[Wien1938] Mrs Gerald Godalming's Revenge

[Wien1938]

Artist Support Link

https://archiveofourown.org/works/85188641

Chapter 1

Goodbye My Darling



It was the final goodbye. Cynthia stood at the end of the hall of the fashionable London residence she had shared, until today, with her now ex-husband Gerald. Today, she as no longer a Godalming but reverted to her maiden name of Abercrombie.

There was no love lost between Cynthia and Gerald, who stood before her with one hand resting in his waistcoat pocket, the other holding a lit cigarette, a complacent, even satisfied expression on his face.

'Hand it over, Cynthia' said Gerald in one final husbandly command. When the house key was safely in his hand, Gerald's expression suddenly changed to that of the bitter hatred he had developed over the past year for his 27 year old ex-wife. His cigarette hand whipped across the space between them, slapping Cynthia across her cheek, snapping her face away from the direction of the blow.

'Now get out, you bitch' Gerald told Cynthia, all the undisguised loathing for the blonde dripping from his tongue. 'If I ever catch you in here again, I'll give you to the servants and tell them to chuck your remains in a ditch.'

Tears welled in Cynthia's eyes but the words of recrimination would not come. Therefore, Cynthia turned the handle and walked down the steps into the square, thereby not telling Gerald that all the beatings he had given her in private had done nothing to break her spirit and that she glad, truly glad, never to have given that monster a child.

Charing the driver was waiting at the door of one of her honourable father's cars. He was charged with removing Cynthia to her father's care and as far as Charing was concerned that was where his care started and ended. As Cynthia reached the car, Charing opened the rear door in one smooth motion, sliding with unguent ease into his place behind the wheel.



On the return journey, Cynthia stared out of the window, ahead, wept, snivelled and finally counted her blessings that she was out of the hands of the cold tyrant. No longer would she be forced to bend and receive his cane for such simple offences as wearing the wrong earrings to a party or not knowing where he had placed his cufflinks.

Cynthia knew she would rather face her father's chilly silence, disapproval and be locked up on the Oxfordshire estate for the rest of her life than be in the same room as Gerald ever again.

She found herself wishing Gerald to be visited by the most painful incurable cancer there was and this little spot of mental revenge cheered Cynthia more than she could have known. Indeed, it sustained her throughout the long silent journey until at a little before six in the evening, Charing pulled in down the long drive down to Fielding Hall where he made a pretty right hand turn and halted the car.



Passing up the steps and through the hall, the heels on her shoes echoing down from the polished wooden floors, she asked Stebbings, the butler, where she might find her honourable father.

'Mr Abercrombie may be found in the Rose Room, my lady.'

Cynthia thanked Stebbings, made her way over to the room established by a distant ancestor for the specific purpose of viewing the rose garden, and once there stopped. She had to brace herself for the ordeal.

At the knock, a deep voice desired the knocking party to enter and so Cynthia Abercrombie passed through the door into the Rose Room and returned to her father's care.

'I have returned as instructed, Father' she said, announcing her presence.

Her father, a man now into his sixties with a still dark head of hair swept back with ointment turned his considerable girth to look at his third daughter, now returned from store.

His large oval face and brown eyes expressed disappointment and caused Cynthia to gulp but she would not break. Coldness she had endured and worse since her father had arranged the marriage seven years earlier.

'Ye're back, eh?'

'Yes, Father.'

He strode slowly across the room, around the tea table and the antique chairs and stopped, standing just before Cynthia. Her father leaned forward and took a small step, then another and another until Cynthia found herself backing up to keep a respectable distance between them both and protested sharply, 'Father!' then too late the closed door was pressed against her back and there was no retreat.

There was no warmth in his voice as he spoke.

'Couldn't keep a husband, eh? One of MY girls?'

Cynthia swallowed, wriggling uncomfortably against the door.

'It was not for the want of trying, Father. Gerald, he -'

'I don't care for excuses' said Abercrombie, cutting her off with a firm line. 'You are a failure as a woman and so I am stuck with you for the foreseeable.'

'I will do my best to be a good daughter to you, Father' Cynthia replied, displeased with the notes of panic and pleading that had come into her voice.

'Your mother is dead, you know' her father intoned.

Not wanting to look into her father's face, Cynthia looked down at his large belly, unable to see her shoes past his massive presence. In another situation it might have been funny.

'I am aware of that, Father. Gerald… Gerald and I attended her funeral.' Cynthia did not tell her father the aftermath. Gerald's manic anger at her emotions, the fist to her face, the sudden struggle in the back of the car, her dress pulled up and the long hard painful bloody buggering Gerald had given Cynthia for offences real or imagined.

'As such, I will not be spending money on a mistress. Shot the last one for flirting with the grounds staff. Buried out there somewhere. Not that I care' said her father.

Cynthia feeling a dangerous alarm looked up into her father's large, oval unfeeling face. She had a horrible feeling that he was about to…

'Take off your clothes, Cynthia…'

The colour drained from Cynthia's face. She shook her head slowly from side to side.

'No… No… Father, please' Cynthia begged.

He turned away and walked back into the room, Cynthia following him with her eyes from by the door, unable to move. Then seated in his favourite seat looking out of the window, she heard her father say 'I can order the staff to remove your clothes and hold you down for me. Or you can do as you're told. This is your last warning.'

There was no emotion, no kindness, no family feeling at all in that voice. Cynthia felt the floor go beneath her feet. She wanted to weep. It would do her good but would have no effect on the old block of granite. Her jaw shook but she knew she had no choice in the matter.

Staggering across the room, shaking like a leaf, Cynthia removed her gloves, her hat, jacket, over-shirt, blouse, then her skirt, stepped out of her shoes and with one final examination of that unmoving face, removed her brassiere and then her panties.

She flinched when her father reached out and stroked her cunt down to up.

'I'm hard. Suck it.'

Her skin was cold and clammy but Cynthia Abercrombie knelt before her father, unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his flies and reached in, disgusted at the touch of his penis and and felt the world close in around her as she stared in amazement at the monster in her hand. It must have seven or eight inches in length and her fingers barely closed around her father's shaft.

'Did you hear what I said to you?' came the reminder.

'I did, Father. I was…admiring your plenitude…' and pulling the lever towards her, took her father in her mouth and began to suck him off, massaging his balls with one hand and working the shaft with her other.

Cynthia had suffered at the hands of the cold tyrant back in London and knew to work her spit so it flowed down the shaft as lubricant for her hands so as not to give her husband - today her father - a burn or an injury that would result in a beating or worse.

All the time Cynthia sucked on her father's member, he did not move except to breath. The head was large and filled much of her mouth and the taste was strange and unpleasant, knowing it was the same member that had created herself - and her three other sisters and two brothers.

She wanted to stop. She wanted to dress and leave. She had nowhere to go. The law was clear. Once divorced she reverted to being her father's property and all the rights that went with being a property owner.

Cynthia caught the first grunt, a sound with which Cynthia would soon be most familiar, followed by another, then another, then after these came in an accelerating rhythm, her head was seized between two big hands and physically driven down on her father's shaft so that his glans brushed the back of her throat.

As her father rammed her down in a piston grip, Cynthia gripped his knees but failed to push herself off of her father. She pried at his fingers but his powerful grip was too much.

Suddenly it was pulsing in her mouth and Cynthia swallowed the first, the second, then remembering whose semen she was swallowing felt a wave of revulsion pass over her and coughed, frightened to swallow more of the same seed that had created her.

But her father's iron grip never relaxed and her deeper fright at possibly staining his chequered suit clamped her lips tight around his throbbing shaft and so Cynthia forced herself to swallow…to swallow every drop…

Panting she looked up at her father's face. If Cynthia had hoped to see remorse, even a hint of guilt on her father's face, she was disappointed. But her father did not lack emotion.

Cynthia paled as she understood. Her father was pleased with her. His big hands groped at her breasts while throwing out a commentary on her ex-husband deficiencies, as he saw it. 'Don't understand that man. Pretty tits like these and threw the little whore out'.

Her body recoiled from her father's touch, then she remembered what she had just done…with her father…with no choice.

Charles Abercrombie gave his daughter Cynthia an affectionate pat on the head.

'Well done, Cyn. I'll see you for dinner at seven sharp.'

Cynthia's survival instinct, honed in the seven years under Gerald, kicked in. She did not say that was on her mind, namely asking her father whether she should wear clothes to dinner.

'Yes, Father.'

 

[Wien1938]

There will be big revisions in this story soon.

 

[Wien1938]

Chapter 2

Unnatural Mistress



As the last of the plates were taken away, Cynthia's father asked in that deep croak of his, whether she had enjoyed her meal.

Shuddering at being in his unclean presence, Cynthia replied 'Yes, Father. It was most excellent.'

There was a long silence at the table. Finally, her father said to her 'Good.'

'May I - may I retire to my room, Father?' she asked and nervously looked in his direction.

'I don't see why. You're spending tonight with me. Go to my room, undress and await my pleasure.'

The room span. He was really going to do it. 'You're going to rape me, Father?'

'Only if you make a fuss. And I warned you about making a fuss, did I not?'

Slowly, Cynthia accepted her fate at least as far as which room she was condemned to occupy tonight. 'You did, Father. I will…wait for you in your bed, Father.'

A knowing smile was sliding across her father’s broad face.

'Our bed, Cynthia.'

She nodded.

'Our bed, Father' and rose to go.



The room was large and well furnished. Cynthia knew it would not be anything less, her father being rich and well supplied. With faltering steps, she walked through the portal and closed the door with a click behind her. Unbidden tears rolled down her face.

Condemned. Condemned to be her father's whore.

Suddenly a thought more horrible than any yet struck Cynthia. There had been no children with Gerald but what if the problem were on Gerald's side.

She clutched at her lower belly shaking with terror. Suddenly she needed to be sick and ran for the door in the corner, making it just in time to retch up the excellent supper prepared by Laetati, her father's Italian cook.



The gramophone rolled to a halt and the last notes of Mahler died away. Charles Abercrombie, anticipating a night of pleasure with one of his daughters, tossed back the last of the whisky and soda from his glass and rose as a great bulky tower from the armchair. From there, he made his way into the hall and up the great staircase to the first floor, turned to the right and reached the third door.

This being his room Charles did not bother to knock. Being used to having everything his own way since he had inherited the title, land and the various money making enterprises run by other fellas, he strolled inside.

'You there, Cyn?' he croaked, a little unsteady from the whisky and soda.

A small voice from the bed.

'I'm here, Father.'

'Good' Charles said in a long slow sonorous way of talking. 'I'm a bit pissed. Help me get undressed.'

Cynthia slipped out from under the eiderdown, ran around the bed and standing naked before her father in the half-light helped him remove his garments while his hands explored her body.

'I will get back in now, Father. It is rather cold!'

She would have moved but her father had seized one of her wrists.

'Suck it first.'

Then having elevated her father into the action-ready status, Cynthia slowly made her way back around and got into bed. There her father got under the covers and rolled on top of his daughter.

Wordlessly, he spread her legs and pushed back her thighs. Cynthia suddenly realised how much her father had been using women, pushing her thighs back to give him as simple an angle of entrance to her body as could be desired without bothering with her needs…

Cynthia gave a grunt as her Father's head entered her where it seemed to stick.

'I'm not very wet, Father' she said. To which her father replied that was her problem and gave a second push.

This travelled a little further into her vagina and with a third, fourth, fifth push the head was touching her womb. Cynthia had at this point thrown back her head against the pillows, her mouth open in a rictus of pain, gasping with each push, pinned beneath her father's weight, disgusted at his girth and the fact of…this.

Charles settled on his daughter, pushing his arms beneath hers and linking his fingers in the back of her plaited blonde hair. In this position, Charles rocked back and forth on Cynthia, his prick ploughing her furrow.

Beneath her father, Cynthia's gasps started to be filled with a loathsome pleasure. She was horrified that her body could even respond in such a way to such a…such an unnatural act.

'Will you cum inside me, Father?' she asked, then instantly regretted asking. Would he misunderstand and treat this as an invitation? Cynthia had meant it as an opening to negotiate a coitus interruptus. Which way would he…

There was no answer. Charles rocked back and forth, feeling Cynthia's cunt grow wet and pliable, so he introduced more length into his daughter, speeding up to maintain the pace. He was utterly uninterested in a woman's pleasure in the act. A woman was a hole or a set of three holes to be used at will.

Charles had treated their mother like that; raped the serving girls in the same manner; forced the wives of his tenants to pleasure him and had raped their young daughters in front of them in exchange for not throwing their families off of their land where they would have to face starvation or worse. Now he was using his divorced daughter as a mistress, one who would not complain, refuse or mess about with the staff because Cynthia, he knew, knew how to behave.

'Daddy! Daddy, don't!' Cynthia pleaded in his ear. Her father was speeding up and Cynthia was experienced enough to know he would soon finish inside her. 'Father! Don't!' she screamed but then it was too late.

The massive member stretching her cunt to its limits seemed to swell and vibrate. Then it was there. The hot seminal fluid, burning its pleasure against her womb. The two of them, father and daughter lay in that position for a time. Cynthia was utterly defeated. She had sucked and swallowed her father and now…was she to bear him incestuously conceived children?

Charles breathed on Cynthia's neck. He was immensely satisfied. His daughter's last minute panic had only added to the pleasure.

'You are as tight as that little slut I had at the back of the Dog and Horses last year, Cyn' and Charles breathed out a long happy sigh. 'And now, I suppose you're thinking in that thick head of yours about babies…'

Shaking but trying to hold it back, Cynthia replied flatly that 'Yes. I did not have children with Gerald… Ooh!' she cried out in shock as her father's girth both lifted off of her body and out of it. 'Suck it, Cyn. I like a clean cock for the morning' Charles told his daughter, already feeling the warmth of sleep approaching.

As Cynthia leaned over in his - their - bed and took his shrinking member in her mouth, Charles, one hand on his daughter's exposed bum, one finger already exploring that as yet unfucked hole, said to Cynthia,

'There's a new American device. They call it a…something or other. Chap at the club was telling me about it. Uses it to fuck his secretary without… you know. Top secret stuff of course. Anyway,' he continued 'it seems it stops fillies getting…that way. As close to natural as natural, apparently. I'll get you fitted with it tomorrow.'

Charles thought for a while. He was hard in her mouth. It was a good feeling, then he finished by telling Cynthia, 'If you are preggers, then you'll have to keep it. We'll tell everyone you were having an affair with some blighter and that's why Gerald kicked you out.'

