around her shoulders.

“Slow down,” William muttered, voice rough with effort. “You want to finish before me? Greedy girl.”

Elizabeth giggled, but the sound faltered into a whimper. She clung to his forearms, nails biting in, driving herself down harder on his cock. “I can’t help it,” she gasped. “You make me so fucking desperate. I’m going to make a mess all over you— look, I’m dripping! It’s everywhere.” Her words tangled into a stream, every sentence more frantic and needy.

Lily’s head swam; the air seemed thinner, the shadows on the walls flickering with each movement of her mother’s hips. Elizabeth was talking without thinking, the words tumbling out in a ragged, hungry string.

Elizabeth continued, voice raw and quivering, “You think I’m greedy? You should see Lily, oh my god. She’s so desperate for you, William. You don’t even notice; she walks around the house with her little nipples poking through her shirts, always staring at you, always wanting to make you proud.

William grunted, his rhythm breaking for a moment, but Elizabeth didn’t stop. “She wants it, too. I can tell. She’s so wet all the time, I can smell it on her when I tuck her in at night! She’s been dreaming about you, about this, I swear to god.” Her voice cracked like she might start sobbing, but she kept talking. “You should see her, William, she looks just like me at that age. Same mouth, same tits. All soft and pink and desperate and needy, juice running down her thighs. She can’t even hide it when she’s at the table; it leaks through her panties and onto her chair.”

William’s hands slowed, fingers digging into Elizabeth’s doughy hips. Lily could see the shudder in his arms, the falter in his breath. He didn’t say anything, but his jaw clenched, and the muscles along his shoulders flexed tight beneath the skin. Elizabeth rode him harder, planting her hands flat on his chest, nails splayed wide.

“She’ll be ready soon,” Elizabeth choked out, eyes wild and glassy. “You’ll be the first, William. I want you to fuck our baby just like you fuck me. I want to see her split open on your cock, crying for more, and I want to watch every second of it.” She was sobbing now, incoherent, her words tripping over each other in a fever dream of longing and humiliation.

William’s composure broke. The cool mask he wore with the world vanished, replaced by something raw and stunned and animal. His hands crushed her mother’s hips, making pink welts blossom above the bone; Elizabeth yelped, but she arched into it, her thighs trembling so hard she nearly lost her seat. “Say it again,” William growled. The words spat out, ragged and hoarse.

Elizabeth’s voice fell to a trembling, greedy whisper. “I want you to breed her, William. I want to see her heavy with your baby, our baby; see her belly swell, her little tits leak milk for you all night. I want her ruined for anyone else. Your little slut. Breed her, William. Please, please, please—"

William pulled her down by the hair, his voice a ragged snarl lost in Elizabeth’s neck. The thump and slap of their bodies blurred into a single, animal rhythm. Lily wanted to run, wanted to melt straight through the floor and never come back, but her toes curled into the carpet and she couldn’t move. Her own hips rocked unconsciously, in time with the violence inside the room. Her hands, tight at her sides, ached to press between her legs, to do anything to relieve the swelling, pulsing heat that was now as much a part of her as her own heartbeat.

Elizabeth’s sudden howl cut the rhythm, high and broken and then stifled as William shoved her face down into the mattress. His voice echoed, thick and final: “You’re fucking sick, baby. But you’re mine. All of you. Both of you. Forever.”

Character List:

Carl Albertsson
Real estate agent, wealthy and married to Charlotte. Stepfather to Tindra, who is Charlotte's daughter with an unnamed man of African origin.

Jessica Wallin
Carl's assistant at work. Young, attractive, unhappily (and unknowingly) in love with her boss. Terrible driver.

Tindra Reynaud
Charlotte's daughter and Carl's stepdaughter. 18 years old, starting her final year of (Swedish) high school and seen by her classmates as unfairly gorgeous. Of mixed heritage since her mother is white, but her father is presumed black, though neither she nor Carl has met him. She has a defiant temperament, which among other things shows through her homemade French surname.

Charlotte Albertsson
Carl's wife. Also beautiful, which she uses to ensnare men in various infidelity affairs. Her adventures are known to everyone except Carl (presumably).

