3 comments/ 20221 views/ 4 favorites Through a glass darkly By: adam applebiter Author's Note: This story builds on characters and places introduced in my previous stories but may still be read on its own. The whole sequence of stories is: Through A Glass Darkly The sleeper train from Penzance isn't built like regular trains. The first four carriages are not to be boarded externally, incase sleepy passengers are wakened by rowdy locals. The remaining are carriages are more spacious than usual, being only three seats across as opposed to four. The seats are broader and deeper, but there's no money so all the stuffing has been knocked out of them and it's probably going to be the least comfortable sleep of your life. Wide windows which would otherwise show picture postcard scenery are black and shiny like obsidian, racing through the dark countryside. Thin curtains can be pulled on tracks to keep the night out, but then that would ruin my fun. Our seats are in the last coach. There doesn't appear to be any other seats reserved until Plymouth. We have some time to play with. The ticket inspector has been through once already. We won't see him again for a while: there are limited stops s on this train. I turn to face you. You know from the glint in my eye that I've mischief in mind, and taking my head in your hand, with my hair wrapped around your fingers, you enquire just what it is I'd like to do. I love to watch us play. The quiet carriage; the broad tables between sets of seats. From our reservations, I can see our reflections in the window. The slight tapering in the construction of the carriage gives a differing reflection in the window on the far side of the compartment. I can see you, looking at me, watching you. Kissing you is intoxicating. That perfect cupid's bow, on the sensuous cushions of your intensely desirable lips, framed by the softest goatee bristle. Whether I nibbled at those lips like so many hungry fish, or attempt to slake my thirst with kisses as deep as the Mariana Trench, I will never get enough. I take a kiss from you now, pinning you back against the seat and inhaling your scent deeply. You wrestle from underneath me to gain control of the situation. (There's no need to fight - I am yours, after-all.) Standing in the aisle of the carriage and ready to brace myself against a sudden jolt of the train, I remove my knickers where I stand and cast them in your face. I know you want me, and I know you won't let this cheek go un-punished. Immediately I prostrate myself across the table and offer you my bare ass-cheeks for punishment as I lift my skirt above my waist and tuck the fabric out of the way. Straight ahead of me I can see my face reflected in the dark mirroring glass. My eyes shine with excitement, (my cunt is wet with anticipation). I look up and can see the pale moon of my ass reflected in the black Cornish countryside. I see your face, hungry with desire to punish & pleasure me. Your furthest hand grabs purchase on my hips, steadying your body against me, and I can see from both infront and behind as you raise your free hand and swing your flat palm onto my waiting flesh. Despite being able to see what is happening, I am still surprised by the impact and make a gasp before moaning quietly. The sound of bare flesh being smacked is delicious, and my cheeks sting where you struck me. I love the intimacy of being spanked, being in such close proximity to you whilst you deliver my punishment. I want more. You do not disappoint - but before delivering the second blow, you reach down the side of the seat and retrieve the underwear I threw at you earlier, and roughly stuff my knickers in my mouth. The dry fabric causes me to choke slightly whilst I work my new gag into a more comfortable position using just my tongue, but you have no regard for my oral comfort and land another smack across my cheeks. I know you enjoy watching us too. I look up and our eyes connect as I stifle a scream in my pants. You love my wide-eyed bambi stare, the tears starting to brim in my eyes. Another spank! I bite down on my knickers and you can't quite tell if the noise I make is from pleasure or pain. A quick investigation of my cunt soon reveals how much I am enjoying this. Smack me again! I love to watch you work my ass. Intense concentration on your face making sure you hit the sweet spot on my backside, and then the mirrored glass providing the added satisfaction of enabling you to see the impact of this contact upon my face. Tears now flow freely from my eyes, and their wetness is absorbed by my gag. This is not enough for you. Until I truly suffer for you, you won't be satisfied. The fact that we are in such a public place doesn't phase you, and as the train rattles on through the dark countryside you slip your belt through the loops in your trousers and double it into a short, hand-held strap. Now you've got my attention! I'm used to being tied down when you use a whip or crop on me, but there are no restraints on this train. I grip the sides of the table. I don't want to watch what is about to happen but I can't help myself. You step away from me. You have to: the leather strap extends your reach, and standing too close to me is ineffectual. I see you glance over your shoulder, ensuring that there is no sign of the ticket inspector, or anyone else, negotiating their way towards our empty carriage - and then you leather my arse with the doubled-over belt. The hard strap is unforgiving and wraps itself around my cheeks leaving wide and angry welts. I scream into my gag and tears flow freely. Without thinking, I move my hands to protect my stinging behind. The disapproving look in your eyes says all you need to, and I plead silently with you as I gingerly remove my hands and place them back on the table. Watching you in the window infront of me, I see you raise your arm again. My gaze shifts to see the white reflection of my naked butt in the window behind me. I tense my muscles