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If there's one thing you should know about me, it's this: I'm just a lawyer, nothing more and nothing less. I do what I'm told and act in the best interests of the family. The patriarch had passed away, and I was appointed executor of his will. Not a large fortune, but a substantial one, enough to drive even the most dignified people to madness.
All of this happened shortly after the patriarch's death, and the family was awaiting their inheritance. As individuals, they are wonderful people; I always got along well with them. But as a family, there are some underlying toxic dynamics. That's okay; many families have that.
In accordance with the trust's instructions, my instructions were as follows:
i) I have control over the distribution of the funds.
ii) The family must remain closely connected in order to receive an annual allowance.
iii) A moral code must be followed. No alcohol, no drugs, no shameful behavior.
It began at a high-profile political event, which Margaret also attended.
She looked as beautiful as ever, wearing a long red dress and her hair was styled up with white streaks. Tall and slender, she was 52 years old at the time and possessed the self-confidence of a woman who knew her worth. No longer bound to a husband, this freedom allowed her to mingle with people as she pleased.
Later that evening, Margaret found me and pulled me aside with a gleam in her eyes.
“I might have a chance to run for governor,” she said. “The other candidates are doing terribly in the polls. That’s why big donors want someone inexperienced, even at my age.”
None of this surprised me. Margaret wasn't your typical celebrity or housewife. She was a well-known businesswoman and had spent the last few years promoting high-profile charities. The media loved her. Charisma was always on her side. I'd heard rumors that she was planning to run for local office. Her husband had always been uncomfortable with the idea, but now that he was gone, there was no stopping her.
"Well then, you have my vote."
“I want to talk about that,” she said. “Some donors only want to support me after the primaries. They don’t want to upset their friends. That’s why I have to finance my campaign early.”
"And you want the money from the escrow account."
"It's my only chance to win a primary. Apparently, I do very well in focus groups."
"How much is the amount?"
"10 million dollars."
We talked quite a bit that evening. The family is wealthy, but not affluent, and the trust was set up to provide for them for decades to come. For Margaret to receive that much money, the other beneficiaries—her adult children—must agree to a change to the trust.
"You probably think I'm crazy," she said.
"No, not at all. I admire people who run for office with a particular worldview. You could achieve a lot of great things."
"And the amount I'm asking for? That's a risk."
"Even if you lose the race, your increased public profile could financially benefit everyone."
“This is a dream of mine,” she said. “The stars are aligned.”
"I'm happy for you, but Daphne is a spendthrift, and so is Oliver."
"He's using drugs again, you know."
"Are you sure?"
"The signs are there," she said. "Since his father died, he has fallen back into his old habits."
"There you go. Oliver could be excluded from the inheritance because of the morality clause. More money for you."
She smiled: "No, I could never do that."
"Would you like me to talk to them? Let's see what they think about it."
"Please. I was hoping you would offer it."
The next day I visited her family home, a modest property outside the city. Margaret was on the phone, and the maid let me in. I took Margaret's words about her eldest son and drugs to heart. I had plenty of experience with spoiled, directionless young men and interpreted Margaret's remarks as a sign that I should intervene.
I went into Oliver's bedroom and searched there. Did I feel guilty for rummaging through his closets and drawers? No. It was for his own good. Oliver was a bright young man with potential, but he's what happens when you have too much energy, access to everything, and a neglectful father. Here's someone with a burning passion, but no one can live it out.
No drugs were found that day, but I did find something that would change her life forever—a 1970s novel by an author called HeyAll, a worn paperback with a torn cover. A quick glance revealed it was erotic. On closer inspection, it turned out to be a collection of short stories featuring family members. On closer inspection, the focus was on the mother.
Young men who read porn are usually insignificant, but this is a bargaining chip.
A few minutes later, I was sitting across from Margaret in my home office, showing her the novel. It was funny to see her reaction. It was as if pills or ecstasy would have been easier to process, because at least she could understand drugs; how is a mother supposed to deal with her son's incestuous fantasy?