He clapped a hand over Cynthia's head and made her continue. He was going to cum in her mouth soon and wanted to get this last blow in before his years caught up with him and sent him into a deep, satisfied sleep.

'Tempting as it would be, Cyn, to knock you up, I can't stand pregnant bitches. Ugly, whining things - AHHH! That's better' as a last trickle of semen entered his daughter's mouth and finally Charles Abercrombie slept a most satisfied sleep, his daughter held to his enormous in one powerful arm and having to pretend she liked it…

 

[Wien1938]

Chapter 3

Sex and Scotsmen



The next day, Cynthia breakfasted with her father in bed, joined him the shower where he pushed two fingers into her rectum, applied body wash and pushing her down onto her knees, forceably entered Cynthia's rectum and raped her until Cynthia had almost passed out and he, Charles, had filled her rectum with semenial fluid.

'Clean it and suck it' came the order… Bruised and sore, Cynthia opened her lips around it, her long blonde hair flaccid over her shoulders…



The doctor arrived in the afternoon and turned out to be a small grey chap with a small clipped grey beard. Cynthia thought he must have been seventy five if he was a day.

Given a private audience, he waited as the patient undressed from the waist down, while the patient's father waited in an arm chair and watched proceedings with the aid and comfort of a whisky and soda.

'Part yur leegs, plis' the doctor asked Cynthia, his Scots accent pronounced but intelligible, Snapping on a surgeon's glove, the doctor applied lubricant to two fingers, then proceeded to shove these roughly into Cynthia who winched and swore silently.

'Good fene conny hare,' the doctor informed the room to which her father remarked that it was indeed, 'A fine tight hole.'

You're not the one with two fingers up inside you, rummaging about, thought Cynthia, then gave a yelp as something pierced her cervix.

'Och, sorree' said the doctor. 'I should haive geven ye a warrning furst' and Cynthia felt SOMETHING enter her womb.

'AAH!' she screamed, 'OH FUCK THAT HURT!' She glared at the old doctor who was quite unphased. 'WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?' she yelled at the doctor.

The doctor went to stroke his beard but thought better off it. Best not to get the lube in your beard. Took ages to wash out. He pulled the probe out and patted Cynthia on her now very sore womb.

'All doon, lassie' and proceeded to explained. Cynthia attempted to listen through a haze of pain and humiliation. It seemed that this new American device was a micro-implant or something. It cleaned the flow of liquid coming into the uterus, thus destroying any sperm that happened to penetrate a girl's defences.

'So, Cynthia asked through a daze, 'I cannot have a child?'

The doctor was stood now, packing his bag but this did not stop him from talking to his patient in his offhand way.

'Oh aye, you ken. The devize can bay turned oof you see when your maen wants you to have a bairn.'

Cynthia absorbed this, then shot a worried glance at her father who seemed to be paying no attention at all to the conversation. Not that that was an indicator of ignorance. The old bastard had an ear for things laid carelessly in his presence…

'So… who has control now?'

The doctor, his bag in hand, pointed across the room. 'Your pa. He is yer leg-al owyner. Good dae, Mees' and departed. Then as her father got to his feet already unbuttoning his trousers, the doctor poked his small grey head back into the room.

'One more, theng. The emplant'll naed phew daes to seatle doon. I wouldn't nee recommend any seeks unteel a week or soo.' Then in answer to Abercrombie's question, the doctor replied 'Boogerie is fine but nay too roth.'

With that he was gone. Cynthia looked at her father, the horror of the situation sinking in.

'Well?' she asked.

Her father shrugged. 'You get it easy for a week. Get the lube and bend over.'



Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.

Cynthia bucked slowly against the table, gripping the edges with both hands as her father's member stretched her 'spare hole'. Sometime later he was outside and hot liquid was sprayed across her bared buttocks.

'Rub it in Cyn. Can't have the rug getting dirty' Charles told his daughter whose sphincter stared at him with an open 'mouth'. He watched Cynthia wiped the semen across her skin until it formed a glossy, sticky layer across her smooth bum cheeks.

Cynthia found her panties and other lower garments and staggered after her father…



***

One Week Later



'Ow!'

A week had passed and they were in the Rose Room on the bare linoleum floor. Cynthia had removed her clothes and let her father enter her. He was still too big…



She sucked on the softening member, slurping up the last remnants of his semen and her juice as her reddened twat leaked onto the linoleum.

'Make sure you lick that up, Cyn. Don't leave a mess, that's a good girl.'

 

[Wien1938]

Chapter 4

Family Traditions



Six months passed. In October, her sisters Molly and Penelope visited with their large broods, greeting their father with dutiful kisses and summoning their sprogs one by one to make their courtesies to the family patriarch.

Molly, a tall beanpole who had with her father’s dark eyes and cool demeanour, had greeted her little sister with a kiss and a pat on the cheek.

‘Children, Cyn’ she said with a weary sigh. ‘Why do we women like the little brutes? Georgia! Do not do that!’ Molly shouted, and snatching the dolly contested with Georgia’s little sister Emily, told them both off for unladylike behaviour and warned them to behave.

Then it was the turn of Cynthia’s other older sister, younger than Penelope by three years, to greet Cynthia, again with a kiss and a pat on her cheek. When she was young, Penelope had sported long golden curls and had been pursued by half the fashionable young men in London before settling on her William, a tall dour man from one of the Manchester manufacturing families, though his education had long since erased any hint of locality to the man.

The two sisters were much the same height and apart from Penelope’s slow battle against the onset of grey hairs, the main difference could be seen in Penelope’s wider frame, a result of presenting her husband with five healthy children and a large appetite to boot. Even the white race-course jacket strained at Penelope’s ample bosom and caused Cyn to smile, thinking of how William must be satisfied with those every night.

‘Auntie Cyn!’

Accompanying her mother, Janet greeted her auntie with warmth, embracing Cyn and kissing her on both cheeks, then oddly, Janet fixed her blue eyes on those of her aunt and bit her lower lip between two of her white teeth.

Unable to think of what this could mean – some girlish attempt at communicating secrets perhaps – Cynthia, hands on Janet’s shoulders, stepped back, saying ‘Let me take a look at you… My, Janet, you’re quite the young woman now! Your mother must already have someone lined up for you.’

Looking very mature in a matching tweed jacket and skirt, worn over a pink satin blouse, Janet did not even blush, only giving a mysterious wink and tripping off after her younger brother Charles (named after the grandfather) where they headed into the now – very noisy billiards room.

‘Auntie Cyn, Auntie Cyn!’

A gaggle of children poured out of the billiards room, Cynthia recognising a mix belonging to both of her sisters.

‘Come and play with us, Auntie Cyn!’ they cried eagerly. Cyn burst into a big smile and holding her hands, led them out onto the lawn and the many games the children loved to play.



By late afternoon, the small children were sleep on the twin sofas in the morning room, or still stuffing their faces with freshly baked cakes brought up from the kitchens with compliments of the cook and her girls, or playing board games with their fathers and their Auntie Cyn, who rose from the latest round of dominoes saying that she must dash to the loo but she will ‘be back soon, my sweeties!’

Having dashed upstairs and seen to her personal needs, Cynthia was descending the stairs when her ears caught a girlish giggle coming from the Rose Room and her father’s dark sonorous voice talking to the other person, though Cynthia could not make out what was being said. Puzzled as to who was with her father in a room normally reserved for his ‘personal pleasures’, Cynthia slipped the long red velvet sleeve back down to her wrists as the air had grown a little chilly, she thought, and compelled by a second bout of girlish giggling, this time strangely muffled, Cynthia pushed at the door to the Rose Room where she could see her father’s head above the backrest of his favourite armchair, the one that looked out onto the roses and where she had…with him…

A chaise longue sat at right-angles to her father’s chair and Cynthia noted a discarded matching tweed jacket and skirt, a pair of sensible ladies shoes at the foot (pink socks stuffed inside) and a pink satin blouse that lay on the floor with a matching pair of pure white brassiere and panties…

Her father was muttering, indeed commentating to someone. Cynthia caught someone of his talk and made out ‘All the way that far…You’re learning well, my dear…ooh that is good…she sucks like that…you’ll be as good as her one day soon…you always were keen to learn, weren’t you…hurry up now…nearly there…’

This was disturbing to Cyn for a number of reasons. She could not yet see who was sucking her father at that precise moment. Yet he was talking to that person, praising her skills and… Daddy never talks to me except at the end… Cynthia was unnerved to find that she was jealous and did not like that she felt such a feeling towards the cold monster…

At the click of a heel on the polished floor past the door to the room, her father’s head twitched and he croaked out a challenge.

‘Whose there?’

Swallowing her nerves, Cynthia called out gently, ‘It’s me, Father. Cynthia…’

Her father seemed to consider this for a good time. Cynthia could hear hear him grunting in that rhythm of his she knew so well.

‘Come here, Cyn. Time I let you in on a secret,’ then as Cynthia walked around the chair, her father said ‘Be a good girl and lean back. Mouth open, my dear.’

The world reeled before her eyes. Her father unfolded his massive frame. One big hand held a bunch of golden curls as a pink face looked up, tongue lapping like some dog and Cynthia watched in utter horror as her father shot a rope, then a second, into Janet’s open mouth – Janet! Whose seventeenth birthday has barely passed – before adjusting to coat Janet’s face in long sticky white trails that soon ran down her lips and cheeks, dripped from her chin onto her large pointed breasts and down across a tight athletic stomach to Janet’s smooth, hairless mound…

Shaking, Cynthia could barely stand and only stammer quiet as she spoke, the shock almost stopping the heart in her chest…

‘F-f-Father?’

‘Stay there, just like that. Good girl’ her father said to his granddaughter, still leaning back and dripping onto the linoleum floor before turning to his own daughter and, first dropping a massive paw on one of Cynthia’s shoulders, pressed her effortlessly down to sit on the edge of the chaise longue.

His length was pressing against Cynthia’s cheek.

‘Clean it, Cyn…’ commanded her father and shaking though she was, Cynthia did as she was told and took the whole length in her mouth, strangely thinking to herself that ‘I’ll show him who’s better at this’ and wondering why she was jealous.

A low squeal came from behind her father.

‘Auntie Cyn!’

The speaker sounded thrilled. You little bitch, thought Cyn as her father stiffened to his full extent against her tonsils. Is this just a game to you? Then her father was out, standing there between his daughter and granddaughter, working his length, slick with the saliva of two females.

Janet and Cyn looked at one another. Janet looking intensely pleased with herself. Cyn flushed and angry, though she tried not to show her feelings.

‘'Lick her clean, Cyn. Don't leave a mess.' came the instruction and once more the fear of her father overcame her shame. As Cynthia tenderly held Janet’s young face with the tips of her fingers, running her tongue over the long wet trails and slowly worked her way down her niece’s chin, then bare skin of her chest, sucking a little on Janet’s right nipple where a long stream had gathered a while and left behind white globules of semen that Cynthia swallowed without thinking, then down down until Janet leaned back and presented her shaven slit to her aunt. Semen had worked its way between Janet’s labial folds and Cynthia carefully used her slender fingers to scoop out the cum, sucking it down before licking the teenager’s thighs and finally lifting her legs to suck up the last of trail from her niece’s sphincter.

‘Some left on the floor, Cyn…’

She sighed and leaned down on all fours, running her tongue over the linoleum until no more than clear streaks remained and sat up to a pat on the head. Janet had sat up now, her curls bouncing as she jiggled her shoulders and made her breasts sway. Looking up at her grandfather, she showed some of his sperm still on her tongue, then conspicuously pressed her lips together and gulped down the last.

‘Good girl’ croaked her grandfather, then to his daughter, he commanded Cynthia to strip.



Seated on the edge of the chaise longue, Janet masturbated furiously as her grandfather raped Auntie Cyn right there on the floor, thrusting three fingers of her right hand inside herself and pulling with her left at her nipples each in turn, before reaching under her butt and pushing two fingers inside her sphincter to finger-fuck her own arse.

‘Fuck her, Grandpa!’ called Janet, then ‘Move your head! I can’t see Auntie Cyn!’

Cyn now able to see her perverted niece, gave Janet a black look and clutched with her fine hands at her father’s arse cheeks, pulling at his trousers to encourage her father to finish faster inside her.

To Janet she mouthed You little bitch… and Janet standing, fingering both her ‘fun holes’ as she privately called them, legs quivering came long before her Grandpa finished inseminating her Auntie Cyn.



‘There! All clean, Grandpa!’ said Janet, her face split by a wicked grin. ‘Auntie Cyn tastes great!’ she teased her grandfather.

Cyn lay on one side, panting with the pain of rape and of shame. She heard her father say something to Janet before leaving. Janet then scooted over to Cynthia and with both hands on one knee rolled Cynthia over onto her back and crouched down on all fours between Cynthia’s legs.

‘Grandpa says I can clean you up! He told me about you and him last year’ she teased, not intending to mock at all. Janet liked her grandfather. He had always spoiled his oldest niece in exchange for...favours.

Cynthia shuddered at the first stoke of her niece’s tongue but held her peace, in the privacy of her own mind, calling Janet a perverted little minx. She arched her back as Janet sucked at her entrance...

‘Mmmmm… Yummy’ Janet commented, rolling the mix tastes on her tongue, ‘Here! Taste’ and climbed over her auntie and kissed Cynthia full on her mouth so that she could share the salty taste of her father and her own sweeter juices, Janet massaging her aunt’s right breast as they kissed. ‘Nice, isn’t it?’ Janet said and mused, looking out of the window.

‘What did Father tell you about...about us?’ Cynthia asked her niece who kissed her once again, Cyn having to take part in the tongue wrestling contest until Janet broke off to think.

‘Grandpa said: “I’m fucking your favourite Auntie” and I said “What? Who? Auntie Cyn!” and Grandpa said he was and that your cunt was the tightest he’d fucked...for your age of course.’

Appalled at the casual nature of the confession, unhurried, easy going, as if having sex with your relatives was as entirely natural as say going for a swim, Cyn asked ‘Has my Father had sex with you too?