Linn
Jessica's best friend and self-proclaimed slut. Goes by the name SxyLinn in Jessica's phone for... reasons.

Carl Albertsson, often described as "the town's best real estate agent," was drinking coffee. He wasn't a breakfast person. On a good day, he could force down a toasted sandwich before lunch, but usually he settled for his coffee.

He was dressed like "the town's best real estate agent" should be—tailor-made suit with a neatly knotted tie, pocket square in the breast pocket, and hair carefully combed. He sat at his kitchen island, elbows resting against the polished wooden surface as he sipped his coffee.

"Fucking whore, you think I care what you think?"

"You don't talk to me like that!"

"I talk however I want, fucking ass."

"If you want to leave the house anytime soon, then shut up and change clothes now!"

"So you're just gonna lock me up if I refuse, or what?"

"Test me!"

Carl sipped his coffee. He liked it black. Strong, no fuss. Milk turned good coffee into slop.

"You're such a fucking cunt!"

"Change or stay home for the rest of your life, your choice."

The girl screamed in frustration and a door slammed shut. Carl took another sip while looking toward his fridge. He had wanted an ice maker. He should have gotten the fridge with the ice maker.

"You weren't gonna help out, I assume?" Charlotte asked dryly when she appeared in the kitchen after the dust-up with her daughter.

"You seemed to handle it perfectly, darling." He leaned forward to kiss her cheek, but she pulled away.

"I need your car today," she said while packing her things into her purse.

"What happened to yours?"

"Lent it to Amanda."

"And how am I getting to work?"

Charlotte shrugged. "Figure it out."

Carl took another sip of his coffee while eyeing his wife. She was a beautiful woman. It was hard to imagine she had an 18-year-old daughter, but there it was. Charlotte had taken good care of her body and knew how to highlight the good parts—the well-shaped breasts, full lips, soft hair, and beautiful face. Few people would say no to a night with Charlotte, and they were all either married, women, or gay.

Tindra, Carl's stepdaughter, appeared in the kitchen from her room. Carl didn't know what she had been wearing earlier for this to be an improvement, but Charlotte approved it with a snort.

"Can I go now?" the 18-year-old girl asked, swinging her arms demonstratively. She was dressed in a purple skirt that ended at her thighs, a thin top that clearly showed her bra underneath, and heeled sandals. Her skin was dark, but on the lighter side since only her father had been of African origin, while Charlotte was white as a Viking. Her hair was dark and thick but well-brushed, and her face was subtly painted over her cheeks, eyes, and eyelashes. She was— if Carl allowed himself to admit it—absolutely stunning. Like her mother, but chocolate instead of vanilla.

"Have a nice day," said Carl. The coffee was running low. Time to get to work. "I can probably get a ride from Jessica, darling."

Charlotte shrugged while smacking her lips against her portable makeup mirror. "Do that."

Jessica swore loudly when yet another crazy pedestrian decided to cross the street right where she was driving her Polo. She glanced in the rearview mirror. The person was still alive.

What kind of maniac thinks a few white lines on asphalt mean you can stand in front of a moving car?

Her phone pinged. She looked down where it lay on the seat next to her.

Carl: Hey! Can you pick me up? Wifey needs to borrow my car today :)

A car honked loudly and she swore again. Yeah, she had driven into a roundabout while reading a text from her boss. And yeah, she had blocked the person's lane. But honking was just rude.

Jessica was only two minutes from work but made a 180 through the roundabout without hesitation. Another car honked when she forgot to signal.

"I'm coming!" she wrote with one hand. She drove another ten minutes, this time without any near-murders, before reaching Carl's villa in the city's upscale neighborhood. She laid her hand on the horn and held it for a few seconds before letting go. Then she fiddled with her fingernails and waited.

Just as she was about to honk again, the door opened and Carl stepped out, dressed impeccably as usual. Behind him came... the woman. His wife. The crone, as Jessica had dubbed her in her silent mind. And in the watercolors she sometimes made with her niece.