"That's disgusting," she said.
"Oliver is a complicated young man."
"Okay, but why are you showing me this?"
“Think about it,” I said. “Oliver is going through a tough time. He’s lost his father. He’s seeking validation from wild friends. So it’s either this… or that.”
I pointed at the novel, and Margaret mocked me at the same moment.
"Should I fuck him?"
"Be pragmatic. Your only advantage is being a mother."
At that moment, she knew I was right, and she didn't like it either. We spent the next hour discussing possible next steps. Her top priority was changing the trust; her second priority was preserving her dignity within the household. She refused to denigrate herself. But she also knew that energetic young men like Oliver could easily be manipulated by women. He had acquired quite a reputation as a womanizer in the party scene. Everyone in our circle of acquaintances knew that.
"Wait here," she said.
She was annoyed and didn't try to hide it. I waited a while, and Margaret came back. She was wearing a fitted black dress, smaller than anything I'd ever seen her in, leaving her arms and legs bare. She was wearing red high heels and sheer stockings.
"You look amazing."
"My husband loved this outfit. I only wore it for him."
When she sat down, I will never forget the sound of her heels on the floor. It was the music of a dignified woman. The power of each step. The confidence and the rhythm. She sat upright, but not relaxed. When she sat with her legs crossed, I realized she was embarrassed to be dressed like that in my presence.
"If you want my advice, I suggest you speak to Oliver today, discuss your desire to run for office, and ask if he is open to a change to the trust."
"Okay, good, I'll talk to him."
"Go without a bra, too."
"You can't be serious."
"For this to work, you have to seduce him. Taking off your bra would be the perfect time."
"That's despicable."
"Young men like him would react to that. I bet."
She pursed her lips. "Okay, I'll do it, but if it goes wrong, it's your fault."
"I take full responsibility."
Margaret did nothing that evening, but took a few days to read the HeyAll novel her son had hidden to understand the interest in it. I remember talking to Margaret on the phone about various things, and she kept complaining about the book's obscenity and how uncomfortable it made her. The night she moved out, Oliver was the only sibling at home, and Margaret had sent me selfies of her outfit, wondering if she looked slutty. That was the exact word she used in the text, "slutty," and I replied that she was overthinking it and that men were simple creatures. She was wearing a tight black dress with stockings and high heels. Later that evening, she texted me, "We need to talk. Tomorrow at 10 a.m." I arrived at the property right on time, and the maid escorted me to the library and prepared coffee and pastries. Moments later, Margaret arrived with the annoyed expression I'd seen on her face days before. Whatever her conversation with Oliver may have been about, it must have gone wrong.
"How did it go?" I asked.
She sat down and took a sip of coffee.
"The good news is, Oliver is willing to change the trust. He is even willing to give me his entire share."
After that, she said nothing more. Angrily, she bit into a cheese pastry to calm herself down. Then she took another sip of coffee to wash it down.
"And the bad news?"
“It was a disaster,” she said. I told him about my chance to run for governor and that I would have strong support if I first won my party’s nomination. Then we talked about money. That’s when all hell broke loose. Yesterday, a lot of pent-up anger came out. Things I had no idea he was feeling. We argued for an hour straight, no joke. He blamed me for a lot of things, especially things about his father. I contradicted him as best I could.
"What did he want?"
"He'll change his mind if I give him a blowjob."
"Seriously?"
"Oh yes, he's serious. More serious than I've ever seen him before."
"He must have been furious to make such a request."
“The offer was calculated,” she said. “Oliver noticed my clothes and thought I had his porn book. He knew I wanted to seduce him. Anyway, he wants to save our relationship, but he wants to humiliate me first so I can prove myself.”
"I can imagine how complicated that must feel."
“Yes, but I think… as a mother… I finally understand Oliver’s frustration. I don’t agree with them, but I understand his point of view. Am I crazy for putting myself through this?”
"I believe you are a woman trying to keep her family together."
For the next week, everything was only revealed on a need-to-know basis. I was kept in the dark about the intimate details of her family conversations, but she emailed me the latest terms and conditions, as I was responsible for drafting the trust amendment.
We spoke on the phone around 11 p.m., and she sounded like she was at peace with everything. She talked about the upcoming deadline for filing her candidacy. I told her I supported her in whatever she decided, and when the phone fell silent, I knew her plans had changed.
"I hope Oliver has come to his senses," I said.
"No, he knows exactly what he wants. But you know how siblings are,
"They are talking."
"Is York aware of the offer?"
"He has become the jealous younger brother."
I still vividly remember the shock I felt when Margaret first considered it, and I
I sensed that the plan was definitely coming into play. It was a delicate conversation on the phone, in which I didn't want to judge her, and she wanted to maintain her moral superiority.
"What are the new conditions?" I asked.
"Before we get to that, I need to know: Are you still with us? Or have I missed you?"
scared?"
"I am loyal to your family. I mean it, but I cannot tell you
help."
There was a long pause in the line.
"York wants the same thing. There was talk of blowjobs."
"Is this about Oliver and York getting revenge? Or is it about..."
that we are hot young men?”
"Both."
"Are you thinking about it?"
“Yes.”
"Do you think this will ruin your family? I don't know if it's worth the money."
A long pause ensued.
“On the contrary,” she said. “I have the feeling this could save my family. I know it’s crazy. You’re the only one I’ve told about it.”
"With me, it's always safe."
"That pleases me. And of course, there is another problem we need to address."
She speaks of Daphne, her only daughter.
To change a trust, all beneficiaries must agree, and so far we haven't had a plan approved for the daughter. I thought the best approach would be to find another way to get her to agree. Perhaps a well-paying job at some point. Or a larger share of the estate.
But my mother was right about one thing: sibling talks. At the time, I still hoped that my brothers wouldn't tell Daphne about the unholy agreement. In fact, I assumed they would come to their senses and abandon the idea of receiving sexual favors from their mother. That they could all be a normal family again. How wrong I was.
Next, I met Margaret at lunch in a French restaurant. We moved in the same social circles, but now she was raising her profile by building a political campaign and figuring out who was interested in working for her and at what price. I had lunch and chatted with some friends. She chatted with the crowd between courses.
That day I knew she had a chance of winning any election. Her charm was magical. She was stunning, yet approachable across social and economic divides. She knew how to talk to people and had a genuine personality. When she asked how you were, she really wanted to know, or at least it seemed that way.
When everyone had finished eating and were heading to the parking lot, Margaret took me aside, and we continued talking down the street.
"Get the paperwork ready," she said. "They've agreed to restructure the trust. I want the money as soon as possible."
"10 million dollars."
"Yes, that much."
"And everyone agreed? I assume Daphne is among them."
"Yes, that's right."
"I meant, does Daphne know about the agreement?"
"You'll think my family is completely crazy."
"Not at all."
She took a deep breath. "Apparently, Oliver and Daphne are... you..."
"Do they do that?"
"Apparently for over a year now," she said. "Daphne explained everything to me."
"I thought she hated her brothers."
"That makes up for it. Apparently. Welcome to the world of spoiled, rich siblings, where the rules of traditional society don't apply."
"What does she want?"
"Influence my election campaign. You know, follow me everywhere, make news posts or funny videos. And if I win, she wants more access. She believes her online career and her follower count will skyrocket."
"Clever girl."
"Far too clever."
Margaret's lips curled into a tight curl, and she shuddered slightly as she said this. I didn't want to press her further because we were on a public sidewalk near top donors and political activists. And again, "I'm a lawyer; I can advise, I give counsel, but making moral judgments is not my job. People like Margaret are capable of making their own decisions."
Two days later, I drove to her estate in the morning and sat in Margaret's bedroom chair. She showed me her phone and pictures her daughter had sent to prove that an incestuous relationship with her brother had indeed existed. It was Daphne's leverage to obtain additional benefits for changing the trust.
I've always known Daphne as spirited, full of life, the typical Gen Z influencer, striving for attention on social media. She's like a jack-of-all-trades, doing a little bit of everything. Smart. Sometimes cheeky. Always warm-hearted.
While searching for pictures on her phone, I saw images of her pink pussy being spread and penetrated by her brother's large cock. This was my first encounter with real incest, and I didn't know how to react. How is someone supposed to feel about that? There were no faces visible, but it looked like her body, athletic with a light tan, and the male figure did indeed look like her brother.
Her orgasm was intense. The last thing I watched was a 14-second video clip of her pussy squirting and squirting, her hips and thighs shaking as she was being fucked hard.
I put my phone down on the table because Margaret was pacing nervously in the bedroom. It was so obvious that she felt humiliated. Finally, she shrugged and rummaged through her wardrobe, unable to look at me, knowing that I had become part of her dark family secret.
She rummaged through the closet for underwear and stockings. She grabbed them carelessly and threw them onto the bed. Her frustration had reached boiling point, not only because of her family, but also because of her political ambitions and her plans for the rest of her life. A woman with such talent should be destined for greatness. This drove her to the brink of madness.
"Are you sure you want to continue?"
“Believe me,” she said. “I want nothing to do with it. But I’ve thought about it every day. I’ve always been the best mother I could be. For everyone. Love requires sacrifice. Oliver believes he’s right. He’ll never change his mind.”
The selection on the bed consisted of things she would never wear in public. They were so far removed from her public persona. Transparent underwear. See-through bras. See-through panties. They were in various colors, but mostly black. She had worn them for her late husband and found them at the very back of her closet because she hadn't worn them in a long time.
She didn't look at me. She undressed as if it were a doctor's appointment, without any emotional connection or feelings, and held up different lingerie to see what her mood called for. Or perhaps she was considering what her sons would prefer.
What a crazy thought for a mother to have, to consider which lingerie would excite her son the most. Having to cater to two brothers must have thrown her into a whirlwind. I could only imagine it, and her expression betrayed an inner conflict that the average woman could never comprehend.
On the evening of the deal, she gave her housekeeper the weekend off. The brothers were at home and Daphne was in her student accommodation. Normally, the signatures would have had to be given jointly and witnesses would have had to be present, but we circumvented that and I had them notarized later by a friend.
Margaret chose red high heels, rolled-up stockings, a black bra and panty set, and a sheer dressing gown to complete the look. She wore thick-framed glasses. Her hairstyle and makeup looked like something for a ballroom appearance, something extremely classy, and she did the makeup herself.
To this day, I believe she paid close attention to her appearance so she wouldn't feel like a whore. It was something for herself, a way to preserve her dignity while committing undignified acts.
She didn't seem nervous or fidgety, but rather like a woman seeking closure and wanting to get it over with. She perfumed her neck, and that was a telling moment. The desire for a pleasant fragrance for her sons was unnecessary, but she did it for a reason. She wanted it to be unforgettable. I wondered if that secretly aroused her.
"Ready?" I asked.
"No, but why is that important? Let's get it done."
I took the stack of papers and a pen and followed Margaret's lead down the hall. The clatter of her heels announced her presence with every step, echoing through the large house. She maintained a formal posture, her chin held high. One could only guess at the true nature of her self-confidence. I could hear her breathing. Her body drew me in, and I could only imagine how the brothers must feel at the sight. They had never seen her like this before, by the way. She had always kept herself hidden from them.
The bedroom door to Oliver's room stood open, and the brothers sat around in their underwear. They were similarly built, tall, broad-shouldered, though the older brother was more muscular. They were typical American white men from privileged backgrounds and were about to enjoy yet another privilege in their lives. Both sat upright as their mother, in her skimpy outfit, entered the bedroom. The greatest irony of the situation was that the brothers seemed even more nervous than she was. They looked so nervous, in fact, that they seemed to regret ever having asked for this. After all, she was the woman who had raised them.
Your mother.
I placed the documents on the table with the pen.
"That's all we discussed," I said. "We'll take care of the commitments first, then I need your signatures. After that, we're done."
Margaret was the only one in the family with any courage. She stood there like a mature porn star, ready for a scene. She looked fierce, as if she were challenging them, almost mocking them, with her sharp gaze and the way she tilted her chin. That's the effect a mother has on a son. For a moment, I thought they would cower, put their clothes on, and apologize immediately. That everyone would come to their senses and they would be a real family again.
Instead, they got started. Oliver went first, since it was his idea, although his fingers trembled as he pulled down his underwear. York was next. The brothers removed their underwear, revealing their penises. The shape of things made it clear they were brothers: same color and girth, they dangled in the same way, only the older brother was slightly larger.
Their nerves got the better of them, and they weren't as tough as I'd expected from the start. I'm sure they would have gone ballistic with any other woman, but it was the fear of doing it with Mom that kept them in check.
at least for this moment.
Margaret took a deep breath before stepping into the middle of the bedroom—her first sign of genuine nervousness. She threw the sheer bathrobe onto the bed and knelt down. She didn't look at it; her eyes wandered to the things in the room, the video games, the furniture, and her mind drifted.
But of course, how could a mother be absent when her sons approached her from both sides? Their penises dangled before her face, stirring at the prospect of being sucked. The nervous energy was palpable, but so was the eroticism. As a family, they breathed more heavily, and she looked up at them from her knees.
It lasted about 20 minutes. Gradually at first. Her hands reached out. They moved closer. Her lips brushed against their penises. She tasted them. She teased them with her tongue, making their bodies tremble. I had seen women like this before, but never in this situation. Women who had never experienced dirty sex and then savored the moment when it happened. Margaret had spent her whole life with men who didn't want anything special, having banal sexual encounters that she considered acceptable.
Spending time with her sons brought something out in her. She breathed heavily, taking turns with them, and they fought for space in her mouth. She sucked and slurped. The tips of their penises rubbed against each other as she pulled the brothers closer. As much as it aroused her, she wanted it to end. It was, above all, a humiliating position for any mother.
When it was over, Margaret stood facing the window, wiping her mouth, breasts, and underwear with tissues. She did this quickly to make herself presentable again. She didn't look as the naked brothers signed the document and dressed.
As she finished cleaning herself and was still looking away, the brothers approached from behind.
“Can we put this behind us?” Oliver asked. “This shouldn’t hurt you.”
"I'm sorry, Mom," said York.
Their reactions couldn't have been more intense. Oliver meant what he said, because for him it wasn't just about perversion, but about the emotional struggles of a young man angry at the world. York, on the other hand, was wracked with guilt for having ejaculated in his mother's mouth. However they rationalized it, the one thing that couldn't be denied were the soiled tissues Margaret was holding. The semen-stained tissues were irrefutable proof of the brothers' lust for her. She looked changed when she turned around. Her makeup was smeared from sucking, and her nerves were frayed. She had already accepted what had happened to her. The next morning it was Daphne's turn, and the brothers and the maid weren't home. It happened in her bedroom, decorated with pink walls and girlish furnishings. She wore tight gray cotton shorts and a small white T-shirt with a university logo. Her skin had a bronzed hue from sunbathing, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was barefoot and wore an Apple Watch on her wrist.
After Daphne learned what her brothers had accomplished, she raised the price—probably the first smart business decision of her life. I had to respect that. I suspect her mother respected it too.
Daphne signed the document while Margaret paced the room in a negligee. The sunlight made her mother look elegant, as if posing for a portrait. I could see she was nervous. Perhaps more nervous than with her sons. I think it was because Margaret viewed her daughter as someone who would take her place in society. Men had their male heirs; Margaret had her daughter. I know they were always very close. Perhaps she felt that was a betrayal.
After signing, they looked at each other; neither knew where to begin.
"Are they finished down there?" Daphne asked: "Do you know, inside?"
"Are you asking if they fucked me?"
"Yes, do they?"
"Only in my mouth."
"Has Oliver arrived?"
"Yes, he came in my mouth. Both of them."
When Daphne heard this, she took a deep breath. The daughter was fascinated to learn where her brother had come from. The siblings weren't having sex for the sake of sex; there was a real connection, at least for her. Margaret was surprised by this. She probably thought they were simply attracted to each other, unaware of the depth of their carnal desire.
"I guess I'll take the pussy," said Daphne. "Could you please lie down on my bed?"
Margaret lifted her negligee, revealing thin legs and a hairy pussy. She lay in the middle of her daughter's bed, her hands on her stomach, her lower half exposed. Her gaze was fixed on the ceiling as it happened.
The daughter had posted many pictures of herself in revealing clothing on her social media pages, but that paled in comparison to the way she pulled down her shorts. Her pubic area was hairy like her mother's, with the same light brown hair and the same curls. Like mother, like daughter.
Daphne leaned forward and kissed her mother's cheek and mouth. She wanted to taste where the brothers, especially Oliver, had come. The mother didn't return the kiss, but she didn't resist either; she simply lay there. Daphne knelt between her mother's legs and began to go down on her. I saw the tongue move in and out. I could hear it, too. Margaret moaned; she couldn't suppress her physical reaction, and her toes curled. It wasn't long before she came. As far as I knew, Margaret hadn't had sex since her husband died, and I'm sure it was a shock for her to have Daphne end that drought. Her hands reached for the sheets, and she writhed. What did Margaret get for all her trouble? She got the campaign money, but as it turned out, she declined to run for office. Not for lack of interest. But the time spent with Oliver, York, and Daphne had a profound effect on her psyche. It profoundly influenced her way of thinking.
Later she explained to me that while she didn't agree with Oliver's wishes, she couldn't ignore the young man's feelings, and that getting involved in politics would take up all her time. So she focused on being a mother. For now. The door to the future is always open, and a part of her still burns with the desire to run for office.
I remember seeing her again a year after what she had done with her family. It was at a political event, the inauguration of the next governor. She wore a beautiful red dress with high heels and looked like a star. She had never lost her aura; it had only grown stronger.
We talked about little things, this and that. I was busy with new clients, she was focused on her family and raising funds for her charity. But this conversation didn't interest me. Her eyes were shining; she wanted to tell me, but there were people around, but I just had to ask.
"How's it going? Do you know... about it?"
She gently bit her lower lip and reached for her handbag. She paused, wondering if that was a good idea. Finally, she gave in, reached inside, and pulled out her phone. There was this devilish excitement she was trying to suppress, and I leaned closer to protect my privacy.
"Let me show you something. My daughter is a great photographer. Daphne took the photos with an analog camera and will put them in a special photo album. Of course, in our family crypt."
The new governor was nearby, and his people beckoned Margaret over.
"Here, take this," she said. "Look at it. I'll be right back."
She handed me her phone and hurried off to greet the new governor. A broad smile spread across her face as she chatted with the party elite. I stood with my back against the wall so no one could see what I was looking at. And what I saw changed me forever.
The first image showed Margaret topless and kneeling in the estate's library, a bookshelf behind her. She wore thick-framed glasses perched on her nose, and beside her stood Oliver and York with their erections hanging out. The pose seemed otherworldly, knowing these young men were her sons. Swiping across the screen, I saw the next image of her hands raised, both penises simultaneously. Her firm grip indicated she had done this often enough to be comfortable with it. Another image showed her looking directly into the camera, cupping her testicles.
Her eyes betrayed a subliminal desire. One that perhaps hadn't been there before, or perhaps had been there her whole life, just waiting to be discovered by the right people. The refined facade was pushed aside, and she allowed herself to be free. Margaret not only felt comfortable with her behavior but also enjoyed the control she had by keeping her balls.
She stroked it a few times and sucked it deep into her mouth. Her neck muscles tensed, her cheek bulged as one cock pressed inside her. One picture showed Margaret taking both in her mouth at the same time. The emotionally torn woman had vanished for that moment, replaced by a woman who had learned to enjoy it, and that's exactly what she did. The ecstasy. The look in her eyes as she gazed into the camera lens. Other pictures showed them together, either on their knees or lying on their backs. This was the first time I'd seen her pink pussy, and it was stretched to its limit. Unlike her daughter, Margaret shaved it for this, a sign of her willingness to share her body. One cock would be in her pussy and the other in her mouth. It was obvious she had a philosophy of treating them equally to avoid favoritism. It made sense. The reason was simmering tension and misunderstandings within her family.
Since I only had a little time to look at Margaret's phone, I scrolled through more pictures and saw several of her and Daphne together in the bedroom or living room. They were sucking on each other's nipples. Margaret was lying on her back being licked, which tensed her neck muscles. Her breasts were slightly different sizes, but her nipples were the same size and color. She was clothed in these pictures, but she was wearing a loose top or a cardigan that was open to allow access to her breasts, or a dress that was hiked up to allow access to her buttocks.
In one particularly erotic photograph, Margaret and Daphne sat together on a chaise longue in the guest room, legs intertwined, pleasuring each other with their fingers. Margaret's eyes were closed, her head thrown back in ecstasy as her daughter teased her most sensitive spots with knowing touches. Daphne's face was buried in her mother's neck, her tongue tracing Margaret's collarbone as she savored the taste of her skin. Another picture showed the two women naked in the master bathroom, their bodies wet from showering. Daphne held the camera, taking a selfie in front of a full-length mirror. Margaret had one arm around her daughter's shoulder, reminiscent of the family photos that hung in their house, except this time it was clear they had brought each other to orgasm in the shower. Their bodies were pressed together at the hips and chests, and their hair was swept back. Their nipples were erect. Without makeup, Margaret looked much older than her college-aged daughter.
The last image I saw showed the family in the living room, all naked, their bare feet on the carpet, arms around each other. They stood before the fireplace, sunlight streaming down on them through the tall windows. On the wall behind them hung photographs of them in formal attire, befitting their reputation as a respected, business-minded family. A painted portrait of an aristocratic grandfather and grandmother hung prominently on the same wall behind them, a stark contrast to the nudity in the room. It looked as if the grandparents' portrait had been commissioned decades earlier. I can only imagine how horrified they would have been if they were still alive and had known what was happening to their family. Margaret and Daphne stood in the center of the photograph, smiling knowingly. I couldn't see it clearly, as I couldn't zoom in, but I thought I saw semen around their mouths. The glistening fluid seemed to catch the light, creating an obscene shimmer. The thought of them fucking and sucking the young men in the living room, surrounded by heirlooms and monuments, was scandalous. I thought it made the sex even more intense for them and balanced their carnal lust with any guilt they might still have.
I think that photo was the most explicit of them all. It represented the destruction of traditional values and the creation of something new. It was a perversion of family, a twisted version of love. A moment later, Margaret came back blushing and asked for her phone. I never saw those pictures again. It was too personal to ask for, and she never offered them to me, but she knows I'm interested. She knows how disturbing those pictures are. One thing I've learned: no matter how decent a woman appears in public, no matter how dignified she is, you never really know what's going on in her sex life. There are always people trying to fuck her. Men. Women. Or maybe her own children. And she wants to be fucked. The question is, will she let it?
End
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Katie's journey of discovery