Tales of Incest

Chapter 01- The Makeover

The alarm clock buzzed annoyingly on my nightstand until I reached over and slapped it, snoozing it yet again. Sighing, I tried to go back to sleep, but inevitably my list of chores started running through my head, and not only was I not going to get any rest but if I didn't get up and get going then I was going to fall behind and probably be washing clothes until midnight!

'Life sucks!' I thought bitterly for only the millionth time.

If I could have my way, if it were at all possible, I'd sleep through as much of my royally ass fucked life as I can!

With another sigh, I flipped onto my side and found my husband's back clearly presented to me like the Chinese Wall saying, "Fuck you! Go away! Leave me alone!"

This was how he handled conflict, at least between him and I. We haven't spoken except in the most needed of circumstances, and as for his part of the communication, well, if an emoji could be an answer then it was. It was a good day when he communicated in more than single-syllable words.

Taking a deep breath I let it out slowly through my nose in a silent sigh before turning back over and getting out of bed. Forgoing a morning shower, I pulled off Stanley's oversized t-shirt I'd worn to bed.

Out of a deep sense of self-respect, I refuse to go to bed completely nude. It felt too much like begging for sex to me. However, usually, just the simple act of wearing Stanley's t-shirt with no panties was enough to get him grabbing my ass all night long at the least. Then, if I'm in the mood, at some point, the t-shirt comes off and we fuck like we're eighteen and twenty-five again.

Not anymore though.

Not in a long long long long time.

With another sigh, I pulled on comfortable full-bottomed panties and sheer black booty-boosting leggings. A sports bra. A tank top, and then ankle socks and running shoes before leaving the house and going jogging. I made it three miles before the sexual pressure of the shithole existence stopped me in my tracks.

I--just don't want to do this anymore!

A major part of me just wants to run as fast and as hard as I can away from my life and start over.

Fuck Stanley and his silent, sexless treatment of me!

Then, there was the other part of me that looked back at my life and said my life up until now would be a complete waste of time, effort, and love if I left Stanley. Twenty-eight years of being with him. Twenty-four years of marriage to a man that up until six months ago I never feared was cheating. Hell, I never even feared that he was thinking of cheating on me!

He's awkward and clingy and jovial and a prankster and frustrating and the most loving guy I've ever known. Hands down better than all of my friends' husbands. He worships the ground I walk on. He thinks I am a sex goddess. He put me up on pedestals. He's never hit me. He's never called me a bitch or cunt or any other word that he knows will hurt me. And then I wonder, what the fuck am I doing?!

Across the street, Dana's Diner sign flashed hypnotically beckoning me inside. Usually, I pass it by. There is nothing on their menu I can eat without gaining ten pounds, but today I don't care!

Pulling my phone out of the hip pocket of my leggings as I crossed the street, I called a friend. I seriously need to talk to someone, and of all my friends, I trust Jill the most. Besides, she has a Ph.D. in listening to people's problems.

Roughly thirty minutes later Jill sat across the table from me and idly scanned her menu as she asked, "Okay Eleanor, what's up? You sounded pretty desperate on the phone?"

"Let's see," I began with such bitterness in my voice, on the verge of bawling my eyes out, that Jill's attention immediately sharpened, "It has been six months now and Stanley hasn't so much as tried to fondle my breasts or pinch my ass! And as for sex! Yeah, right, that is nonexistent! Jill, I'm horny as hell, frustrated, and scared that I'm losing my family!"

"Really?" Jill replied thoughtfully, "Your whole family? I thought Stanley was head over heels for you girl. So, what's changed?"

"Everything! Nothing!" I cried in desperation.

"Really?" Jill replied doubtfully, "So if I ask you to tell me why Stanley is so angry with you that he has been unwilling to have sex with you for the last six months, you're telling me that you don't immediately know the how, when, where, and why everything changed?"

I froze in shock to have been so directly called out before shaking my head in denial.

"Oh my fucking god Eleanor!" Jill gasped in frustration, "So, you're one of those. I'm sorry Eleanor, but I can't help you. Nobody can."

"Wait?! What?" I gasped dazedly as if Jill had just reached across the table and slapped me, "Why? What am I one of?"

Jill leaned in and hissed, "You are one of those women that thinks that you can do no wrong. You're selfish and controlling. Everything has to be your way. Stanley isn't a companion to you he is a possession that you own that should do what you tell him to do, and if he doesn't then you nag and berate him until he does. I bet when you and Stanley argue you always win, and you think you are always right..."

"I do," I admitted, "And I am--most of the time."

"We'll let me clue you in on reality sister," Jill retorted, "You are not always right. As a matter of fact, I am willing to bet that all your arguments come down to this; whatever it is, it has to be to your personal preferences. It's your way or nothing. Unfortunately, instead of standing up to you, Stanley gives up. Not because he's wrong, but because he would rather have peace in the house than force the issue. What happens though is all of that turmoil you've caused builds up and festers until finally, you piss him off to such a point that he won't speak to you, or have sex with you! And still, you can't bring yourself to admit that this is YOUR fault!"

Jill sucked in a long hissing inhale and let it out slowly as she calmed herself. She spent several seconds glaring across the table at me before she finally moved to leave.

"I'll see you around," She mumbled, "Then again, maybe not. Maybe I can pick up Stanley on the rebound after you two divorce. He always was the best guy in town."

"You'd do that," I hissed angrily.

"In a heartbeat sister," Jill retorted as she stood over me, "If you're too stupid and prideful to admit you fucked up your marriage then you don't deserve Stanley."

She turned to leave and took three steps before I yelled, "Wait!"

Jill stopped and turned to glare at me.

"Please, come back," I begged, "I admit it. This is all my fault."

"Okay," Jill said as she walked back and sat down, "Now we're getting somewhere."

----(!)----

My name is Eleanor Cummins and I'm forty-two years old. I have long red hair, green eyes, pale skin, and a pretty face with pixie features like a turned-up nose and defined jawline. I have plump and kissable lips upstairs and down. And, I have a pear-shaped, curvy body that is broad-hipped with a thick round ass, muscular thighs, and calves. And it is my body that gets me into trouble. Why?

Well, because, even though I do recognize that parts of me are pretty, for the most part, I don't like myself. At least not my body, but then, what woman in this day and age loves her body?

Granted, I want my husband to be attracted to me. I try my hardest to stay in shape so that he only ever looks at me. There is just no way I am as attractive as my husband, and sons, make me out to be. Sure, I am confident in myself as a strong-willed, hard-working Irish woman. However, physically? No. I don't feel like I am all that much to look at.

First, I have this unruly, curly red hair that on my best day is, at best, corralled but in no way under control. Okay, so, I like my eyes. They are this bright yellowish emerald green that seems to pick up any light and almost glow. Oh, and, a lot of people say I have the softest skin they've ever touched, and my body is almost completely hairless--even down there if you know what I mean. Other than that, I wish my breasts were larger. Not much mind, just a little.

Mine? Well, I call them my nubbins because they are almost nothing. All the fat in my body decided to go to my ass!

You would think that they would have grown some after having four kids, but no. Well, barely. They are Bs, which is a little bigger than the A-cups they were. And, for a while, they were larger. Briefly. While I was nursing. But then right back down they went as soon as the boys were weaned.

I used to love how flat my belly was. I mean athletically flat with cut obliques and a tight four-pack. But, after kids, well, it's flat sort of. I have the four-pack up top but I also have a slight pooch around my navel and lower belly. Stanley and the kids like to say my breasts ski-slope out to my nips, well so does my belly, and I hate it.

Then there are my hips and ass. Oh my god, it's like he took two different women, one slim and one hellaciously curvy, and stitched them together to make me! My hips are so wide I should wear a sign that says "Wide Load." And my ass and thighs are so thick and round--it just defies my ability to describe. There's even an internet search description for my body type. It's called "Slim/Thick," and "Pawg," and "Fit/Thick." All of them fit me, or my ass, perfectly.

I'm okay, you know? I know I'm not ugly. Not even close to it really. And I work hard to make sure that I never am too. But, I am no TikTok, Instagram, or Facebook social media influencer posting semi-nude or completely nude pics of myself.

So, here is the twenty-four-year rub that has chapped my ass my whole marriage. Stanley for all of our marriage, and even before it, goes on and on about how gorgeous I am while touting my physical traits. Now, back when I was in my teens and twenties that was awesome. I couldn't get enough of it. However, once the kids started coming my body has never been the same since. That doesn't matter to Stanley though. He just keeps on going on about how I look so good, and in the last seven years, since the boys hit puberty, they have started doing this to me as well.

It's weird! It felt, at the least, pseudo-incestuous, and it left me feeling sexually harassed as they went on and on about how I was so beautiful. Of how Stanley thinks I should wear sexier underwear like lacy bras with matching thongs and g-string panties. The boys think I should wear smaller and tighter dresses, skirts, blouses, shirts, and pants. Updated clothing styles that show off my pert breasts, small waist, broad hips, thick round ass, and muscular thighs. And all of them hate my full coverage one-piece bathing suits or tank top bikinis. They want me to wear an itsy-bitsy bikini. Stanley in particular wants me to wear the transparent macro and micro mesh g-string and thong bikinis. I might as well go to the beach naked!

When I complain that I am too fat for such revealing bikinis Stanley points out how small my waist is compared to my hips. How my belly is a perfect mix of flat and femininely curvy. When I point out how humongous my hips and how thick and fat my ass is, and how a thong or g-string would just make my ass look even bigger, he responds with a flat denial. He says that I have a super ass, and goes on and on about how it is so thick and round and heart-shaped. I point out that my thighs are thick and cellulite-riddled, and he just shakes his head. He argues that yes my legs are thick, but they are also perfect, muscular, and curvy in all the right places leaving just enough space in between them so that it looks like an arrowhead is pointing at my pussy.

It drives me crazy!

Can't he see that I don't see what he sees in me?!

I am not that!

I am not what they think I am!

I--I'm just not what they want me to be!

What I see in myself are breasts that are too small. An ass and hips that are way too broad and large and round. Cellulite on my ass and thighs I can't ever seem to get rid of. My belly is not as tight as it was when I was eighteen, especially after four pregnancies and births. And every day I wake up and stand on a scale that tells me just how fat I am no matter how hard I work to lose it, or how slim I might look on the outside!

----(!)----

"So," I explained patiently to Jill, "After twenty-four years of this, six months ago I finally had enough of Stanley's constant nagging and harassment. I was tired of him telling me how good I looked just so he could try and convince me to dress up in some tightfitting cocktail dress, or barely there bikini. It's like some sick perversion! I swear if he could get me to go out naked he'd want me to do that too! So, I unloaded on him. I told him in no uncertain terms what I thought about his perverted obsessions with trying to get me into the sluttiest outfits possible. After that, it was like a twenty-year avalanche broke free high in the mountains and all my rage, pain, and frustration just came rolling right over him."

I paused for a second to gauge Jill's reaction before I continued, "I told him how I've felt for years about his sexually harassing me our whole marriage. Constantly groping and pinching me. Playing pranks that, even if they never hurt me, frightened me sometimes, and mostly just annoyed the hell out of me. And, how after twenty-four years I have had enough!"

I paused again and looked across the table at Jill. She looked like a thunderhead on the verge of breaking loose in a storm herself. Figuring she was angry for me I continued, "At first, it was such a relief to have finally told Stanley exactly how much I've resented his obsessive attention all these years. Afterward, I knew his pouting would be annoying but I figured it would pass and we would wind up right back to how things have always been all these years. However, then two weeks of pouting and silent treatment, and zero flirting or affection turned into a month, then three months, and then six!"

Looking down at my coffee and plate of eggs, bacon, and avocados. Our food had come sometime during my recitation. I contemplated the hurt I must have caused Stanley and the damage I'd done to my marriage and regretted my decision for the millionth time.

"I still feel justified," I said stubbornly, "I am not, nor will I ever be, the woman Stanley wants me to be. I don't want him pawing me every moment we are together. I don't want to have to get all dolled up and dress like a whore every time I go to the store for a carton of milk. I just want to be able to sit around the house in my PJs and read a book. Maybe have sex once or twice on the weekends with some light cuddling during the week."

"Well," I laughed bitterly at my new circumstances, "I have a lot of time now to sit around the house in my PJs and read!"

Shaking my head, tears of frustration started rolling down my cheeks as I mumbled, "After I told Stanley off, I literally watched my husband's playful and lustful expression change to one of the deepest hurt I have ever seen. I saw his love for me die as his eyes turned stone-cold. He stopped talking to me that night. When I do get him to talk it isn't in any meaningful way. Single-word answers are all he will respond with. I don't even have to harass him to do his chores."

"That isn't the worst though. The worst is that he has stopped touching me completely. I never knew I would miss his playful slapping, grabbing, or squeezing my behind, but I do. I never thought I would be annoyed that he won't look at my breasts, or try to fondle them. This is what is so annoying! Now that he won't touch me I find myself longing for him to look at me, to touch me, to play with me!"

"He's stopped bathing with me. For twenty-four years we always showered together unless one of us was out of town. But now, nothing."

"Worst of all," I cried weakly in shame, "You know our boys Jill. John, Virgil, Chris, and Peter. Did I ever tell you that I gave birth to John only a year after we got married? I was nineteen then. John's going to be twenty-three this year, and Virgil will be twenty-one, Chris nineteen, and Peter eighteen."

"My boys... My men!" I groaned, "I never was able to decide if I was blessed or cursed. I never wanted kids. Not after dealing with family and friend's kids, but the one thing I did know was that if I did have kids I didn't want girls. My drama is more than enough for me..." Now I allowed myself a small conceded smirk as I admitted, "and I never wanted competition for Stanley's affection or my sons."

"So, I was happy when I had boys. However, life with a house full of men hasn't been how I imagined it. Men and boys are like untrained dogs. They get into everything you don't want them to be in and destroy it. They are constantly making messes, and then they come up to me happily like I should be proud of them!"

And," I continued with an exasperated sigh, "They never leave! The boys still live at home. Granted, Stanley and I never really tried to rush or make them leave, but you know, a little help around the house, a little financial aid since we literally pay for everything would be nice!"

"However," I said in a more muted depressed voice, "When I told Stanley off the boys were there too. They saw and heard everything. Hell! I even told them off! I mean-- It's weird, right? How my sons make so much fuss over how I look and what I wear? I feel like they all want me to be this--this porno French maid! Clean the house. Cook the meals. Wash their clothes. Take care of them, and do it all naked with only a little French maid outfit and high heels on!"

"I'm so sick of it all!" I hissed bitterly as my emotions bubbled up and tears started running down my cheeks, "But, now, the boys walk on eggshells. I think John and Virgil are looking for a place to move into, and if they do then I know Chris and Peter will move out with them! After that, I'm scared that Stanley will leave me as well..."

"So," I asked, "Jill, what do I do? I've fucked up. I know I have. But, I can't seem to fix this and my family is spinning apart right in front of me!"

Jill is what I would call a drop-dead gorgeous woman. Everything I judge myself by but would never admit to. I'm a woman, and even I would fuck her. However, that would never happen because we are both very heterosexual.

Jill has this amazing raven-black hair with a glossy sheen. Her skin is a flawless milk white which makes the fact that her eyes are as black as onyx even more startling. Her lips are the palest shade of pink I've ever seen on a woman, and after having seen her in the gym shower once or twice I can attest that her nips and pussy are exactly the same milk-white shade of pale pink as well. She has a perfect hourglass figure with incredibly full, perfectly shaped H-cup breasts that make mine look nonexistent in comparison. Her belly is flat and flawless having never had children, and her hips are broad and her ass thick, well-rounded, and firm though this is the one area where I beat her hands down. I make her as well as almost all other women's hips and asses look narrow and petite. Not that I'm proud of that!

For all of her stunning beauty though, I saw none of it right now. What I did see was a very stern frown of blatant judgment twisting her otherwise beautiful mouth as she glared at me. Adjusting the rectangular frame of her glasses sitting on her nose made her look even more like an extremely hot librarian as she finally growled, "Wow! Eleanor! Just, wow! That is a whole lot of shit to unpack all at once. I'm half tempted to just leave you be. Do you understand me, Eleanor? You have well and truly fucked up your marriage!"

"Fucking bitch!" She continued in an angry hiss while shaking her head, "Don't you know how good you have it? Had it! That's just it, isn't it? You don't know, do you?"

She paused to glare at me again before continuing, "I would give my right breast to have what you have! The love of a completely devoted husband, and adoring sons. Five men. Five! Whose love for you is so deep and pure that they rather be with you than with any other woman! And what do you do? You fucking slap them in the face! You take their love and cast it into the mud and then stomp all over it like a spoiled rotten child!"