in anticipation of the blow I am about to receive. You instruct me to relax, and I try my hardest to comply with your wishes. I evidently succeed because in one swift movement you deliver another painful blow. I scream again and my body twists and bucks from the assault. It's too much for me. I look into your eyes and you can see we've gone past my threshold: you know me so well that there's no need to use my safe-word. You also know what I need now. Another quick check down the moving corridors of the train so make sure we won't be interrupted. Your belt is cast aside, and your trousers fall to your ankles. Freeing your rock-hard erection from your underwear, you roll on a condom and easily slip inside my sopping wet cunt. Your cock fills me up and you thrust deep inside me - your hips slamming into my bruised and battered arse, and our bodies shunt against the table. Again and again you drive home your cock. I love being fucked by you: your tight balls banging against my pussy and as the train begins to slow and the lights of a station platform come into view, I cum for you, I reach behind me grabbing your arse and forcing you deeper and harder inside my pulsating cunt until you cum too. Through a glass darkly * * * * * "That was a good night, wasn't it Francis?" Helen hugged his arm as he stared with distaste at the glass dildo on its golden harness, surrounded by gallery visitors. It was clear to Helen that Francis didn't recall that night as fondly as he did. "I hate you. You do know that, don't you?" His voice was quiet and cold, like a mausoleum. There wasn't a trace of emotion in it. "I know." Helen knew exactly how Francis felt. Because of her likeness to his daughter, tits not withstanding, Francis desired her with a passion he couldn't speak of to anyone else. But because Helen knew his weakness, his forbidden lust for his own daughter, he hated her power over him. "I would just let you do your worst... but Christabelle..." "Christabelle would never forgive you for wanting her." Helen had heard this speech before. "And she never needs to know. Francis, how much worse could it be? A fifty-five year old multi-millionaire gets blackmailed by a prostitute and what does it cost him? Dinner occasionally, the odd charitable donation that's tax deductible anyway and a few ounces of semen which, I'm guessing, you don't really object to giving me?" Francis said nothing, very loudly. "As for my crystal friend there, I just wanted you to know how it feels when someone jams a hard cock up your ass. You've done it to me often enough. Ooh, look at this one, Francis." On a velvet pillow on the next pedestal, lay the real star of Eric's collection. Inspired by those skeleton clocks that live under glass domes on mantelpieces everywhere, the sex toy on the pillow looked like an oversized test tube. Inside the thick glass, nearly two inches in diameter and all of a foot long, was an exquisitely crafted clockwork mechanism. The cogs and wheels were all intricately engraved, showing silver through their gold plating. At its base, the tube flared to accommodate two gilded balls that spun backward and forward in place of a pendulum. The unique and almost certainly impractical clockwork vibrator had been hand crafted by one of the few independent Swiss horologists left. Eric had paid the old man one million dollars to persuade him to make it and to create a legend: It was and was likely to remain, the world's most valuable sex toy. Officially, it was B's toy, but all the ladies in Eric's household had tried the clockwork cock. It wasn't really that good as a vibrator. The spring would only keep it going for about five minutes but that wasn't the point. B had wanted the most famous vagina in the world and the million-dollar toy was a part of that fame. The wall sized image of it sliding into her, stretching her smooth coral pink labia, was the iconic image of the exhibition and was replicated on the front of every catalogue. "Hello Francis!" B spotted Helen and her date and came over to them, kissing Francis on both cheeks. "B." He was barely civil. His mood this evening was not improving. "Do you like it?" She gestured at the clockwork cock. "It's everything I expected." Francis didn't even try to sound nice. He still, after all these years, had failed to realize that being unkind to B just didn't work. What is more, Helen would punish him for it later. "If you're a good boy, I'll let you fuck 'Christabelle' with it sometime." B reached forward and stroked Helen's crotch through her dress, ignoring the several pairs of eyes privy to this intimacy. She gave Francis her sweetest smile as she made the offer, incidentally reminding him that she too knew his shameful secret. "Francis? Would you like that?" Helen asked him. "No." Defiance was his only remaining defence against these women. "Excuse us a moment, will you, B?" Helen pulled Francis away from the pedestal, into the most secluded corner she could find. "Francis. You're embarrassing me in front of my friends." Helen blatantly lied. "You will apologize to Honey B at once and thank her or her kind offer because - and you know I mean this – either 'Christabelle' gets fucked with that toy or you do." Without another word, Helen led Francis back to where B was chatting animatedly with a group of women who were gingerly handling the clockwork cock. "Honey B? Sorry to interrupt but Francis has something to say to you. Francis?" Helen's arm through his urged him forward a step. "I'm sorry." He bit down on the words. "That's alright, Francis." B flowed up against him and kissed him firmly. Francis, despite his antipathy, couldn't help reacting to the pressure of her lips on his. B pulled back an inch and looked beatific. "It's much nicer when we're all friends. Yes?" "Yes." Francis couldn't deny, even to his sullen inner self, that B was distractingly gorgeous. "Francis?" Helen jogged his memory. "Thank you for your offer." Francis remembered Helen's threat and had no wish to be violated that way again. "Anytime." B buzzed him briefly again. "But not now. Excuse me." She went back to the clique of female admirers who were still oohing and ahhing over the clockwork cock. "Thank you, Francis." Helen took his arm and led him through the gallery. "These are two of my favourites." They approached a small, lacquered stand, similar to those used to display Japanese swords. This one held two cranberry glass replica penises. One was about twice the size of the other. Carrying on the Japanese theme, the large image behind the pedestal showed both of the toys in use by Helen, 'wearing' a matching silk kimono and geisha makeup, lying on a tatame mat strewn with cherry blossom. "That's the picture I'd like you to buy." Helen told Francis. "And I'm sure it's the most expensive one here. Yes?" "Of course." Helen said, as if it was obvious. "But I'll make it up to you, later." "How much is it?" "Does that matter?" She knew it didn't. "Does that mean you're coming home with me tonight?" Francis often told himself how much he hated Helen but that didn't stop him wanting to fuck her whenever he got the chance. "Of course, Pappy." Helen put on her little girlie voice and dropped into character for just a moment. "And Pappy? Can we have chocolates?" She was inclined to indulge Francis' most perverse vice tonight. "Dear God! No!" Francis went shrill as they reached the next pedestal. "Isn't it a good likeness? We call it the Crystal Bell." Helen watched Francis reactions with undisguised amusement as he stared, horrified, at a large glass butt plug that had inside it, made of tiny bubbles in the material, a three dimensional representation of a woman's head. He, of course, recognised the likeness of Christabelle: He had the same image of her in a paperweight on his office desk. "I have a confession to make. I got some friends to fake the competition that Christabelle 'won', to have that made." Helen made no attempt to look contrite. She was, in truth, rather proud of the subterfuge. "You are a monster!" Francis found his voice, denounced her loudly, turned on his heel and left, not quite breaking into a run. Helen shrugged off the stares his outburst had caused and followed him at a more sedate pace. He was weeping on the corner of the street when she caught up with him. * * * * * Tonight she'd found Francis Deerborne's breaking point and she wasn't proud of herself for that. He'd called her a monster and perhaps she was. Helen had spent so much time pushing boundaries that she didn't know how to behave when she wasn't on the edge. That was something she realized she needed to address. First though, there was her relationship with Francis to mend: and it was a relationship, even if it had started as a purely commercial one. Helen hadn't kept him as a client... ok, forced him into it ... anyway, she hadn't done that just to torment him. She wasn't a naturally malicious person. Francis was actually an interesting person, both in and out of bed. He could, when he tried, be quite charming. He was fit for his age and immaculately well groomed. Helen liked alpha males and Francis Deerborne was definitely an alpha male. His kinkiness was just a bonus for Helen, who liked all things kinky, but it wasn't the main reason for her continued interest in him. Christabelle? She was just an excuse to tease him. Helen didn't care what Christabelle Deerborne thought of her, any more than she cared what anyone else outside her family circle thought of her. Anyway, tonight she'd pushed Francis too far and she'd wanted to make amends so she'd dragged him off the street and into a cab, riding in silence all the way back to his apartment. By the time they got here, she knew what she had to do and, to her own surprise, it was what she wanted to do. She physically forced Francis into a chair and poured a couple of glasses of brandy. Then she sat opposite him and told him... * * * * * "Francis, you've always fantasized that I was your Christabelle and I've used that secret to bind you to me, but what I'm about to tell you will... not set you free... lets say it will bind me to you as well." "Whatever torment you have planned, I'm not interested..." Francis practically spat the words at her. "Get out... Just get out and leave me alone... I... I don't care anymore." His tears started again. He could, perhaps, be forgiven for thinking that Helen was only seeking another way to wind him up. "When I've said what I came to say. Then I'll go... If you still want me to." Helen was feeling a little moist in the eyes too. She'd been very bad, and not in a fun way. "Say your piece and get out." Francis was sullen through his sobs. "Parry and I are lovers." There! It was out at last. "Parry? Your father?" Despite his mood, Francis was curious what she meant. "Yes, Parry, my father. He's been my lover since the end of my freshman year. He's the reason I enjoy being with you, Francis. I like being his little whore as well as his daughter and I like being your little whore and pretend daughter." "Why?... Why are you telling me this?" He believed her - It was easy to believe Helen was into any form of depravity – but he struggled to understand her motives: Him and the rest of the world. "Because I want you to share my secret the way I share yours. The only difference between you and Parry is that he's getting to indulge his fantasy for real." "And... does he know what you do?" "The whoring? Oh yes! He's been handling my money for me since that first summer. He gets so horny about it too. He calls me 'Daddy's little whore'." Helen moved closer, kneeling in front of Francis' chair and clasping him around the knees, laying her cheek in his lap. "And that's why I'll never let you go... I like being your Christabelle for you. It's true that I really don't like Christabelle, but I really do like you, Francis. In fact, I like you so much I'm even willing to be her for you." "Have you finished?" