What was a mother to do?
In the space of a few minutes, Marjorie Hampton's world changed forever. It was bad enough overhearing her own children having sex, but … was her daughter Laura, the sweet innocent English major daughter really a hooker? Laura, the charmer with the big green eyes, the pretty white smile and the straight-A academic record, a paid professional slut? The incest was bad enough, and now Marjorie found herself wondering if her son Tim were at least getting it for free.
And Cal! Marjorie didn't hear much of the middle part of the conversation; the washing machine and the sound from the pipes drowned out most it. But she did overhear Laura saying that whenever Cal was on a "business trip" he paid to have the girls look like her.
Marjorie seethed; on more than one occasion, Cal had called her "Laura" while they were making love. Had Laura crossed that line with her father, too? Though she dreaded what she might learn, Marjorie had to find the truth about Laura.
Marjorie could barely stand the sight of her husband right now, let alone get in bed with him, but eventually she managed it. Sleep came in fits and starts and never lasted long. Her dreams that night, Thanksgiving night (as if she had all that much to be grateful for right then) were short and frightening. Marjorie dreamed of catching Laura and Cal together and shooting them both. She dreamed that she was sucking her son Tim's cock. She dreamed of catching Tim and Laura in bed together and joining them.
The dreams had receded into fragments of memory by morning, but left her pussy tingling. Her mind spun with a thousand fantasies. What would it be like to fuck a stranger for money? What would incest feel like? Could she suck a stranger's cock? Her son's?
Confused and angry, the fantasies grew in Marjorie's mind. After the guests had left, she called the real estate company to see if she could keep the rented house for a couple of extra days.
"Why?" Cal asked.
"Oh," she replied airily, "I know we'll lose the damage deposit if the place isn't in perfect shape. I thought I'd stay an extra day or two to clean up. Tim could help me."
Tim's handsome face fell at that, and he shot a glance to Laura, who, with her dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and wearing a loose T-shirt and jeans, looked fair and fresh for the trip back to campus -- and balling middle-aged businessmen for fifty bucks a whack, Marjorie noted darkly. Cal's really going to pay for his pussy by the time I'm through, she thought.
Now Marjorie understood the expression in her husband's eyes, the eyes he'd passed to his children, as he looked at Laura and said, "Plane's waiting, sweetheart. Are you ready?"
The more she looked at her husband and daughter, the more certain she became that Laura, indeed, had slept with him too. The way his face lit up at the prospect of taking Laura to the airport, her more flirtatious manner towards him, who did they think they were fooling?
Laura nodded. Cal picked up her suitcase, kissed his wife (some habits die hard), and headed out the door. Tim and Laura hugged, and Marjorie noticed that he tried to caress his sister's breast. In return, Laura shot him a sour look.
Marjorie could barely touch her daughter; their goodbye embrace was stiff and perfunctory. Laura's eyes asked what was the matter, but Marjorie turned away, and in that moment Laura knew something was wrong.
"Come along, Laura," Cal said, "the plane's waiting." With another questioning glance, Laura followed him out the door.
Once they were gone, Marjorie and Tim went to work: dishes, vacuuming, mopping, changing linens. All in all, it took about four hours to finish, at which time Marjorie said, "Want to go to the beach?"
Covered in sweat, Tim replied, "After all this, a dip in the ocean'd be real nice."
Marjorie closed the door to her bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed, tired and emotionally exhausted.
Looking in the mirror, Marjorie thought, Laura looks just like me. Marjorie compared herself to her daughter; darker hair than she, flashing hazelnut eyes, a little taller, but they had the same plentiful bustline, the same pert thrusting ass. Marjorie had longer legs, which she'd always considered an advantage.
Is it just that I'm forty? she wondered. Is Cal really that shallow? Or does it excite him to think he makes love both to his wife and his daughter? What do I do? What do I do?
Her self-esteem shaken to the core, Marjorie dug to the bottom of the beach bag and found a bikini she'd bought several years ago and had forgotten about. A simple black bikini patterned brightly colored jellyfish pattern, it was a tight fit. The top pushed her already large breasts tightly together, giving her a canyon of cleavage.
Do Laura's boobs look like that? she wondered. These aren't anything to be ashamed of.
Disturbing, yet exciting, images of Cal rolling Laura's breasts in his palms filled her mind, as she realized Cal probably made love to their daughter in the same way he made love to her. She shook her head to chase the images away, but her pussy quivered, wanting attention.
Pulling on a black T-shirt and black shorts, Marjorie gathered her beach kit together, and made her way to the warm Florida ocean with her handsome, muscular son.
The day after Thanksgiving, there were fewer people on the water than usual, as many had decided to return home. Marjorie and Tim found a spot out of sight from most of them, near a sandy little cove where they had a beautiful view of palm trees, birds, and sunshine sparkling on the water. They spread out their beach towels and sat in the sun, enjoying the balmy breeze that warmed their skin.
Marjorie stood, dropped her shorts and removed her T-shirt.
"Jesus, Mom, you're beautiful!" Tim said. "I had no idea."
You've just never thought of family members as sex objects before, Marjorie thought. She smiled and pulled a bottle of sunblock from the beach bag. Though she did not know it, the slow, teasing manner in which she was applying the lotion to her fine swimmer's legs was giving her son thoughts he would not admit to having less than a week ago. A lump began to grow in Tim's black swim trunks.
"Could you put this on my back?" she asked, lying face down and undoing the clasp of her bikini. "I don’t want to get sunburned."
With a gulp, Tim poured some of the lotion on the small of her back and began to rub it in with surprisingly gentle hands. Marjorie sighed, her first relaxed breath in nearly a day. Tim's hands moved along her sides now, spreading more lotion. His fingertips came tantalizingly close to her breasts, and Marjorie remembered how he'd tried to cop a feel from Laura that morning. She pushed the memory away, but the question lingered: what's incest like?
Marjorie stopped her son just as the massage was beginning to feel too good.
"That's enough," she said. "Do you want some?"
"Sure." Tim sounded disappointed.
Marjorie clasped the bikini top back on, and applied the lotion to Tim's back. The tent under his trunks was impossible to miss. Does he think I'm torturing him? she wondered. Good.
Now they had a peaceful, quiet setting, a balmy Florida breeze blowing in from the sea. As she nervously applied the sunblock to Tim's back, Marjorie wondered how best to broach the topic with him. Ask how it started? Ask if she really is a whore? There's got to be some gentle way, some benign way to bring this topic up …
"Does she give you head?" Marjorie blurted.
Tim blushed to his bones.
He's cute when he's embarrassed, Marjorie thought.
"Oh, God, Mom," he said. "You heard us?"