"And don't forget to shop on the way home. Food. Milk. We're out of wine too."

"Maybe it's better, darling, if the one with the car does the shopping?"

"I don't have time, going out with Amanda and the girls tonight. Gotta get home and get ready quick."

Carl looked like he was grinding his teeth for a moment but nodded in the end. "As you wish, darling."

Charlotte—the crone—pretended not to see him when he leaned in for a kiss and walked over to their parked car. Carl looked a bit embarrassed as he walked toward Jessica, who whistled while distractedly looking the other way.

"Hey Jessica. Pumped for another day in the wonderful world of real estate?"

Jessica smiled stiffly, trying not to show how her heart beat harder when he sat down next to her. "Always pumped for another day as your assistant!"

Jessica: The disgusting crone forced him to ride with me cuz she lent out her car
SxyLinn: Jessica, I can't even...
Jessica: What?
SxyLinn: It's all you talk about... Carl and the crone, she's bad, he's good. She's mean, he's nice. She's ugly, he's hot...
Jessica: I've never called him hot!

Jessica stared at her phone for a few seconds and when no reply came, she wrote again.

Jessica: What are you trying to say?
SxyLinn: You're in love with your boss.

Jessica furrowed her brow.

Jessica: What?
SxyLinn: You heard me.

"Boyyya!"

Jessica jumped at the sudden triumphant yell from the next room. It was probably a minute before Carl innocently opened the door from his office. He sauntered toward her desk with feigned nonchalance, gaze directed at the walls as if her paintings were incredibly fascinating.

"Hey Carl?"

"Hey hey, Jessica." He whistled as he picked up the unsolved Rubik's cube from her desk. Carl sat on her desk and started twisting while fiddling with the colorful cube.

"So… what's up, Carl?"

"Oh, nothing. Just checking in. All good?"

"All good here. You?"

"Splendid." He put the Rubik's cube back and stood up. He turned his back to her and started walking before stopping and slapping his forehead. "Oh right! Almost forgot. You know the villa up on Mollberg Street? The one we've worked night and day to sell? The one we've invested all our time and energy into selling?"

"Yeah, Carl, I know which one..."

He smugly clicked his mouth. "I just sold it."

Jessica couldn't stop herself from jumping up from her chair and throwing herself into his arms. She pressed her cheek against his chest as she felt him embrace her. They had almost given up hope on that villa. Many late nights, just the two of them, while they hunted potential customers, calculated prices, and...

She realized she had held the hug too long, that his posture had gone a bit stiff. She pulled back without meeting his eyes. "Congrats! You've worked hard for it."

"We've worked hard for it. You deserve as much credit as I do. Celebrate tonight?" He winked with one eye. "Mom's not home."

Jessica was just about to say yes when she remembered her plans for the evening. "I can't unfortunately. I promised to go out with my girls."

Carl hid his disappointment behind his practiced sales smile. "No problem. More champagne for me."

Jessica stared at his back as he went back to the office. She picked up her phone.

Jessica: Fuck.
SxyLinn: Yes.

Jessica's car stopped outside Carl's villa. His groceries and wine were in the back seat, he himself was just unbuckling his seatbelt. "Thanks for the ride."

"Of course, no problem."

He looked at her. "You sure you don't wanna come in for a glass of champagne? I have some cheese that's supposed to be fancy, but it smells awful. You can taste it, so I know if it's poisonous."

"Thanks for the offer. But I have to get home quickly if I'm gonna make it to my friends." Jessica didn't think she'd manage to say no if he asked once more, and was disappointed when he just nodded with a slightly stiff smile.

"No problem. See you Monday?"

"See you Monday." Jessica smiled as he got out, picked up his groceries, and walked alone into the big villa. With a final sigh, she put it in gear and drove off.

Jessica saw herself in the mirror in front of the graffiti-sprayed toilet. Dressed in her tight outfit, with dark red lips, shadowed eyes, and straightened hair, she had to admit it—she was hot. Full breasts that fit perfectly in hands, well-trained legs and thighs, an even tan from a summer at the beach, and a cute-beautiful face that always drew compliments from drunk strangers at the bar. Between her legs, she was smoothly shaved with just a little tuft on top, and her ass cheeks were strong enough to bend a coin. Not really, but almost.

She was, as the saying went, ready to party. Too bad she felt so... out of place. The gloom must have shown on her face, because her friends sighed as soon as she got back.

"Stop it now, Jessi. You're young, hot, and single. Just enjoy the evening."

"Sorry. You're right. I'll stop thinking about... I'll have fun from now on!"

She raised her beer bottle demonstratively and they clinked when the others did the same. She took a deep gulp...

And spat it out over the table.

"What the hell!" said Linn, but Jessica barely heard her. On the other side of the bar, through the crowd, she saw the crone. With her mouth locked to another man's lips. Her breasts pressed against him, hands moving through his hair. It was like watching a dog eat spaghetti.

Jessica stared at them there in the crowd, making out wildly, in plain view of dozens of people, without shame or care. Carl wasn't a public figure, but many knew who he was. And who he was married to. And, as everyone except Carl knew, this was no unusual sight. It was just the first time Jessica had witnessed it.

"Jessi?"

"Linn, you're a slut, aren't you?" she whispered to her bestie.

"Excuse me?"

"Your own words. But they’re true, right? You're a slut?"

"Where are you going with this questioning?" asked Linn, offended.

"Have you ever stolen a man from another slut?" asked Jessica without taking her eyes off the cheating crone on the other side of the room.

"Uh... Maybe... Why...?"

Jessica finally tore her gaze from the makeout and met Linn's. "I want to steal a man. Teach me how."

Carl sat at home in his dark living room. Neil Young was playing from a vinyl record in the background. In his hand was a glass of whisky. In front of him stood an empty champagne bottle and an empty red wine bottle. Just one wine glass.

He looked down at his phone and stared at the picture a drunk customer had sent him a few weeks earlier. The picture of his wife in the arms of another man. He remembered the chat conversation he had accidentally seen when he borrowed her computer to check email. How Charlotte had filled the chat with pictures of herself, both clothed and naked, while asking the recipient for his opinion. How she in the same chat had called Carl a wimp who wouldn't dare do anything even if they got caught.

It pinged.

Jessica: Hi
Carl: Hey
Jessica: I'm thinking about you...

Carl furrowed his brow.

Carl: What do you mean?
Jessica: I'm thinking about you... are you thinking about me?

He stared down at the phone. What did she mean?

Carl: Now I am...
Jessica: Good. Keep doing that.
Carl: Now you're confusing me
Jessica: Giggle. Good.

Maybe it was the alcohol doing its thing, but Carl felt himself biting.

Carl: How do you want me to think about you?
Jessica: Am I your good and obedient assistant?
Carl: You're very skilled... mostly...
Jessica: :O Mostly?
Carl: Well... you have a tendency to be sloppy
Jessica: Then you have to punish me. So I learn.

Carl wasn't as blind as people thought. He could read signals. The villa, the expensive cars, the whisky he drank—all bought through his ability to read people. So he didn't miss that something had changed with Jessica. She was probably just drunk. But so was Carl.

Carl: Do you think you deserve to be punished now?
Jessica: Have I been naughty?
Carl: You text your boss when you're drunk. That qualifies as being naughty.
Jessica: :( Okay boss. What time? Where?

Carl took a deep breath. He was about to do something he had only fantasized about before. He thought of Charlotte and her poor attempts to hide her infidelity.

Carl: Tomorrow. At the office. 6 PM.
Jessica: Yes Carl. Tomorrow. At the office. 6 PM. Then you'll punish me.

Linn handed the phone back to the pinned-down Jessica. She snatched it as the two other girls released her arms. They had completely ignored her screams of horror while Linn loudly read the texts she sent.

Jessica felt her face go white as she read Linn's conversation with Carl.

"Punish me? Tomorrow at 6? What have you done, Linn?" At the end, her voice was barely more than a desperate whimper.

"You want him, right? You want to steal him from his wife?"

Jessica swallowed. "Yes."

"Then give him what he's missing now."

"What is that?"

"Power. Control. Be his little toy."

"What the fuck?"

"You put yourself completely in his hands, let him do whatever he wants with you. Be naughty and let him punish you, and make sure to always be there when he desires something to to play with."

"But… just… why?"

"Because it's hot," Linn grinned.

"Wow. You really are a slut," said Jessica.

"Guilty. But listen. You want to be with him, right?"

Jessica bit her lip. She had never said it before, or even admitted it to herself, but... "Yes."

"Then you can do one of two things. You can knock on his door and confess your love, like in a movie. It might work. From how you talk about you two, it feels like he’s got some feelings for you too. But you don't just want him, right? You want to steal him. From that bitch there." She thumbed back toward Charlotte, who still hadn't let go of the man at the bar. "And if you want to 'steal' him, really make him yours, and you his, then do what I say. Be his toy."

"God, Linn. I didn't know you'd read Makavello."

"It's 'Machiavelli'. But be honest now. Doesn't it tingle between your legs? I mean, certain parts of you seem more than up for the idea."

Jessica followed Linn's pointed gaze and saw how the fabric tented where her nipples had gone hard. She blushed but couldn't protest. Linn was right—between her legs, a small dark spot was forming as her pussy got wet.

Ping

Charlotte: Not coming home tonight. Sleeping at Amanda's.

Carl looked up from his phone when the door flew open. Tindra staggered in, dressed in the short skirt and thin top from earlier. She was obviously drunk, the way she wobbled while taking off her sandals.

"Hey," said Carl.

"Hey," replied Tindra and started toward her room.

"Come here," Carl called. Tindra's bare feet stopped at Carl's low but hard voice.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Money was missing from my wallet earlier. You don't happen to know anything about that?"

"No," she answered and turned around again.

"Stop!" It was the anger toward his wife that permeated the voice, but it was directed at Tindra. She stopped and turned around again. "Come here."

Carl sat calmly in the armchair while Tindra hesitantly stepped toward him.

"Are you lying to me now, Tindra?"

"No, I promise." But she couldn't meet his eyes. Her gaze was directed at her purple toenails.

"One last time. Did you steal money from me earlier today?"

Tindra bit her lip and glanced at him from under her lashes. Her young, dark face was uncertain. "Yes. Sorry."

Carl calmly set aside his glass. He thought of Charlotte, who was probably getting fucked right now. And of Jessica, who was making him all confused. The challenging texts he still wasn't sure he'd interpreted right.

"Come here." He beckoned her closer. She took a couple steps toward him. And yelped when he grabbed her arm and in one motion pulled her face-down over his knees. He locked both arms over her back and held them there with his left hand.

He didn't think before pulling up the short skirt over her hip and letting his free hand strike the soft, thong-clad ass with a loud SMACK.

Tindra peeped, more from surprise than pain, but the next smack hit harder. She writhed over his knees.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"You're spoiled and ill-mannered." Carl smacked his palm against each ass cheek twice. The soft skin jiggled from his strikes. "You need to learn that there are consequences."

SMACK
SMACK
SMACK

Tindra struggled to get free, but her small, slender body was nothing against his. Carl thought of his wife, and the secret everyone knew about. People thought he was blind. Let them think that. It wasn't for Charlotte's sake he stayed in the marriage.

SMACK
"Ah!" Tindra whimpered and writhed over his knees. Her bare feet kicked.
SMACK
"Ah!" the resistance lessened.
SMACK
She gave up trying to get loose and instead started moaning louder as the redness grew over her ass.
SMACK
"When you do wrong, you must be punished. If you're disobedient, you learn to be better!" Carl continued while slapping her bare ass with his hand.
"I... Ah! I'll be obedient!" she promised.
SMACK

Carl rested his hand against the chocolate-dark, thong-clad rump. With a quick tug, he pulled down the thong so it hung between her thighs and slowly slid down to her knees.
SMACK
SMACK
SMACK
Carl felt how his cock pressed against the girl's stomach and realized she must feel his erection. But she had stopped protesting and writhed more sensually when his hand struck the smooth skin.
It had never been for Charlotte's sake, not after the first year when she started showing her true colors. The marriage, the job, the long hours... it wasn't for Charlotte. It was for the girl over his knees.

SMACK "Ah!" SMACK "Please," whispered Tindra, but it wasn't clear what she was begging for.
She moaned and groaned as he continued spanking her, alternating between the two cheeks and letting the full sound echo in the room.
SMACK
SMACK
It was for her sake he pretended to be unaware of his wife's infidelity. So he could give her a better life. Charlotte lacked education and work experience. Without Carl, both she and Tindra would end up in some shitty one-bedroom apartment. They'd struggle for rent and food.
SMACK
"Ah, punish me, Carl," mumbled Tindra, and it sounded like she was giving in to something. "I deserve it."
SMACK
Carl could pretend to be blind, endure the shame and stay married to his wife, if it meant a good and secure future for her daughter.
SMACK
SMACK
SMACK
SMACK "Oh, oh..." SMACK She bucked her hips against his thigh with each strike, as if seeking rougher contact with his leg. SMACK
SMACK
SMACK

Carl calmed down after a couple minutes. He felt her breathing heavily on his knee, but when he eased his grip, she stayed there, panties down at her knees and her naked pussy against his leg. Did he feel a wet spot on his thigh?

"Will you be an obedient daughter from now on?" he asked his stepdaughter.

"I'll try, Carl."

"I'll continue punishing you if you're disobedient."

"Okay, Carl. I understand."

"Good." He stroked the bare ass for a few seconds. His fingers slid down and briefly felt how wet and smooth her pussy was. She gasped.

"P-please… Carl..." But it didn't sound like she meant for him to remove his hand. A part of him usually kept in tight chains took control and he let his fingers glide deeper between her legs, over the smooth and wet skin between her labia.
Her pussy was parted, warm and wet. Waiting for his fingers.

"Please, Carl," whispered Tindra. "Don't stop..."

He stroked tentatively with his finger in the open slit, felt her juices and heat. He lightly brushed her clit, hard and sensitive as it was.

"Yes daddy, keep going, please..."

The finger slid down again, toward the waiting opening. He pressed lightly against it, felt her pussy envelop the tip of his index finger. She was tight and he realized she had probably never had anything penetrating her pussy before. Was she a virgin?

He couldn't hold back. He slowly pushed his finger into her, felt her pussy widen and make room for his fingertip and knuckle. How the wetness and warmth surrounded him.

"Ahhh..." Tindra gasped. "Oh, yes..."

He fought the temptation to finger her fast and hard. To shove in more fingers and finally his cock, which was harder than it had ever been pressing against her stomach. But she had been punished. That would have to be enough for now.

Carl pulled his finger out of her pussy but couldn't resist licking off the juices. She tasted wonderful. Tindra moaned desperately.

"You can go to bed now." He smacked her ass as if to shoo her away.

"Please, Carl, keep going..."

"Now."

"Y-yes, Carl." Tindra got up from his thigh and stood on shaky legs. The panties fell to the floor at her bare feet, but she stepped out of them instead of pulling them up. She smiled a little shyly at him before walking away. She stopped at the door. "By the way. Mom's a pig. You deserve better."

"Thanks, Tindra. Go to bed now."

"Yes, Carl. Thanks for... teaching me to be better." Tindra did something like a curtsy and went up the stairs to her room. The panties lay on the floor in front of Carl.

A Neil Young song later, Carl stood up, a pair of purple thong panties in hand, to sleep himself. He passed Tindra's room on the way and heard something through the door. He stopped and listened.

A bed creaked as it shook and moved up and down. "Yes, Carl." A whispering voice. "Just like that. Fuck me, daddy. I'll be obedient! I’ll be a good girl for daddy!." The bed creaked louder as the intensity in her whispers increased. "Like that! Like that! Like that! Like that! Ahhh, Carl!"

Carl felt the wet spot against his leg. He swallowed, thought of his meeting with Jessica the next day. What had he just started?