HIM
Back in my room I stripped as quickly as possible, leaving my clothes where they fell. I was almost overwhelmed by a compulsion to get clean. I took a very long, very hot shower and I turned the taps all the way on; the temperature reddened my skin and the water stung my scalp like liquid needles. Then I scrubbed myself as if I was trying to shed my skin. When my thoughts about the evenings events threatened to engulf my mind I turned the hot water off and stood masochistically under the freezing cascade until I shivered and my teeth chattered.
Only with the water off, and when the friction of a towel was returning warmth to my body, did I try to analyse my thoughts and, hard to believe, my feelings. Why did a feel so........unclean? The party had been a huge success, eventually, I was sure of that. A bullet had been dodged when the undercover reporter had been discovered. There would now be no fallout over that. Then I turned over in my mind the thoughts I realised I had been trying to avoid.
Firstly I had discovered in the past few hours that Mary was my mother. My initial reaction had been joy as I realised that my father's cold and distant wife was not my mother. Since that moment I guess other emotions had started to seep up from the compost of my subconscious. I had lost my virginity with Mary, I had been fucking her since I was sixteen. That meant I was, literally, a 'motherfucker'.
Then I thought how many times I had seen Mary 'serve' at my father's parties. I had seen her used many times, as a casual fuck-toy and cum dump. I'd seen her gang-banged like Alice had been this evening. But, unlike Alice, I knew Mary had genuinely enjoyed being treated that way. Many times I'd enjoyed sinking my cock into her well fucked cunt or arse (I'd always enjoyed that slippery feeling) and enjoyed the unmistakable sounds of her pleasure and the exquisite sensations of her orgasms as I added to the overflowing loads inside her.
So now I knew my mother was Mary, the kinky serving girl slut, not Estelle the frigid millionaire's daughter. How did that make me feel about Mary? How did that make me feel about ME?
'Confused' was the answer to my own question, so I put that subject in the 'too hard' basket and turned my thoughts to Bailey.
As I did this I had to face the aftermath of the fact that, not to put too much of a fine point on it, I had fucked my sister. I'd discovered that I had been fucking my mother for years, but only the two of us knew about that. But I had fucked my sister in front of a crowd, fucked her in the arse, claimed her as my whore, made her proclaim her whoredom to everyone in the room. But, being ruthlessly honest with myself, I realised that this wasn't the problem. Definitions of 'normal' within my circle of friends were on a completely different plane to the average person. I guessed that my guests were so used to kink that they wouldn't be judgemental. They all had too many foibles of their own to do that. They were more likely to be shocked because it was out of character for me to be so public at a party, rather than be shocked that it was with my sister.
I had to face the facts. I was not troubled because I had fucked my sister, well not too much. I felt sullied and dirty and wrong because Kat had seen me fuck my sister. Why was that a problem? I didn't know the answer to my own question.
Kat -- was she the problem?
Then all these thoughts were driven from my mind by a timid knock at my door
HER
As Bastion swept from the room where the party had been held I felt dazed by what I had just witnessed. The whole evening had been like something out of a fever dream for me. But what Bastion had just done to Bailey had left me without the mental capacity to process my emotions. I looked around at the guests to see if they were as shocked as me. With the host having left so precipitously it was obvious that the party was over and everyone was making ready to leave, gathering clothes and dressing. As they did so I was surprised that their smiles, laughter and the buzz of happy conversation seemed to indicate that they had all had a good time. It certainly didn't seem they were shocked by what had happened. I almost felt like they, or I, were part of a different species if our reactions could be at such variance.
I knelt on my cushion beside Mary as one by one the guests stopped to thank her before they left. I risked the occasional glance at them and was shocked to recognise some of them from TV and politics. I was also shocked at the genuine enthusiasm in their thanks. Nearly every one of them told Mary how it had been the best party 'for years'. The cabinet minister I recognised rushed on to explain that they were all fun, but that this one had been 'special'. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The 'Formula One Guy' (as I thought of him), whose face was familiar from previous appearances in the press, was effusive in his thanks, even though he had nearly been in the tabloid papers all over again. These people had seen a man flog, then fuck, his sister - and they were saying how much they looked forward to the next party? These people weren't from another species -- they were from another fucking planet!
I saw the security guy getting instructions from Mary and shortly afterwards I saw him helping the reporter down from the 'sore horse', before escorting him from the premises. The reporter walked ever so tentatively, limping slowly. Then Mary signalled to Barton to take over and clear the last guests. She took me by the hand and gently pulled me to my feet.
"Now we need to take care of you child." She said with a gentle smile. Without releasing my hand she led me up a flight of stairs and down a short corridor. The room we entered was a large and beautifully decorated bedroom. She opened another door to reveal a luxurious bathroom.
"Let's get you cleaned up quickly dear." She said. "It wouldn't do to keep our Lord waiting now would it?"
She turned away to start the huge shower, adjusting the heat. I noticed the change of terminology now that the party was over. 'Bastion' was once again 'Lord La Motte' again, our joint Lord and Master. It was funny how that thought no longer seemed strange to me, how quickly I was adjusting and accepting.
When the shower was the correct temperature she came back to my side, looking me up and down in a way that made me blush. She laughed at my reaction and fluffed my hair with her fingers as she explained,
"Just seeing what needs doing dear, not much time." Then she added. "Your hair is fine, which is lucky as we don't have time to wash and dry it." Then she made me jump by brushing her hands over my breasts, gently touching the angry red marks left by the candle wax. She examined them with a look of sympathy.