Janet pecked her aunt on the lips. ‘No! Oh don’t worry, Auntie Cyn! I’m still a virgin…’ then Janet smiled and giggled at her Auntie Cyn, ‘But I’ve been sucking him off for years now!’ and as if that revelation were not shocking enough, Janet brushed back a lock of hair, said ‘Oh you’ve got a bit on your face, here, let me get that’ licking up a drying line of semen off of Cyn, said ‘You know, Auntie Cyn. Grandpa tastes best when he’s had a whisky and soda, don’t you think?’

Cynthia listened as the teenager told her more. Stunned, she remembered swallowing her father’s loads when he was drunk and thought to herself ‘My God… he does taste of whisky and soda after...oh fuck...’

‘Grandpa wants to take me – my virginity – but I said “No” and he said “What a pity” then asked what I wanted in exchange, so I said him he could have my ‘other’ virginity if he bought me a sports car and he said “I’ll think about it” and I said to him “When I’ve done with someone for the first time” then I’ll have sex with Grandpa all he wants.’

Janet stared excitedly at her aunt, eyes wide with future delights, ‘He’s so big! The other old men that I’ve ‘done favours’ for were flabby and I had to work hard to get them to even to cum in my mouth, so I’m not going to let them take either of my v. plates!’ she laughed. It was a clear happy laugh, then another question came into Janet’s happy mind.

‘Does he take you up the bum?’ she asked Cyn, who nodded and said, yes, that it hurt but that she, Cyn, sometimes liked it.

‘Have you done it with a girl?’ Janet asked, winking. When her aunt shook her head, Janet said, ‘I’ve not. There are some really pretty girls at my school and one of them is a dyke and I know she’s done with the year prefect who isn’t a dyke but wanted to try…

Eventually the stream of talk and confessions dried up and Janet went back down to ‘cleaning up, down there’. Her efforts were mostly successful and as Cyn watched Janet put her clothes back on and trip of the room, humming an air, she found herself baffled…

As she pulled her shoes back on, Cynthia mulled over something Janet had said in that interminable stream of babble and confidences…

How many years have you been pleasuring my Father, Janet!?

 

[Wien1938]

There was a faint knock at the door to the morning room and Cynthia called out for the other to enter, saw Stebbing emerged, closing the door carefully behind him to keep the December draft out and slowly proceeded over to the fireplace, where Cynthia, clad in a thick woollen dress and a light blue cardigan, sat reading a detective novel, the wood fire glowing orange, red and yellow and heating this part of the room so that its occupant would be quite toasty.

Ever since Miss Cynthia had returned and although it was common knowledge that she had become their master’s mistress, the staff had grown to like Miss Cynthia who had shown herself to be kind, understanding and always courteous and never minding the affairs of the staff. Nevertheless, the part of Stebbings that was a man also admired Miss Cynthia for her beauty and elegance and was not above imagining Miss Cynthia sneaking into the downstairs room below the staircase, where Stebbings had his room, for a taste of a man ten years younger than the master.

For a few seconds, in the corners of his imagination, Stebbings removed Miss Cynthia's garments and imagined the shape of her breasts, her fine waist dancing above his as they made love on his bed beneath the stairs before sneaking off to the master, another man’s seed dripping from her snatch…

‘Yes, Stebbings? What is it?’ Cynthia politely asked, observing the butler’s distraction.

‘Oh. My apologies, Miss, I was momentarily not at my wits. There is post, Miss. Here.’ said Stebbings, handing over a large ribbon bound bunch of envelopes.

‘Thank you, Stebbings, and would you be so kind as to have the kitchen make me a little tea. It is a little chilly today.’

Bowing, Stebbings made his exit and proceeded down to the kitchen where he found the cook, Rosa, and her maids amongst whom his niece Harriet was on staff and whose bum Stebbings pinched as he passed by.



Meanwhile, Cynthia sliced through the envelopes one by one, reading each in turn. Her old school chums were doing well and she was pleased to see reports of marriages bearing fruit and only a few difficult patches having to be crossed.

Jenny was still courting her man, Mel was still a small name in the art world but was sure she would make it in the coming year, Henrietta had married abroad and was complaining about the Arab tendency towards buggery over regular husband and wife stuff, Gilly and Phil were settled down together in Wales and their latest arrival had had the measles already but was expected to recover quite promptly.

Beatrice was complaining that Ian had cum in her eye while they were at a party (Ian had a prodigious appetite and Beatrice always complained that she was expected to satisfy Ian but made such a fuss when he used the servant girls) and how was one to show one’s face to one’s hostess while blinking because your blasted husband couldn’t wait to stick his blasted end between one’s lips in good time, I ask you, Cynth!

By contrast, Maria was complaining of not getting enough from Edward who had now been appointed to a better living in Lincolnshire and Cyn could not, Maria insisted, imagine a more wretched place than rural Lincolnshire and if – if – Eddie could not see his way to servicing his wife – his wife, for all love – then should not a wife seek a little fun elsewhere? From this and the mention of a black eye, Cynthia guessed that Maria had been getting some fun elsewhere and Edward had found out and – oh, there was a postscript – to the effect that Maria supposed violent, painful buggery would have to do for now, to which Cynthia shook her head and wondered at a clergyman practising sodomy – wasn’t that a sin?

Oh, there was one from Mahsa, who had recently become a widow after her husband, a Persian gentlemen considerably older than herself had passed away, it seems after eating a good deal too much and now her family were looking to pass her onto a distant uncle, but Mahsa was sure she could persuade her family to quietly decline the match since Siamak was known to beat his wives and was rumoured to like little girls and she could not think that her dear Papa would let a distant uncle, not matter how well-connected at Court, want to do such things to his dear little granddaughters Minoo and Raza, such sweet things, oh Cyn you should see them at their lessons, such good girls, oh and dear cousin Shirin is to be married – a scandal! – only fourteen and with child! Oh Cyn, such a wicked man to seduce such a young girl but the marriage is agreed and Shirin is content even though wicked Massoud is almost four times her age! Do you remember you little friend Halima – three years below us, shy with big brown eyes – well it turns out that her father and her brothers had all been abusing her for years, yes, anyway, there’s been a big meeting within their tribe and the elders have agreed to marry her out and a merchant in Tyre has agreed to buy her as it turns out this fellow wants a third wife as he’s managed to get a lot of small ones on his second and he’s a bit overrun. I’m sure he’ll not mind giving Halima a baby or two. Anyway, must dash, Raza has fallen over in the garden and wants me! Bye!

My goodness! What has been happening since we all left school?

There as a letter from Dora telling Big Sis about this divine man she’d met at a dance and so tall and...well...and he knows what to do, Cyn – not that I’m not virgo intacto but it’s big and it fits very well wink wink. You’ll like him! I’ll try and wangle an invitation from Daddy. Oh heard you’re pleasuring Daddy now – makes a change from one of having to do it! Not me, of course! Ta Ta! Lots of love, Dora.

Cynthia had to read the letter twice, even though it was really more of a short note. ‘So, Dora knows about Janet as well’, then Cynthia furrowed her brow and swore. ‘Honestly, Janet! Who else have you told about my situation!?’

Slapping the letter down on the pile of ‘reads’, Cynthia saw the next was from Molly. The usual: greetings little sis, Darling says hello too, Henry (her eldest) has passed his exams and has a shot at Oxford, if the little blighter does some work in Sixth Form, my God haven’t school fees gone up these days, had to tell Susan off (her second) for flirting with the boys in the village, my God standards are slipping! Darling told them off roundly. I would have done worse, putting such ideas into a young gel’s head, oh no fear of anything scandalous merely heading off unsuitable attachments.

The rest of the letter went on about the others, school plays, bumps and bruisers, everyone trying work out who got Julia (their nanny) pregnant. Darling wants to keep her on staff and give her a cottage. Tried to persuade Darling not to indulge such a scandal but as you know Darling is soft-hearted on the oddest of occasions. Have to go. There is a fearful row breaking out amongst the staff. Toodleloo!

To this one Cynthia blinked. Was her big sister being obtuse? Cynthia did not know the nanny but ‘Darling’ being so generous meant one thing and...well, I’m not much better.

Penelope had written. Complaints of bits dropping with age and oh not that I’m complaining, William still does his duty by me each night. Such a good husband. Not even a hit of a tart and the staff are behaving, though I am very strongly inclined to think that someone is ‘boffing’ the scullary maid, do you remember Gemma? Took her on staff just out of school because her father had died and the family were hard up. She’s nearly your age. Anyway, William nearly caught someone coming out of her room two weeks ago and she’s been humming and blushing to herself. I did ask myself if our mysterious party was our Charles, you know he’s fifteen now, so he might well be tempted but he has assured William that...well, I will keep an eye out on that boy. William won’t have him putting it about as dear Hubby calls it. Write soon! Oh, sterling work with Daddy – keep him happy in his old age! Marriage doesn’t suit everyone, Cyn!

Cynthia read the last line again. Pursuing her lips together, Cynthia curled up her anger on her tongue and uttered a single word to describe her sister.

‘Bitch.’ Just wait to you find out Father is ‘boffing’ Janet – when that happens…

Oh, there was a spare letter lurking at the end. No name, heavy but doesn’t feel like paper…

Her eyes almost popped out of her head. Inside were a series of photographs on stiff paper of her niece Janet and in all of these she was quite naked and either having fun or enjoying the aftermath. There was one of Janet sitting beneath a flaccid penis, her face drenched in the man’s seed. There was another of Janet, full length nude this time, crouching on her legs to show her sphincter gaping and… ‘Oh my God, she’s started doing that with men… What will her mother think?’ Cynthia shook her head, disapproving at the sight of her seventeen-year-old niece happy pointing to the cum dripping from her freshly fucked arsehole.

Unable to stop, Cynthia turned to the next one: Janet with a cock in her mouth looking ecstatic, then a rear view of Janet, her bum again freshly fucked and a sun-spray of semen across her bare (well, she naked in all them so far) buttocks. Cynthia crossed her legs in irritation but went onto the next one, this time of Janet from underneath, obviously being fucked very hard as her bare cunt was clamshell shut below where a scrotum was pressed tight against her precious hole, the man obviously balls-deep in Janet’s rectum. What next, Cynthia wondered, crossing her legs again and feeling a peculiar sensation around her own buttocks, and it was Janet again, laying full stretch, again her anus freshly fucked and her cunt and thighs and stomach quite covered in semen, Janet looking up at the camera over those big tits of hers, quite delighted.

‘Well at least she’s enjoying herself and not getting pregnant’ Cynthia sighed. The last few were pictures of Janet, with her mouth open full of semen, looking satisfied and licking her lips ‘She must have just swallowed’ Cynthia commented acidly, another of Cynthia mid-facial and looking ridiculous with her eyes screwed shut, a pair of breasts Cynthia definitely recognised streaked with… and finally ‘Thank God’ Janet smooching at the camera in the aftermath of one or another of the facials she had received that evening – deducing that it was evening because the room where Janet had been having such fun was only partially lit by electric light and looked to be someone’s living room.

‘Must be one of your lovers, Janet… or five of them at once… I wouldn’t put it past you…’

She stared at the fire considering whether to throw the disgusting photographs on the fire and decided against it. Janet would be offended in her queer way and…well...he might like to see them, if only to humiliate me, thought Cyn.

‘I know my place’ she muttered as Stebbings returned, looking a little flushed, possibly Cynthia thought because he’s been at the port. At least it’s not Father in those photos… He likes to finish in me. So it can’t be him with Janet…



Christmas Day arrived. Cynthia feeling a little naughty and woke her father with a blowjob and then rode him in their bed while singing Christmas carols that she knew her father hated but that being impaled on his daughter, he could not object and it was a satisfied Cynthia who slid off of her father into the shower.

Reaching the ground floor via the staircase, Cynthia caught a noise she knew very well, the sound of a woman suffering a quiet rape at the hands of a man she could not refused and after an indecisive minute, decided it as a Christmas thrill to investigate. Turning at the bottom of the stairs, the noises led to a room directly below the stairs and with a half-smile, Cynthia realised the noises were coming from Stebbings’ room. The door was shut but Cynthia dared herself to try. Taking a firm grip on the door knob, Cynthia turned the knob as slowly as she could and, blessing her luck, Cynthia understood that Stebbings kept the locks oiled as the catch gave the merest click and the door opened on silent hinges.

Her eyes opened with the excitement of one new to voyeurism.

The room was a boxy rectangle in shape, at one end the ceiling formed by the stairway, on the other light by a large four-paned window. To the right of the door was a desk with a chair and bookshelves; on the desk was a cut-crystal glass and a half-empty decanter of a clear liquid. Cynthia suspected gin. She did not look to the right, where the stairs descended, because on the right side of the room beneath the window was Stebbings bed on which he was holding down a young girl about eighteen or nineteen with straw blond hair. Her legs were parted either side of his and both were quite naked, Stebbings with one hand pressed tight over the girl’s mouth, the other over her forehead to keep his pleasure where she was supposed to be as he pounded at her hips with his portly girl for all he was worth, the bed bucking and shaking under the impact, the girl, her small breasts sporting red teeth marks, had her eyes closed as she gasped and cried beneath the senior servant of the hall.

Cynthia watched amazed at this other side to the normally stolid and steady Stebbings and bit her lip as Stebbings rammed the girl even harder and then groaned a happy exhausted sigh.

‘Haaah!’ Stebbings groaned, a hoarse happy groan, then added, ‘That’s better, Elsie’ he said, addressing his victim, and pulled out with a yank. ‘Better to have a man of experience and years to be your first man’ and got off the bed, still looking towards the window as Elsie shaking from the experience somewhat sat up in the bed, her eyes wide with shock as she saw Cynthia standing in the half-opened doorway but nodded silently to Cynthia's finger to her lips..

‘Run along, now Elsie and help your mother out in the kitchen. That’s your job. Just because it’s Christmas doesn’t mean we can have Licence!’ he humphed, pretentiously as Else gathered up her underwear and hurriedly pulled on her uniform.

Cynthia had already gone but was thinking to herself that she had seen a different side of the staff this morning.



Opening the study door, Cynthia stepped inside, shut it and turned to her father who was for one not sitting in his arm chair but standing by the gramophone.

‘You sent for me, Father’ she asked.

Her father actually smiled! He trundled over to Cynthia and kissed her on the mouth.

You’re in a good mood…

‘Yes. Let’s dance, Cyn. It’s been a long time and today I am in a festive mood!’

Putting on a record, Cynthia was astonished to hear a Charleston playing, so when her father offered his arm to her, Cynthia took it and they set off around the room. Next was a foxtrot, then another piece, and another until eventually, as Ivor Novello crooned, they danced in each others arms, father and daughter-cum-mistress, his hand on her bum but more often around her waist and and in that moment, Cynthia felt she could almost like her father and let him kiss her.

They turned, Cynthia twirled and back into her father’s arms, laughing gaily and feeling that if this was a new day with her father, she might even grow to love the old monster.

All very well until the last record slowed to a halt and the needle rose.

‘Skirts up, Cyn, then lay down’ he growled, already unbuttoning his trousers.

Great. Cyn did as she was told but took off her panties to make it simpler for her father to rape her and then lay down and lifted her legs for him.

'Ow'…

ow. ow. ow. ow. ow.

ah. ah. ah. ah. ah.

oh fuck.

i love it when he cums in me.

shit did i just think that?

 

[Wien1938]

Chapter 6

Exercising His Authority


It was New Years Day the next year and, as was traditional, the owner of the land and people took himself (and his daughter-cum-mistress) out with him on an inspection of the local tenant farmers and businesses. All were brief with the merest gropings of the women of the families until Charles Abercrombie knocked on the door of Morrison’s Agricultural Supplies Emporium. The Morrisons were a happy family but not on that New Years Day.

Mrs Morrison, a good looking woman a few years older than Cynthia, had greeted their lord at the door, saying to him, ‘Mr Abercrombie! How delightful you should visit us this day!’ and the lie was written plain for all to see in Mrs Morrison’s paling face and look of terror. When she was much younger and courting Frederick, the younger Charles Abercrombie had visited her father’s farm. June remembered stripping in front of her parents, sucking on her lord’s penis and then turning round on all fours to lose her virginity, silent tears running down her blushing face as she was used without affection or mercy. As Mr Abercrombie settled himself to trying some of the good foods laid out on the table, June could still feel the semen running down her face and splashing on her thighs after this man had finished all over her.

Now he was strolling over to where she stood by the door, munching a leg of chicken and pawing disinterestedly at her small breasts, while Frederick sat paralysed in his chair by the fire. At a low command, June unbuttoned the top of her dress and let Mr Abercrombie’s massive hand rummage around in her, trying to control the fear that quaked in her breast. A young woman had accompanied the great terror into her parlour and as the hand reached under the band of June’s skirt, brushing her pubic hair before cupping what belonged to her husband, she noticed the look of understanding on the young lady.

As Mr Abercrombie tossed the chewed bone across the room, not caring where it went, his finger played with June’s clit and she knew she would soon be raped for the monster was now in his other hand and it came back to her with vivid memory the length and girth, the pain and worse as the young lady with the blonde hair tucked beneath a fashionable woollen hat tried not to watch.

Then ‘That your girl?’ came the deep croak and June opened her eyes to see her eldest daughter, her eyes wide with terror, backed into a corner.

‘Answer me!’ barked the terror.

‘Yes! Yes! Mr Abercrombie, this is my daughter – Elizabeth – she is fifteen and…’

He cut her off. ‘Old enough. Come here, filly’ said Mr Abercrombie addressing the raven-haired girl whose ice-blue eyes were wide with fright.

Knowing the lord’s temper, June snapped at Elizabeth, calling her by her familiar nickname, ‘Eliza! Come here now! Do as you are bid, child!’ and slowly Eliza approached on faltering steps until in front of the huge monster, she sank to her knees at the command of a tap on the shoulder. From the stairway, her younger brothers were watching with fascination and June would have told them to go upstairs this instant but that she knew the monster liked people to watch…

‘Suck on it’ came the command. There was a moment’s hesitation, then Eliza’s brothers gasped as their big sister took half the length in her mouth and slowly, clumsily, for this was Eliza’s first time seeing a true adult male member, wrapped her lips around Mr Abercrombie’s shaft and sucked.

‘Enjoying the show, boys?’ he croaked to Eliza’s brothers and gave a low croaking chuckle as the girl, eyes wet with unshed tears, worked the big member in her mouth. The boys for their part were watching keenly, their eyes darting on occasion from their sister to their parents, torn between sudden lust and family feeling.

Suddenly the monster addressed Mr Morrison. ‘Frederick! You’re not joining in the fun!’ and he watched Mr Morrison reddened with barely controlled rage. From behind Mr Abercrombie, June silently begged her husband not to lose his temper. They would be ruined beyond all hope and her Fred knew this.

‘Yes, sir?’ Fred asked and was told to get his out and come and have it sucked. Slowly the horror sunk in and mastering his emotions politely told his landlord that ‘I would, sir, but it is illegal to commit…incest.’

‘Who happens to be the JP?’

Fred bowed his head respectfully. ‘Why you are the JP, my lord but’

‘But nothing. And if you do not show some more deference, I shall order you to rape the little filly in front of everyone here’ and slowly Frederick Morrison unbuttoned his trousers and presented a small thick rope to his daughter, who understanding what fate lay before them took her father’s in her mouth and started to work it.

Eliza’s father stood rigid and dignified as his penis swiftly stiffened in his daughter’s mouth, hearing the monster tell Eliza to keep every drop in her mouth when her father came, then sooner than he could ever have wished, Frederick Morrison shuddered and rope after rope of seed flooed into his own girl’s mouth, Eliza held in place by a big hand not his own.

‘There, sir. It is done.’ said Fred to the big man, Eliza slipping back and closing her lips as her father’s softening length passed her lips.

‘Show your father, girl’ and Eliza opened her mouth. A milky white pool floated there.

‘June.’

‘Yes – Yes, sir!?’ Ordered to come over, June did as she was bid and stripped off. ‘Kneel’ and she did so, expecting to pleasure Mr Abercrombie but nervous in case something else was planned.

It was. Eliza dribbled her father’s semen over her mothers face, watching the rivulets run slowly down June’s face. Mr Abercrombie seized a handful of June’s greying hair and forced her back, so her husband’s semen would run onto her breasts and stomach.

‘Lick it all back, Eliza…’

Collecting each stream and sucking the globules of cum from her mother’s face, she showed Mr Abercrombie she had done so. ‘Swallow’ and Eliza did so and kissed the end of her father’s prick. Then came the order June had dreaded.

‘Strip.’

Silently weeping, Eliza removed her clothes, pleasured the monster until it was rigid in her mouth and then turned on all fours. She shook as the monster entered her. For five minutes, Mr Abercrombie ground away the remains of her virginity, then ordered her father to fill the other end. Fred whispered his apologies and pushed his into Eliza’s mouth.

Spit-roasted, Eliza was forced to rock between the monster in her stiff cunt and her poor father whose length was rock hard now and she could taste him… Her father soon came in her mouth and this time, Eliza swallowed without thinking, just wishing the ordeal could be over… Then she suddenly bucked hard, moaning between pain and a low pleasure as the monster sped up, a huge hand pulling on her raven locks, yanking her head back and forcing Eliza to arch her back and take more of him in, the huge head bashing against Eliza’s centre as she cried out wordless agony and then it was over… Floods of semen where inside Eliza, trapped against her womb and she hoped, she prayed fervently that this was not the day when she would ovulate…

June knelt between her daughter’s legs, sucking out the Abercrombie seed and swallowing it as fast as she could, tasting her daughter’s juices and traces of iron-tasting blood amidst the long trailing ooze of that bastard’s seed… On the other end, Eliza sucked on the length and swallowed after a time a third helping of semen that day.

‘Are you done?’

‘Yes sir, I have done my best.’

‘Good,’ Mr Abercrombie replied to June. ‘You’ll get to do that again shortly.’

Eliza stiffened and watched as her rapist put his cleaned member away.

‘WHAT!?’ the three cried in unison.



Rape your daughter.

The words ran through Fred’s mind as he did so, Eliza holding back sobs as Fred, his cock hard from June’s lips, rammed his naked girl, her bare arms sprawled to either side and her younger brother John masturbated over her face.

Fred mouthed the words I’m so sorry, to which Eliza nodded that she understood, closing her eyes and flinching as John shot his first loads over his sister’s pretty face, the ropes of fraternal semen thin and watery, a little finding its way between Eliza’s lips where a part of her mind registered the salty sweetness of John’s semen compared with the earthiness of her father’s and the bitterness of the big bastard.

Her father knowing he was close, had sped up, Eliza’s tits swaying back and forth, ashamed because she knew she might well climax with her father and fighting it all the way and then…

Eliza cried out as her father’s seed splashed where earlier the bastard’s had gone. Compared to his, her father’s was a weaker issue but worse for whose it was… The tears were flowing now as she swallowed her father’s member and her mother went down to clean her out.

Only when June pronounced Eliza’s cunt to be clean did their master declare his satisfaction.

‘Well done, Fred. I knew you had it in you. And now it’s in Eliza…hah hah.’

‘Yes Sir’ came the stuttered reply. Below him, Eliza wept, Fred forlornly patting her face to try and comfort his raped child.

‘Good show. Good show.’ muttered Mr Abercrombie, then a thought struck him. In a clear voice, he said, ‘Fred, send me pictures next week of you up in her bum. I expect daily use from now on. Keep it up and I will allow your sons to inherit.’

Breathing down his fury, Frederick Morrison thanked his master and tried not think of having to violate his little girl each day and knew he would have to do it…at least until the monster lost interest…

*

'Do you have to be so cruel?' Cynthia asked her father as the door closed behind her and they walked slowly together through the swirling snow back to the car.

Charles looked blankly at Cynthia. 'Do you want to take their place?'

Cynthia swallowed but held her nerve. 'You do it to me anyway. I'll take on their pain. Elizabeth is too young anyway.'

Her father gave her an evil grin. 'Like Janet? You mean?'

Paling, Cynthia asked. 'What have you done with my niece - your granddaughter!?'

'Touched her a little. Janet sucks well just like her mother did. Had her anal v. the other month. Not as good as you - yet.'

'Well, Mother and you would have - what!? Penelope!?' Cynthia hissed, eyes starting from her head.

The car door was open and Charles ordered his daughter-cum-mistress inside. Once there, he unbuttoned Cynthia's coat, pulled down her dress and played with her tits in front of Charing.

'I was fucking your older sister when she was at school. Made sure to pull out of course. Husband understands. Doesn't partake himself.'

With that he pushed Cynthia down and during the ride back to the country house, Cynthia sucked her father off and swallowed as she had been trained.

 

[Wien1938]

Chapter 7

Everyone Loves Eliza



The next day, Eliza undressed and lay down on her bed. Slowly, reluctantly, her father unbuttoned his trousers, peeled them off and removed his underpants, handing these to June who stood white-faced in the doorway, holding the camera and wishing this were all a bad dream.

‘I’m ready, Dad’ Eliza said, trying to reassure the both of them and push away the horrible memory of yesterday, of her father unhappily raping her and feeling his seed filling a place forbidden to fathers.

Fred nodded and applied the petroleum jelly to the tip of his penis and spread it around. Then, wanking hard, he waited for his penis to harden. Slowly, slowly, it stiffened but not enough.

‘Let’s try it now’ Fred suggested and bent down, Eliza lifting her legs to expose her puckered hole.

‘Ow…it’s not going in, Dad. Dad, stop! It’s too soft!’

‘When did you become an expert!?’ her father snapped back and Eliza rolled her eyes.

‘Come here, Dad’ she said to him and took her father in her mouth.



‘Ow… harder… Ufgh… Fuck… it’s too dry…’



Eliza’s eyes bulged in her head. She was on all fours, leaning over a pillow with her arse in the air and her father’s scrotum was brushing her mound as Frederick Morrison successfully mounted his daughter’s arse.

‘You holding down there, Eliza?’

‘Aah! Yes… Go on, Dad…fuck me…’

A series of moans and grunts came from the bed. Fred finding Eliza’s rectum clamped tight around his member. Eliza amazed at the feeling of being so…full…down there and instinctively reached her for clit, then stopped. This was dirty enough without…

Ten minutes later, Fred came in Eliza, relieved that it was over for the day. Behind them, June snapped another in the series of images and as Fred pulled out, June pressed the lever just at that moment when a long trickle of her father’s semen ran down Eliza’s hairy mound and continued down the back of her right thigh…



Two weeks later, Eliza spread her arse cheeks and let her father’s stiff erection slide easily inside her. In that time, the daily act had become like an act of lovers. By now, Eliza had given in and worked her clit and mound as her father pounded her like a horse from behind…

Snap, June caught the wave of semen pour out of Eliza’s gaping hole and down over her hairy mound. This time, June leaned forward and began to catch her husband’s semen with her tongue…



John had found it. It was gold.

In his hands, John held a photograph of his sister in profile, crouched naked on all fours, her breasts mid-sway and her father mounting her, the balls-deep penetration obscured by his heavy legs, pulling Eliza’s hair back and forcing her to arch her back and give her father a deeper penetration into her well-fucked anus.

He had jerked off over and over again until he made the decision. Walking into Eliza’s room and in response to his big sister’s challenge, John waved the photograph just out of snatching distance and named his terms for keeping mum.

‘You prick, John…’ Eliza breathed. ‘I could tell Dad…’

‘I could show this around school…’ he replied, coolly levelling the nuclear-option to not only ruin his sister but as they both understood would mean a near-term certainty of the boys cornering Eliza and… the image of a gang-rape floated like a nightmare in her mind.

‘Tits out, sis.’



Eliza felt her brother’s lips suck on her teats, his tongue teasing the tips. Already two of his fingers were inside her, painfully rubbing as she slowly got wetter. When John got up onto the bed, already naked from the waist down and waving a thin erection in Eliza’s face, she passed him a small jar.

‘You’re not using my pussy. You can use my arse’, Eliza told John. She was really pissed off.

John turned his sister over, so that her cunt and anus were on full show. He shook with excitement and felt the pressure in his balls.

Not yet!

He mounted his sister but took the opportunity to penetrate her pussy first. His sister hissed at John to get off and pushed him off when he started thrusting rapidly in her.

‘Sit down – no! Lay down!’ Eliza growled at her brother, thrusting him onto the bed and straddling his chest. Opening the jar, while John pawed at her breasts, Eliza smeared lubricant on two fingers before rubbing her sphincter with a plentiful supply, applied more to her fingers and smeared John’s member. Then shuffling backwards, Eliza lifted John and placed the tip against her rose.

relax, flare, push, ahh…ahh…

Beneath his big sister, John groaned. It…the…it was amazing… He had never thought sex would feel this good as his sister rode him with her arse, pushing up with her strong thighs, hips flared over his, the head sliding deep into her body and back out again. Twice John slipped out. Twice Eliza pushed him back in, reaching back to massage his balls until sensing his time coming, Eliza slammed her hips down as John shot his load into her rectum.

‘There, you got what you wanted, now get out of my room!’

*

The next day he was back. They squabbled, bargained and Eliza sat him on her bed, knelt, unbuttoned her school shirt, pulled her tits out her brassiere cups and set about sucking off John.



John shot his load into his sister’s mouth.

‘That was great, sis!’

Eliza wiped the excess away, swallowing the rest.

‘Don’t get cocky. That’s the last time.’

‘Yeah yeah!’ called John and ran off to join his friends.

*



Eliza grabbed her school bag when she heard her father moving up behind her. She just had time, to half-turn and say ‘Dad?’ when his hands came up from under her arms to cup her full breasts.

‘Dad! I’ve got to go soon!’ Eliza pleaded, her dad already pulling her back against his broad chest.

It had been three months since New Years Day and, after a fashion, Eliza and her dad had become lovers. Already she could feel the heat growing in her centre and the excitement at the rough touch of his lips as her dad kissed as his way down on side of Eliza’s long neck.

‘Just a quickie…’ Fred whispered into his daughter’s shell-like ear, who bit her lower lip in irrational temptation, her pussy hot and her brain torn until the lust overruled caution.

‘Alright!’ Eliza snapped, ‘But quick and you cum in my mouth, not in me and not on my face, okay!?’

Fred smiled a guilty smile as Eliza unbuttoned her skirt, hopped up onto the side table and pulled her white panties aside. In a heart-beat, Fred was inside his daughter, Eliza gasping as he struck the tip of her womb in one piercing thrust.

They fucked hard and fast against the sideboard, Eliza splitting her attention between her father’s penis inside her and his state of endurance, then suddenly ‘Get off! Get off, Dad! Now!’ and having disengaged hopped down and took him in her mouth only just in time as the first jets hit her throat and Eliza swallowed as fast as her father could come.

Grabbing her skirt and dropping her feet through, Eliza pulled it back up in one easy practised motion, buttoning it at her waist even as she talked to her dad.

‘Don’t do that again, Dad! You fuck me in my arse for that bastard!’ then seeing she had hurt her dad, with remorse, said to him, ‘I’m sorry, Dad! It’s wrong, we mustn’t do this…’ and gave her dad a long passionate kiss.

She gulped down many kinds of guilt and, with pained eyes, she turned to look up at her father. ‘Come to my bed tonight,’ she said, ‘fuck my arse for the photo and make love to me – in my arse…’, she added, then kissed her father goodbye, knowing she just had time to get to school without being late.

Fred Morrison felt guilty too but since he had been forced to become his daughter’s lover, he was torn. He thought about the slick tightness of Eliza’s cunt on his prick and it suddenly grew hard. From the backroom, he heard June humming to herself as she ironed the laundry.

‘Fred? Oh! Wow! All for me!’ came from the backroom a moment later, followed shortly by a happy slapping sound as of two bodies coming together in unison…



Hearing a slam behind them, Kitty Aldridge and Jane Spencer, turned and saw the garden gate on No.4 Abercrombie Way swing open and Eliza Morrison run out from under the rose bower. They waved and called Eliza over.

‘Hi guys!’ Eliza wheezed, strangely red in the face.

Kitty was a short round-faced girl with green eyes and light brown hair bunched into a pony-tail by a pink-white scrunchy and whose big breasts made up for her plump figure. At the back of her mind, she sensed something was off with her friend and thinking, not always an easy task for this bottom-of-the-class type of girl, stumbled across the answer.

‘Eliza! Did you not brush your hair this morning!?’ to which a cry of ‘Shit!’ was heard, followed by retrieval of small mirror and hairbrush and muttered curses. Kitty exchanged a look with their other friend.

By contrast, Jane was small and petite, being cursed with a nearly-flat chest and no bum to look at but Jane’s qualities were redeemed by a small pretty nose, short-cut blonde hair, lively sky-blue eyes and a very kissable mouth that had not only been with half the boys in her class but also had gone further with Mr Mattison, the class teacher. Like Eliza, Jane was sharp and once she had seen Eliza’s normally perfectly groomed raven hair dishevelled, Jane had started to think.

‘Were you arguing with your Dad?’ she asked Eliza, who looked confused and replied in the negative.

Choosing not to probe further, Jane linked arms with Eliza and the three of them walked as quickly they dared (without appearing unladylike). But on the way, Jane was thinking. She knew about the Bastard’s New Year Visit to the Morrisons, if not the exact details of what had taken place. Spying a small pale stain on Eliza’s jacket lapel, Jane almost asked what it was when it hit her.

Semen! It was the same colour as when Mr Mattison had covered her face last week and a couple of drops had got onto her jacket. That night her mother spotted the stains, confronted her daughter in the wash room and got it out of Jane that she had been blowing the teacher. Slapped and scolded, for Mr Mattison was a married man, Jane had promised her mother (falsely) not to flirt with her teacher again.

Immediately, while tightening the arm link with Eliza, Jane weighed out the possibilities. Finally arriving at the likeliest option, Jane whispered to Eliza, ‘So…who is he?’

Eliza gave her a sideways glance and replying in a confused way, ‘Who is who?’ she asked.

Jane leaned in so that her lips almost brushed Eliza’s cheek. ‘The boy whose cum is on your jacket… YOU have a boyfriend and you haven’t told me…’ Jane giggled, sensing Eliza’s sudden stiffness but not seeing the colour draining from her face. Eliza staying silent, Jane teased, ‘Come on, Eli, who is it? Or shall I guess?’

At that exact moment, Eliza was caught in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Realising that Jane had not guessed the exact secret, she thought of the boys in her class, running though their faces and natures and found none satisfactory. Then, just as she was considering denying everything, she remembered the ironmonger’s son, Henry Atkinson. He was two years older than her, three if the imminence of her sixteenth birthday were taken into account. He was tall, dark haired, had big arms, a good looking face and he had always watched her when they had been at church…

Therefore, lying through her teeth, Eliza whispered ‘Henry…’, then when Jane quickly objected – Henry Portsmouth was short, fat and ugly – added ‘Atkinson – the ironmonger’s boy…but it’s a secret. We’re not official…’

Jane’s eyes widened. ‘You tart!’ she whispered and, kissing Eliza on the cheek, keenly asked ‘How far have you gone?’ Only lying by proxy, Eliza told Jane. ‘You tart! Is he any good?’

Eliza nodded, thinking of her quivering orgasms last night as her dad pounded her butt and trying to imagine Henry Atkinson pinning her against the wall of his forge and pounding her pussy in that way. Eliza decided that she could imagine such a thing and a plan began forming in her mind.

Jane squeezed Eliza’s bum and giggled, whispering again, ‘You tart!’

‘Takes one to know one’ Eliza retaliated and the two giggled, to which Kitty wanted to know what they were talking about, Jane telling Kitty it was a secret, then added ‘For now…’ with a significant look.



‘Oh shit! I’ve left something behind’ Eliza declared to her friends and ran back, shouting ‘I’ll see you tomorrow!’. Once out of sight, Eliza dodged behind a garden hedge, cut across Old Mrs Underwood’s cottage garden, opening and shutting the gate that led into the back road and dashed across to the back of Atkinson’s Forge & Bellows.

‘Oh hello, Miss Eliza’ beamed John Atkinson, Henry’s tall, powerfully-built father, as the pretty girl closed his garden gate behind her and ran up to him, red in the face and breathing hard. Lovely little tart, this one, he thought, admiring the dark hair (much tumbled about by the run), the heaving bosom (his wife had one like that when they had been courting) and the air of desirability about Mr Morrison’s girl.

‘H-h-hello Mr Atkinson! Is Henry here?’

‘Aye, he’s in with the stores. Doing a job for me. What do you need from him?’

Eliza swallowed nervously. ‘I need him to do something for me and he mustn’t say no!’

Old Atkinson chuckled. ‘Broken your dad’s poker?’ he jested and Eliza replied that it was something like that, flushing a deeper red as she remembered the quickie with her dad that morning. ‘Well, he’s that way – through the courtyard, red door on your right’ and with that she was gone like a flash.



Henry placed both hands under the rack of ironmongery, bent his knees and straightened his back as his old dad had always told him to do, if Henry did not want a bad back by the time he was in his prime, my boy. Heaving, he had just dropped the load in place and was feeling very pleased with himself, if somewhat sweaty when the door banged open and turning quickly perceived Elizabeth Morrison enter the stores room and just as quickly shut the door behind her.

‘Miss Morrison’ Henry asked, bewildered at her sudden disturbance of his peace, using the formal mode of address as his dad was old fashioned in these matters. ‘What brings you here?’

Eliza stormed across the room so precipitously that Henry found himself backed against the racks, surprised at the energy coming off of Eliza, whose five foot six was a drop besides his six foot three.

‘I need you do something for me – right now!’ Eliza hissed, then clapped both hands on Henry’s stubbled cheeks and leaning up, closed her eyes and kissed Henry. The kiss went on for a long time, Eliza’s lips opening and shutting on Henry’s, their tongues brushing and Henry’s hands wandering with a mind of their own down Eliza’s sides as she pulled him closer. Then as his hands cupped her bum, Eliza broke off the kiss and started unbuttoning Henry’s work trousers.

‘Miss Eliza – I mean Miss Morrison – what is this about!?’ exclaimed Henry, thoroughly alarmed at the breakneck pace Eliza had set.

‘Be quiet, Henry! I’ll explain when I’m done!’ Eliza scolded and reaching into Henry’s trousers, pulled out a stiffening length of penis that would do very nicely.

Henry gaped and gasped in silence as for the first time in his life a girl held him and then suddenly a wonderful warmth enveloped his member as Eliza began to industriously suck off Henry Atkinson…



‘All over my face, make sure you get it all over me, understand Henry?’ Eliza instructed, settling down on both knees, fingers bunched on her lap as Henry worked his cock and just as quickly groaned. The first blast hit Eliza just between her eyebrows, the next ran through her hair, a third caught her on her left eyelid (fortunately closed), the fourth splashed across her pretty nose where some of it rolled up as far as the bridge before rolling down on either side and over her mouth.

Eliza licked up the drops as they rolled over her lips. He tasted metallic but strong. Henry would do.

‘Pass me a cloth’ she asked, ‘I’ve got cum in my eyes.’

‘But sure Miss… But why you’re all messy now!?’ Henry exclaimed. Eliza was indeed. Henry’s efforts had stained her jacket, her white blouse and splattered the dark grey woollen school skirt but Eliza was happy. Now Jane would know where she got the stains from!

Rising unsteadily to her feet, Eliza wiped the worst of it off and gave Henry a serious look. ‘Henry, I need to talk with you’ to which Henry gave a convulsive leap. Eliza gave him a kiss on the cheek and a big happy smile.

‘I need you to ask me to marry you. Right now. If you ask me to marry you, I will say “Yes” and be a good wife to you. And I will tell you why I came here today.’

Henry shook his head. He was confused and said as much. ‘But why did you come here today?’

‘Proposal first, answers second’ said Eliza, tapping him on the chest and thinking of seven inches filling her every night and wanting to start right now!

‘Um… well…’ began Henry, unsure of himself, so to reel him him, Eliza unbuttoned her blouse, pulled her left boob out of the brassiere cup and placed Henry’s hand over it.

‘All yours, if you ask me, Henry’ and almost added a threat to blackmail him by telling Old Mr Atkinson that his son had got above himself and made her do something ‘immoral’. Eliza decided to hold that one back.

Henry, touching and slowly daring to feel the beautiful warm flesh in his hand, felt his head swim and his cock rise. ‘Marry me, Miss Morrison…’ he said, stumbling over the words.

‘Elizabeth, but you can call me Eliza, Henry – everyone does. Try again,’ said Eliza and pulled down the other to show Henry her right breast, raising her eyebrows in encouragement who proposed again and with that Eliza said to him ‘Yes, Henry Atkinson, I will be your wife!’ and with a happy smile kissed Henry in a long happy kiss.

When they broke off, Henry asked and, told to sit, listened as Eliza put her clothes back in order and told the bare-bones story: the Abercrombie visit, the rape of her both by the bastard and her father, the compulsory daily sodomy reported weekly to the Abercrombie house and her brother getting above himself.

‘So, I need a husband and protector. You are a good boy, Henry Atkinson and your dad is a good man and our dads are friends. We do lots of business together in the county, so it is a good alliance to be made. And’ Eliza added, pulling Henry’s hand right up her skirt so he could feel her mound, ‘I’ll be a very very good wife to you…’

That done, they kissed and when Old Mr Atkinson, wondering what was taking so long, opened the door, Eliza was on all fours, her skirt over her hips, her panties down around one ankle and happily being rammed from behind by her fiance.

‘What the Devil is all this!?’ ejaculated Old Mr Atkinson only to be told by Eliza between buffets against her hips, ‘Oh, it’s quite alright, Mr Atkinson. Henry and I are to be married!’

Eliza knew she was going to like being married with this big boy inside her!

 

[Wien1938]

Chapter 8

Spring Arrives



The spring had turned lovely by the banks of the river and the garden party was in fine fettle. Cynthia was pleased with her battle gear, wearing a long white dress, a small but expensive diamond necklace and pearl earrings beneath a tidy but suggestively loose bun of her natural golden hair.

Her little sister Dora had come with her fiance. Dora was a short girl with dark hair cut in the Parisian fashion, a pretty heart-shaped face, whose shortness only emphasised her teenage curves, a lively chatty nature and an unshakeable faith in her young man’s virtues.

The fiance, a tall sandy-haired rugby-playing chap seven years her senior was named George something whose conversation consisted mostly of ‘Yes, no, u-huh, just what I said, Dora’ and ‘old girl’ and whose hands did most of the talking, spending their time on her little sister’s bum, a state of affairs complemented by Dora’s adoring squeaks and pecks on George’s cheek.

At one point, Cynthia had been leaving their society when hearing the swans calling on the river, she had turned and seen George pressing his middle finger through Dora’s dress, right between Dora’s bum cheeks. Raising her eyebrows as an expression of the mildest surprise she could have felt, Cynthia guessed correctly that Dora’s love-life consisted mainly of having her back-hole filled and to judge by her little sister’s flushed reaction, Cynthia guessed Dora liked it.

Spotting one of her friends from their school days, Cynthia ran over to Jenny McCleod and embraced her. They chattered briefly until interrupted by a tap on her shoulder and there was Cynthia’s best friend from those days, Melanie Doughty. The two of them had come together and the three of them stood in a corner, eating canapés and drinking champagne, exchanging gossip and then Cynthia’s expressed her delight and surprise at seeing an engagement ring on Jenny’s left hand.

‘Yes! Johnny proposed last week! He’s been promoted to Chief Accountant at X Bank and Daddy has given his consent to our getting married!’

‘Aww! I hope you’ll be very happy together’ Cynthia replied, basking in all her school friend’s happiness. ‘You look…radiant, Jen!’

A kiss on a cheek, Jen’s question to Melanie and the other friend’s shake of her head, Melanie’s slight Scots accent coming through, saying to Jen that ‘No, not found Mr Right yet, maybe one day, helping Mummy and Daddy at home, plenty to keep me busy’ and so on, as she squeezed Jenny and Cynthia’s hands.



Sat in the billiards room, Charles relaxed as one of the cook’s maid, the slim and pretty Harriet bobbed up and down on his member, while he studied the latest developed photographs of Frederic Morrison penetrating his lovely raven-haired daughter.

In the first: his shaft hidden as he rested at full depth, balls resting against Eliza’s slit.

In the second: Eliza’s beautiful face, distorted with pleasure-pain, capturing the very moment his balls stroked her slit.

In the third: his penis pulled back, only the head remaining inside, Eliza’s sphincter stretched around her father’s shaft.

In the fourth: his semen leaking around the shaft just after Frederick Morrison had shot his load into Eliza as he had done on daily instruction for the last four months, the accompanying letter explaining that Eliza was now climaxing alone from being used in this manner each day.

Charles grunted with satisfaction. The Morrisons were a good family. Obedience was to be developed as well as imposed and Eliza Morrison was turning out to be a first class slut. Charles considered Eliza, remembering the tightness of her hole, then Harriet’s tongue brought his balls into action and Charles closed his eyes tight, feeling Harriet’s powerful gulps as the girl swallowed in the same way she done with her uncle ever since taking service at the house.

‘Good girl’ he croaked, patting Harriet’s cheek. ‘Go about your duties now’ and with that Charles rose from the armchair, while Harriet pulled her brassiere up and buttoned her top, while her master went out to meet his guests.



When Cynthia left them, saying ‘Duties of a hostess!’, the two continued talking, then Jen having seen another friend and detached herself from her friend’s side, Mel drifted about, talking idly here and there, ignoring a hand, belonging to an old colonel, on her slender bum and slipping into the hedged maze and so found herself in front of the house where it looked out towards the river.

From within one of the rooms, a woman’s voice was raised in wordless repetition, the substance being… Mel peaked around a window frame and saw a young maid, her uniform dress open at the front, breasts swaying, and bunched above her hips and on all fours as a liveried servant, one hand on the maid’s left hip, the other around the maid’s pony-tail, pulling her head back as the maid softly exclaimed her satisfaction to the room that her lover was giving her a good time…

Heat rose to Mel’s face, her eyes following the lines of the young woman’s form, the hard curves of her hips softening down well-toned legs, the full breasts jiggling with a slight side-to-side motion, and Mel swallowed, knowing she was getting horny watching the servant’s snatching a moment’s pleasure with one of the house tarts…

She decided this must be wrong – bad behaviour by the staff – and she should tell Cynthia. An excuse to catch up with one of her companions from school days and in making her way around the edge of the maze caught a flash of a long white dress and golden hair, long fingered hands holding a champagne glass as Cynthia walked with long, rapid strides around the corner of the last hedge.



Charles made small talk, tossed back champagne and talked business and fillies with several of his guests until the group broke up. Wandering across the lawn, he ran into a red-haired woman of about thirty who was attending with her brother, a distinguished barrister in the county circuit.

‘Mrs Finnegan, how good to see you’ Charles twinkled at Anne Finnegan who paled at the approach of this horrible man.

‘Mr Abercrombie, it has been…a time since we last met…’ she replied and meant that it had not been long enough.

‘Quite so’ Charles commented, already reaching over to pull at the top of Anne’s dress so he could look down at her shapely breasts. This prompted her brother to move sharply between the two of them.

‘I say, Sir! This is an outrage!’

Charles took in the brother for the first time. He was a handsome chap, tall, younger than his sister, perhaps late twenties or thirty himself. He had a clean-cut, even face, sported a light red moustache and had used pomade on his hair to sweep it back in the latest style.

‘Who the Devil are you?’

The brother reached into his dress jacket inner pocket, ‘My card, Sir!’

Charles took it and read it without interest. Davis O’Toole.

‘And what do you mean by interfering with my pleasures, Sir?’ Charles growled, quite prepared at further provocation to have the staff beat the bounder and throw him out.

‘What do you think you are doing to my sister, Sir!?’ demanded O’Toole.

Now he understood and an evil design was forming in that massive brain. Between them, Anne Finnegan glanced nervously from one to the other and tried to discourage Davis from challenging this man.

‘Are you aware that this ginger tart and her husband owe me a very considerable sum of money, Sir? I take my pleasures on your sister as payment on the interest…unless you have an alternative proposal, Sir?’ Charles ended, sounding at least on the surface, a little more reasonable and open to business.

Davis O’Toole stuck out his jaw. ‘Assault is a crime, Sir, if I may remind you.’

‘Only when prosecuted and if prosecuted, I would have no hesitation to bankrupt Finnegan & Wake Enterprises and demand all assets unable to met by cash payment. Now, Sir, what do you think of that, eh?’

Anne Finnegan pressed her brother’s arm. ‘Davis, dear, I am afraid Mr Abercrombie is quite right. The sum owed would destroy not only our prosperity but many a hundred families who depend on the firm’ she pleaded with her brother with tears in her eyes.

O’Toole stiffened. ‘I apologise for my hasty words, Mr Abercrombie but I would respectfully ask that you do not molest my sister in public… It is undignified.’

Charles’ dark eyes glimmered and a sinister smile creased his lips.

‘That’s alright, young fella… Tell you what, I am prepared to offer a small concession on Finnegan & Wake’s obligations to myself. Shall I tell you the terms?’

Both brother and sister were astonished, even relieved.

‘Name them, Sir’ replied O’Toole.

‘I shall relieve Finnegan & Wake of one year’s interest, allowing the firm to reduce the capital and the interest owing in the next financial year, if you both agree to my request.’

‘One year!?’ Anne Finnegan breathed. Why, such a break might make all the difference… She stared with her green eyes at the tall Abercrombie.

‘Is a year insufficient, Anne?’ her brother asked and when Anne had given the outline, O’Toole asked Charles to name the request.

Charles explained. Anne Finnegan fought not to be sick. Davis O’Toole fought not to murder the man there and then.

‘If you do it now’ he gestured to a white marque tent with many bare tables laid out, ‘and I see your seed drip from your sister’s cunt, then I will write the letter here and now. I have a pen and notepaper with me.’

He let the offer dangle in the air. He did not grin evilly. He was enjoying watching Anne Finnegan resign herself to the risk and knew she would persuade her uptight brother to break the laws of nature in order to save not only her family but all those who depended upon that family.

‘Davis. It is a wicked, wicked thing Abercrombie asks… but it would do so much good’ and Anne looked up into her brother’s face, his heart torn and unclear. ‘Please? For your nephews’ future?’

O’Toole straightened his shoulders. ‘Sir, if you would write that letter here and now to my satisfaction, then I will agree to this request, abhorrent as it to nature as well as the laws of man.’

Charles growled at O’Toole, calling him an arrogant puppy but then suddenly relaxed. ‘I’ll write your letter – in that tent, while you undress your sister and she gives you a good suck. If I am satisfied that you are in earnest, then I will sign it and hand it over when you have finished using your sister’s cunt’ and at this Anne shuddered and looked ready to feint.

‘How can I trust that you would keep the agreement, Sir? You may very well withhold the letter in search of some other depravity.’

The big man shrugged. ‘That is a risk you will have to run…but if you give me no cause for complaint, I may offer a second letter – in addition to the first – relieving Finnegan & Wake for a second year running pursuant to certain terms.’

Anne clutched O’Toole’s arm. ‘Agree to it, brother.’

The other fought with his sense of honour, right and law but eventually family won out. Coldly, he agreed to the terms and led his sister into the tent.



Davis O’Toole rammed his sister slowly but steadily, trying not think of Anne as his big sister but as a lover, desperate that his erection not fail him. Anne, understanding her little brother’s dilemma, directed a hand to her breast and kissed him as she kissed her husband at night. Above them, Charles Abercrombie watched with interest as the naked brother-sister pair fought to overcome the taboo of incest. He soon lost interest in these two, having his ‘other condition’ ready to hand and, the subject of incest being at hand, his mind drifted back to his beautiful third daughter. That really got his cock hard.

Anne shuddered when Davis finally finished inside her. She smiled, relief rolling across her handsome face as she first kissed Davis on the cheek and said to him, ‘Well done, Davis!’ and panted at the exertions they had undertaken together.

Without a word, Davis O’Toole pulled his member from his sister’s vagina and stood, facing their persecutor.

‘There, Sir. It is done. The letter, if you please.’

Charles drained the champagne glass and fixed the naked buck with a knowing eye.

‘Not so fast, young fella. The cunt – show me you have done the deed as I instructed.’

‘It was not an instruction, Sir but a request. Nevertheless, it is done. Anne, would you?’ and at her brother’s request, Anne Finnegan spread her lips and slowly a trickle of what was unmistakably semen dribbled out.

‘Well, young fella. Let us hope your union bears fruit!’ and handed over the letter signed.

Ignoring the jibe, O’Toole scanned the letter. It was correct in all particulars, dated, signed and the terms exact, even accounting for the change in financial year.

‘Just so. And, the other terms you mentioned, Sir?’

Charles explained. Brother and sister protested. Charles insisted those were the terms, said that if they agreed, they were to send him a note of hand to that effect, then commence work on impregnating Anne by her brother, Davis O’Toole.

As the monster left, the two stared at one another in horror.

‘Anne, I!’

Anne shook her head. ‘He wants photographic proof of your…insemination of myself. Everyday until the pregnancy shows’ she said, breathing with deliberate slowness. Then something struck Anne Finnegan.

Her brother had sat on the grass, head in his hands, ashamed at what had happened between them.

‘Brother!’ Anne urged, ‘Think! We can cheat this monster and he knows it. If we put it off a month or two – he did not say how long to wait before starting AND if Roger’ her husband’ were to make me pregnant just before we start, then we can go through it and still save everyone’s future…’

She rubbed his back. O’Toole did not speak but held his sister’s hand.

‘And if he suspects?’

Anne did not speak. After a time, she placed Davis’ hand on her breast, then moved it down to cup her cunt.

‘I’d rather have your child than his – that Abercrombie monster. Do you not think he would then insist on forcing me to bear his child instead? I will talk to Roger in the strictest secrecy. We can conceal the father if we cannot cheat Abercrombie.’

With that Anne Finnegan kissed her brother and to put him in the mood, knelt before Davis O’Toole and took him in her mouth.

She was doing it for everyone else. What else should a good wife and mother do? A good sister too…



In the middle of conversation with Mr and Mrs Wolverhampton, the husband being something in money in the City and, Cynthia, knowing that Mr W. was eyeing her tits and Mrs W. knew and resented it, saw the approach of Stebbings bearing a silver platter of champagne glasses. Having arrived, he informed the Miss that 'Your Father would like you by the landing. I gather there are some rare lilies' here Stebbings ever so slightly emphasised the last word, 'that your Father would like view with yourself, Miss.'

Concealing the sudden wave of shock that had run through her limbs - What!? Here! With everyone nearby!? He's impossible! - Cynthia thanked Stebbings and said to the Wolverhamptons that she had better go.

Did they understand? Had they seen through the disguise? Cynthia felt, real or not, that man's eyes on her behind as she walked down past the maze and round to the landing where the enormous figure of her father stood waiting.

'Ah, you're here, Cyn.' He pointed to a metal garden table nearby. 'Lift your skirt and sit on that' came the instruction, the buttons already being undone and a length of hardening penis emerging into view.

'Father!' Cynthia hissed as she lifted her skirt and took off her panties, 'We could be seen here!'

Hard in hand, Charles waited as Cynthia deposited herself on the garden table then bent, lifted and entered his daughter who gave a gasp as he almost reached her womb in one thrust. With the next, she muttered an 'Ow!' and threw her arms around her father's thrusting frame.

ow. ow. ow. ow. ow. ow. ow. ow. ow. ah. ow. ah. ow. ow. no. ow. really not. ow. in. ow. the. ow. mood. ow. for this. ow.



Mel had followed as far as the outer curve of hedges when she heard a deep voice say something about ‘lift your skirt and sit’.

Sneaking into the Maze, Mel peaked around the edge and saw her old school friend taking off her panties and, skirt pulled right up over her hips – Mel could see no hairs down there in the few seconds of visibility as the man – the huge man – bent down against Cynthia’s hips and stood into her friend who gave a small cry and threw her bare arms around the huge man as he started fucking her there and then.

‘Oh…my…God…’ whispered Mel, utterly astonished. She had just recognised the big man… ‘Never in all my life…’

Without knowing she was doing it, Mel cupped her cunt and squeezed herself with circular motions, left hand on her left breast, squeezing in upward circulating movements, pinching her nipple between thumb and forefinger as she watched Cynthia’s father debauch his daughter in public…

When Cynthia’s father grunts finished, Cynthia’s back tense with relief that the act been completed, Mel saw Cynthia’s father pull out. She did not see him button his trousers, catching a sliver of what passed between the two of them, hearing Cynthia asked her father something like ‘clean’ and her father’s single negative and something about ‘lipstick’. Then with a kiss on his daughter’s lips, the big man strode slowly back to the party, Mel ducking behind the hedge as he went, then seizing her opportunity, Mel dashed out from behind the hedge and across the grass to where her friend was stood, bending over at her hips, brushing at her thighs and reaching down for a pair of pale silk panties…



Cynthia wiped the leaking semen down her thighs and bent down to retrieve her panties. Her father had already left and Cynthia had just put slipped her panties over one foot when someone hastily approached and to Cynthia's horror it was Melanie.

'Cyn! You Naughty Girl!' Mel whispered, all excitement and suppressed giggles, capitalising each word in her triumph.

'Mel!' Cynthia exclaimed with real terror, 'What did you see!?'

Melanie smirked knowingly. Her eyebrows were lifted high, her eyes wide with knowledge and power. 'Everything! You and your dad…You Slut!!'

'Um, well' Cynthia stammered but Mel cut her off.

‘I was watching you both from behind there,’ Mel waved towards the outer hedge-wall of the garden maze, her flushed face split with a huge smile, eyes wide and giddy with excitement.

Pulling her panties back into place and immediately detecting the slimy warmth left by her father’s ‘fun’, Cynthia grimaced and urgently gripped Mel’s wrist, fighting down the panic in her chest. ‘Don’t tell anyone! It would ruin…’

Who? Her father? Herself? The family? The question was swirling around Cynthia’s head when Mel said something.

'You want my silence?' Mel sounded like she was only teasing but Cynthia sensed there was likely to be there was a hard bargain in the offing.

'I can't give you money. I haven't got any' pleaded Cynthia who had gone very pale and begun to shake.

Mel smiled evilly. She was wearing a deep blue, almost purple, number that matched her brown hair. Lifting her skirt, she said, 'Lick me, Cyn…'

Cynthia gave Melanie a long cynical look. 'You're joking, right?'

Melanie leaned forward and kissed her friend on the lips. It was a long passionate kiss. Not the sort that girls even played around with.

'I've wanted you since we were in school together' she told Cynthia, touching first Cynthia's bare arm and brushing the tips of her fingers across Cynthia’s breasts all while biting her lower lip again and again as Mel’s lust grew ever stronger. 'Oh these are sexy’ Mel said in a soft almost unheard breath, her fingers slowly circling Cynthia’s stiff nipples where these poked through the silk fabric dress, ‘I am so turned on right now. Lick me and I'll keep your naughty secret…'

So, resenting her friend’s use of blackmail but resigned – she had done worse even today - Cynthia crouched down in order to avoid staining her white dress on the grass lawn. Then, reaching up under Mel’s lifted skirt, pulled off her lacy black panties and set about licking a woman for the first time in her life.



'You'll get better' Mel told Cynthia, smiling at her sudden dominance over her school friend. 'Okay, you didn't make me cum but' she teased Cynthia, suddenly cupping, then massaging both of Cynthia’s full breasts at the same time, 'You'll get better…’

Cynthia paused, ignoring the revulsion she felt at Mel’s aggressive massaging, shook her head and replied 'We agreed that I would lick you. I have. Bargain sealed. Done.'

Melanie stuck out her jaw, grabbed one of Cynthia's bum cheeks to pull Cynthia against her body, and with her other hand slammed her palm over Cynthia's cunt, who uttered a closed-mouth ‘Oof’ in surprise.

'Oh, sweetie. We're not done.' Mel told Cynthia, shaking her head as if she were correcting a simple child. She kissed Cynthia on the mouth, telling her 'Open up' and enjoyed Cynthia's tongue on her own…

Breaking off the kiss, the heat in her centre stoked almost beyond measure, Mel told Cynthia that ‘I own you now’ and with that, pushed Cynthia down for a second taste of her cunt…

 

[Wien1938]

Chapter 9:

Baiting the Trap



Two weeks after the garden party, the morning dawned fine and the warming sun lit the bedroom of Charles and Cynthia Abercrombie. One beam reaching the big man’s scowling face brought Charles up from the abyss of unconsciousness.

'What time is it?' croaked her father, propping himself up on his elbows and taking in the sight of Cynthia on her side of their bed, sitting up where she was reading a new novel. Like her father, Cynthia was naked under the covers, not wearing even pyjamas in bed and so her breasts were bare and inviting of fatherly attention…

'A little after Eight in the morning, Father’, Cynthia replied with a light pleasing air, smiling almost affectionately at her monstrous sire, who responded with a plain grunt before rolling over onto his side, facing away from his daughter..

Cynthia continued reading her novel, bidding her time. When her father stirred for a second time, she asked a question.

'Daddy?'

'Uuh?'

'I've got an old school chum. I think you'd like her. Shall I invite her to come and stay?'

'A girl?'

Cynthia patted her father's hideous back. 'You forget, Daddy, you sent all of us to single-sex schools.'

'Oh… Did I?'

'Yes. Anyway, Mel would like to some and stay with us for a bit.'

There was a silence for a time, interrupted only by the sonorous volume of his heavy breathing, then, finally curious, her father asked Cynthia, 'What's she like?'

Cynthia thought, 'Tall, nearly my height, pretty nipples, nice cunt, long thin legs.'

Her father had rolled over in the bed, fixing Cynthia with a gimlet stare, trying to guess if his third daughter was jesting with him.

Yes. I've got you hooked… Time to reel you in…

Tentatively, he croaked a second question, 'You've…done it with her?'

Cynthia raised her eyebrows suggestively, her expression warm and knowing.

'Oh Daddy! It was an all-girls school. We had to do something without boys…' and took a sip from her morning hot chocolate, all the while carefully watching her father out of the edge of her vision.

He's thinking about it…

Charles gave a low growl and turned over in the bed.

'Put down the book - and the drink' he ordered Cynthia, and as soon as she had done so, Charles seized Cynthia’s ankles and, with a single powerful yank, pulled her bodily down under the eiderdown by both ankles and climbed on board.

ow. ow. ow. ow. ow. ow. ow. ah. ow. ah. ow. ah. ah. ow. ah. ah. ah. yes. oh i'm disgusting. ah. ah. yes. oh. just like that. oh yes! oh! oh I want a baby… shit! i'm screwed up…



***

'Mel!'

'Cyn!'

The two embraced on the doorstep and linked arms before walking inside. Following Melanie Doughty was Stebbings carrying the luggage.

'Mel! I must introduce you to my father.'

Melanie reached over and gave her friend's right breast a squeeze. 'And why's that?'

'Because' Cynthia began and kissed her friend on the cheek, 'Daddy and I are a thing - as you know - and Daddy might get jealous if we start doing things' she said, making a silly face to which Melanie giggled, 'So I have to introduce you… If Daddy likes you, then…we can spend…time together' Cynthia finished suggestively.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Cynthia observed Melanie biting her lower lip.

You're biting, aren't you, little fish?

'Kiss me first' Melanie said, bargaining fast.

Cynthia pushed Mel into the billiards room and kissed her on the mouth, the kiss quickly transforming into a steamy session, then just as suddenly, Cynthia broke off and posed the question.

'Well?'

Her friend's eyes were lit with lust and excitement.

Bingo. You're hooked, pussy eater…



They found Cynthia's father in his study, listening to Verdi and sipping at another whisky and soda, and did not hear the girls approach until the door swung open. Only then did Charles look up from the armchair and only then did he note the new arrival.

He liked what he saw.

Melanie Doughty had dressed with care for the occasion. Long black skirt, low heeled shoes with brass buckles, a white loose blouse that hung appealingly over her breasts (not as big as Cynthia's but easy to the eye) under a smart blue jacket with white facings and silvered buttons. Mel wore her plain, but fair, brown hair loose so that it swayed over her shoulders and she had carefully applied a little makeup, mainly to her eyes and added a small touch of a deep red lipstick.

Charles took all this in, his chest tightening as he felt his cock stir and immediately began planning scenarios in which he could either seduce or safely rape this fine filly.

Standing next to Mel, their arms still linked, Cynthia’s experienced eye took in the signs and she immediately understood her father was keen. Turning Mel's surprised face to her own, Cynthia kissed her deeply on the lips and pulled Mel's spare hand across to cup her right breast.

Breaking off the kiss (Mel's fingers were still circling her nipple), Cynthia turned to her father and asked, 'Daddy. Can we spend…a little…' she giggled artificially… 'time together, Mel and I?'

In his chair, Charles felt the approach of an impending crisis. He needed a cunt – either cunt would do – but a cunt to fuck right now. It was straining in his trousers and Charles Abercrombie had not had to jerk himself off since he was a boy, not when there were maids in the house for whom refusal had meant worse than instant dismissal…

Cynthia sensed his indecision and cheerfully informed her father, 'Oh don't worry about Mel!', she sang and again kissed Mel on the cheek, 'Mel knows…all…about us' and was already openly groping Melanie's bum in front of her father.

For her part, by this stage, Mel was incredibly horny. All she wanted to do was pull the little blonde minx into a bed somewhere and fist the little bitch until the ceiling was soaked in her juices.

'Daddy? Would you like Mel to suck you off?' said Cynthia, already dragging the confused Melanie towards her father, pecking Mel’s cheek and saying to her, 'I'm sure you won't mind, Mel? Would you? After all, Daddy has been so kind to offer his hospitality to you and then we can spend' Cynthia nibbled at an earlobe, dropping to a whisper barely audible to her father and thrilling to Mel, 'LOTS of time together afterwards…' and reaching the armchair, Cynthia pushed Mel down onto her knees before her father.



Afterwards Melanie was unable to establish the reason or reasons why she had not resisted. It was not the first time she had sucked a man's cock but ever since when in her late teens Mel had come to terms with her latent lesbianism, she had not gone near men since. Her father was an understanding man and did not push Melanie to get married and her mother could care less as Melanie's brother already had six!

The old man's cock had surprised her. It was bigger than any she had remembered, though it had been admittedly many years since she had seen one up close, and Melanie had been disturbed by several things.

She hadn't liked it.

The semen had a foul taste.

The very presence of a man like that in the armchair was a decided turn-off but…but Cyn had pushed her head down and treated Mel as a mere sex toy and that…that treatment had turned Mel on more than she had realised.

At least it was done. The old man had given his blessing for Mel to screw Cynthia, the real object of her lust and a lust that had only intensified since their encounter on the riverside until Mel had been able to think of at night was her school friend’s mouth, kissing her lips, on her pussy, her tongue probing between her…



'You taste of Daddy' Cynthia had taunted Mel when they had finally reached the guest bedroom and started kissed once more.

'Shut up!' Mel hissed, suddenly angry at Cynthia for what she had made her do and she retaliated, first by unbuttoning the top of Cynthia's green dress, then yanking up the camisole Cyn wore beneath, seized Cyn’s firm white breasts and took turns biting each of Cyn's small perky nips.

'OW! Don't do that!' Cyn cried and Mel slapped her hard across the face.

'Don't be a bitch then' Mel replied and reasserting her dominance over the sexy blonde, bit down hard on Cyn's left nip.

'OW!’ Cyn yelled, then in a subdued and meek voice, said ‘I'm sorry… Kiss me?'

They kissed, Cynthia lifting her skirt once Mel had started pawing at her friend’s cunt and Cyn let out a low happy sigh as the first digit slid inside.

Fuck I'm wet… I hope I'm not a dyke… This one is crazy…



They were both naked now. Cynthia had at last tasted a woman’s nipple in her mouth, massaging the firm soft flesh, recalling how she liked it and causing Mel to sigh and moan, even to growl with flashing eyes until… Mel threw herself down on the bed and spread her legs wide before Cyn…

Mel’s taste was…sweet. There had been a faint odour of urine but nothing unbearable or even unforgettable. Cynthia was used to worse than that. Twice in the last year, her father thrown down on her arse in the show and there, Cyn holding her mouth wide open, her father pissed in her mouth, though he had not obliged Cynthia to do worse than that.

The old bastard was just in a bad mood on those two days…

Mel groaned happily. Cyn was getting better at this and…oh fuck… She grabbed Cyn’s hair and pinned her in place.

'Oh! Keep doing that… Oh!! Oh!! Ohh!! Yes! Yes!' and came on Cyn's mouth, her knees drawn up, her cunt thrust againt Cyn’s mouth, her toes curling with the intensity of the climax. 'Where did you learn to do that!?' she asked.

Down between Mel's legs, still flicking her tongue up and down Mel’s meaty wings, Cynthia shrugged and said, 'It's a gift…'

'I'll say… Come here, Cyn!' cried Mel, her fingers locked in Cyn’s half-loose hair, pulled her painfully and quickly up onto top of Mel. She kissed Cyn, long and hard, loosing one hand to play with Cyn’s sexy swaying breasts, twisting her nipples until, unable to wait any longer, Mel threw her lover down onto the bed.

'Now I'll show you MY skills…' Mel purred and first pressing her lips between Cyn’s soft orbs and sucking on her nips, lazily painted saliva trails down Cyn’s soft, smooth body…

Cynthia lay back panting with a completely unexpected desire to be pleasured, her legs parted and waited…as Mel’s tongue began to climb the crest of her mound, no hair between Mel’s hot breath and the roughness of that heavenly tongue – Daddy liked her to be silky smooth down there – the tip of Mel's tongue ran its underside over the bulge of Cyn’s small clit before descending into the valley between her cunt lips and…

Okay…okay…ooooohh!

Mel had first delved into her secret valley, then climbed out and was sucking away on Cyn’s clit, who writhed, her hips revolving in figures of eight before… Mel slipped a finger inside.

Christ, Cyn's sopping wet

A second finger, then a third, Cyn’s cunt tight around Mel’s digits…

Splut splut splut splut splut

As Mel’s hand increased the tempo, Cyn threw back her head, her mouth open and moaning far more loudly than she realised, her breasts rising and falling with the deep hard breathing needed to keep up with the…'OOooh! Oooh! Oh fuck…oh fuck…OH FUCK! YES!!'

Cynthia screamed until her throat was hoarse and came hard for the first time in years. As the waves slowly finished rolling across her body, Cynthia stared amazed at her smirking lover.

'Fuck! Do that again!' she yelled at Mel, amazed at herself.

Mel grinned evilly. 'I'll do better than that…' and pressing her stiff fingers together slid the whole into her friend's soaking cunt.



'Ugh. Ow. Ow. OW!'

'Quiet.'

Ow. Ow. Ufph. Ufph. Ufph. Ufph. Ufph. Ufph. Ufph. Ooh. Ufph. Ooh. OOoh. That's better. Ufph. Fuck.

Her father was in her ass, Cynthia bent over on the floor, taking all eight inches into her rectum, feeling his balls slap over and over against her bare cunt, still sore after Mel’s fist, the rhythm of his balls driving her towards the deep horizon of climax.

Ufph. Ufph. Ufph. Oh God. Ufph. I love it when Daddy fucks me hard in my arse… Ufph. Oh! Yes! Shit he's cum…

Suck. Suck.

Cum in my mouth, swallow.

Lick clean, finish the shower.

Towel off and bed.



'I heard you both.'

'Oh?' replied Cynthia, sitting up reading a book, unconcerned at her father’s hands fondling her breasts but rather enjoying his attention to her areolae.

'You were very noisy.'

To this, Cynthia simply smiled, remembering the white haze before her eyes and not looking at her father. She knew he would read her expression and guess correctly just what had happened…

'Did we make you jealous?' she teased. A low growl started deep in her father’s throat with a resonance that excited Cynthia, and then a hand plunged between her thighs to cup her mound before plunging two fingers inside.

'Oh Daddy… Better than hers… Bigger… Thicker' she kissed her father on the lips. 'Better' she said, her voice low and sultry and urgent…

God I really am perverted…

Her father was hard in her hand and Cynthia, anticipating the forthcoming rape, tossed her book on the sideboard and scooted down, pulling her thighs up to present her cunt for use.

oh…oh that feels good. yes. yes. oh. yes… fuck me daddy…

'Oh fuck me, Daddy…'

shit did i?

oh! Oh! Oh! Ohh!

AAH! AHH! AAAA!



Her father snored beside her.

Luckily he had never minded Cynthia having the light on, so she continued to read from her novel.

She was sore, leaking from both holes and ashamed of herself…

In the room two doors down, her friend and other lover was frigging away as hard as she could, pink visions of Cyn filling her with a lust that could not be satisfied by fingers alone…

Downstairs, Harriet, one of the cook’s maids, was in bed with Stebbings, her slim teenager’s body riding that of her heavy uncle and she palmed at her small breasts in the moonlight and arched her back, her mouth a silent ‘O’ of ecstasy as her uncle’s semen splashed and was rammed against her womb. They had agreed to do it only when Harriet’s period had passed, though this had not stopped Stebbings from using Harriet’s arse in the day…

In the room off of the kitchens, James Rawlinson, one of the footmen quietly raped the cook, a woman fifteen years older than himself, pressing a hand over Flora’s mouth as her rammed Flora in her own bed, her daughter Elsie was silent in the next bed, her face pressed into her pillow so that Elsie did not have to see her mother buck in the moonlight beneath under Rawlinson’s unloving attentions. Rawlinson had no right to rape the cook but he had caught her out last year when Rawlinson had uncovered Flora fiddling her books and now visited her bed as and when he felt like it…

In the chambermaids’ room, Lucy heard bare feet padding over towards her bed and was not surprised when Gertrude slid under the covers, reaching down under her nightie for Lucy’s cunt and pulling her head back so that she could start kissing Lucy’s neck. As the older woman’s rough fingers worked at her clit and probed into her slit, Lucy let out a few soft sighs and moans for appearance’s sake, putting up with the other’s lust for only as long as it would take to pay Gertrude back the money she had borrowed to keep her father going.

Urfh! Ow! Ow!

‘Oh yes’ Lucy whispered, three fingers forced inside her, and started counting down to when she could fake the orgasm. Gertrude had no skill in her fingers but once the ‘orgasm’ had come, Lucy knew she would then sit up, take off her nightie, sit on the old hag’s face and go down on Gertrude in a sixty-nine.

At least James Rawlinson gives me a good time when he ‘takes his payment’…

In a grand Bristol house, Anne Finnegan made love to her brother and to her husband at the same time. They had reached an arrangement whereby the brother would attend to Anne’s behind and then for the photograph stick it into Anne’s vagina once Roger had finished. The photo was taken and the next day a letter arrived by registered mail relieving Finnegan & Wake of a second year’s interest payment provided proof of pregnancy was shown. Anne Finnegan rode her husband as Davis filled her rectum and wished the growing attraction between his sister and himself would not tempt him to take her as his woman (at least in secret)…

In the village, Frank Morrison climbed into bed with his wife. He missed his daughter Eliza, now Mrs Atkinson (junior) and already three months gone with child, who at this exact moment was very happily kissing her very happy young husband good night. Frank put himself up inside June and the two fucked, the one as a consolation, the other happy to have her husband’s full attention once more…

In the house next to the school, Mr Mattison rolled on top of his wife. Maisy wasn’t in the mood but Mr Mattison had never taken ‘no’ for an answer. Maisy gritted her teeth as her husband grunted away, raping her body as he had done since she had been one of his students and had been stupid enough to let her teacher seduce her after school. Pregnancy, a little pressure from the village and married at sixteen, now with four children…

Two houses down the street, as quietly as she dared, Jane Spencer opened the backdoor to let Gordon Chalmer sneak in before closing the door behind them. ‘Gordie’ she breathed, already pressing her tongue against his and spreading her legs under her nightie so Gordon could put his hand directly on her cunt. This Gordon did and after a time, pulled Jane down onto the rug and parted her legs. As quietly as they could manage, Jane and Gordon fucked where they lay until Jane, detecting Gordon’s change of pace, pushed him off and took his member in her mouth where she swallowed as each delicious spurt came…

 

[Wien1938]

Chapter 10

The Trap Snaps Shut



The next day dawned wet and Cynthia, having rang the bell for breakfast sat up in bed and waited. Her "husband" quietly snored next to her and thinking on his being slow to rise this morning, Cynthia reflected that perhaps her father was losing his stamina and chalked this up his wearing himself out on her sexy body.

Peeking under the eiderdown, Cynthia decided that hers WAS a sexy body. At this, she set her teeth together: she was resolved. She was twenty eight. Her father would this year climb into the second half of his sixties. She wanted a baby. Not just one. She wanted six. I want a baby, she thought and this decided her.

The plan would go on.

There was a knock at the door and with a practised flick of the covers, Cynthia clutched the eiderdown to her chest as Rawlinson, the footman entered with a steaming breakfast tray. As usual, he eyed her with a suggestive leer and as usual, Cynthia pretended not to notice and waited for Rawlinson to go.

No chance.

Father told me what happened to the last mistress who played hooky with the staff.



In her room, Mel woke a little later. Her cunt ached and she remembered how had she been dreaming of Cynthia back when they were at school: dreaming that they had been lovers when all that had happened was that Mel had gazed at Cynthia's naked form in the showers and been noticed by the other girls who all teased her as a dyke.

'Well, I am a dyke' Melanie Doughty said aloud to the empty bedroom.

She had rung for breakfast. Cynthia had told her to do that. 'The staff don't like mixing. Think of yourself as a kind of sacred cow.'

Rawlinson entered and found the guest sitting up in bed quite naked, playing solitaire.

'Your breakfast, Miss.' he announced in his smoothest manner, eyeing Mel and thinking she was worth a look.

'Oh thanks,’ Mel said in a flat voice, not even looking up. ‘Put it down there.’ and gestured at the end of the bed.

Hesitating Rawlinson stalled, seeking a way in with this uncovered nymph.

'Would there be anything else, Miss?' he ventured, already imagining throwing the brunette back on the guest bed and ramming the dark triangle between her legs.

Surprised, Mel looked up from her game at Rawlinson. She was quite unconcerned by her nakedness around the servant.

'No?' she replied blankly, 'Should there be?'

Now nervous at the lack of response, Rawlinson considered taking a more direct approach, imagining two long stride, a handful of fair brown hair in hand, a mouth pulled up, kissing and groping a shapely breast as the brunette warmed to his manly ardour…

Instead, Rawlinson gulped a little and asked the guest, 'Should you not be wearing a dressing gown, Miss? You might catch your death of cold or something…' he finished lamely.

'Thanks, it’s fine' came the flat reply and, dismissed, Rawlinson gave up. As he closed the door, Rawlinson was conscious of the bulge in his trousers and felt the anger rising at the loss of a prospective lay. He decided he would go down and rape Lucy the chambermaid. She still owed him a large sum of money and would gladly exchange a note of hand in exchange for something more physical…



The three of them spent the afternoon between the billiards and the Rose Room, Charles watching the lean form of Melanie leaning over the table as she cued the ball with a smooth competence and comparing his blonde daughter sat in an elegant carved chair where Cynthia sipped at sherry and saw Cynthia watching him in turn.

Cyn’s jealous, thought Charles, knows I could could have her little tart for the asking…and amused himself with fantasies of mounting Mel’s bum as she sixty-nine’d with Cyn…

Mel watched the ball skid across the green and roll slowly to a stop where Cyn could cause her problems. She cursed under her breath and caught the dark eyes fixed on her chest. Fear rippled through Mel as she sensed the coldness behind the lust and glanced at Cyn, gorgeous in a long sleeved, white silk dress, her golden hair pinned up with a silver comb and the tempting hint of a half-smile at her, Mel, and felt her breath steal away.

Cannoning her shot into the corner pocket, Cyn ushered Mel around to her father’s side of the table and took her time with her next pick, knowing her father was openly assessing Mel’s form, not hidden by the rich red velvet dress that did nothing to hid her figure.

You’re not getting me alone, Mel… You need to be tempted…



The next night, father and daughter got into bed together. Charles gave a low bark to Cynthia, who threw the covers back and bent across the bed, then, just as Cynthia, her naked behind high in the air, her father’s fingers already penetrating her wet cunt, was working her father with her mouth, there was a low rapping knock at the door

At this interruption, her father growled with frustration, privately swearing to skin alive which ever of the house staff had dared to break in on his fun, and said to his daughter, 'Fuck's sake, Cyn…Go and see who that is…'

Then as Cynthia leapt off the bed, finding and slinging on an finely woven white silk (and almost transparent) dressing gown, one decorated with black lotus blossom designs,, Charles lay back on his bed, his head propped up on the pillow, keeping his erection hard by working it with one hand while watching as Cynthia opened the door.

'Cyn!' Mel squeaked, shocked and delighted at the same time, for Cynthia had not belted the the dressing gown and was otherwise naked and on full show to Mel who likewise was not wearing anything at all… Lust had finally overcome what good sense Melanie Doughty possessed and she had left her bed too early to see if the old man was asleep (which he was not) and steal Cyn away for a delicious night of lovemaking.

Looking over Cyn's shoulder, Mel saw a monstrous, but powerful, mound of blubber slowly working the same enormous erection Mel had sucked two days earlier and was immediately hit by a a mix of weak arousal and intense fear.

'Oh! Um… I…' began Mel and, in her embarrassment, entirely missed the steely look in her lover's eyes. Hard slim fingers closed around Mel's forearm and she found herself propelled into the room, the door audibly clicking shut behind her, Melanie not knowing that Cynthia had just turned the key.

'Come on, Mel! Time for some threesome fun…' giggled Cynthia, hard and driving in her ear and pushing Mel to the left side of the bed where the monster lay, already showing dangerous signs of life.

Suddenly the old man was up and had taken an irresistible hold of Melanie and in a heartbeat Mel found that she was on the bed, pinned beneath the huge monster, her legs forcibly parted and her thighs pushed up and back.

Melanie barely had time to scream ‘No!’ before the monster was deep inside, battering away until after only a few thrusts, she was entirely impaled and screaming 'No! Stop! Don't!' sobbing, begging and pleading with the the old man even as he raped her body with unfeelingly ease until her body rebelled against her mind and her deepest basic instinct to survive took over. Now Mel’s cries changed to those of bruised pleasure, her wet cunt sucking on the huge prick, and now she cried out 'Yes… please… harder…' until, finally, with a horrified shout of 'OH FUCK!', Melanie Doughty felt the wicked old man empty his balls into her and she now lay paralysed at what had just happened.

All through out Mel’s rape at the hands of her monstrous father, Cynthia had stood there, her dressing gown open and smiling as she masturbated through the whole of Mel’s ordeal, palming her breasts and fingering herself, enjoying her revenge in turning the tables on both of them… Almost complete…she thought and retrieved the small portable camera from the draw in her bedside table.

Snap Snap Snap

'Daddy can I take one of her freshly fucked cunt? Thanks!'

Snap

Melanie stammered accusations at Cynthia who ignored her and jumped onto the bed with the other two.

Cynthia stroked her father’s heavy back and said to him, 'You know, Daddy, that Mel is a huge dyke. She fancied all the girls in school but still hasn't found the right' Cynthia reached down and grasped her father's member 'TOOL to FIX her. I think she's found it!'

Understanding his daughter’s plot and for once admiring her calculating moves, Charles Abercrombie turned his large oval head and fixed his cold dark eyes onto the terrified face of Melanie Doughty. He smiled and for Mel it was a terrible sight to behold. There was neither affection nor mercy in that smile, only a will to dominate her body and break Mel to the will of Charles Abercrombie.

'Do you know, Cyn, I think I WILL breed this bitch' declared Charles and with that statement forced his way back into Mel who, though she struggled, fought, pleaded and begged with him but to no avail.

When with a loud row of grunts, her father had once more filled Mel with his seed, Cynthia rubbed her hand up and down her father’s arm and asked her father for something Cynthia truly, really, wanted.

'Now Daddy, can I get a new husband please? I want children of my own.'

'Cyn, you bitch!' cried Mel from beneath Charles, already raping Mel again as his prick once more hardened inside her as she understood that her fate was to be a (enslaved) mistress and mother of bastard children, by Cyn's own father now less, tears running down her face as she bucked and rocked underneath the huge man, disgusted at the prison of flesh from the huge belly to the oval head and the massive penis spurting hated semen against her unwilling womb…

Cynthia held Mel’s hand and in a light, breezy tone, gave Mel some good advice.

'Be good now, Mel. Daddy has disposed of mistresses who disappointed him before. Why think of it…Our children can play together!' and Cynthia laughed for she knew she had won.

 

[Wien1938]

Chapter 11

Epilogue





Victory & Revenge



The next month, Cynthia Abercrombie was standing in a church next to a complete stranger and in saying the words 'I do.’ with all her heart, happily and for the last time, resigned the name of Abercrombie and became another man’s wife.



A year later, Michael and Cynthia returned to the country hall of her youth and there at the steps, they were greeted by her father with his new mistress beside standing beside her master.

Melanie, who was holding a healthy baby boy in her arms, and not minding the old man's hand fingering her bum through through the back of the green silk dress she wore today, cried out in surprise as the couple climbed out of the car

'You have one too, Cyn!'

Cynthia smiled a smile of complete victory.

In her arms was a little baby boy of her own and, beaming with happiness, she said to Mel (and to her father).

'There's going to be a lot more, Mel.'



The End.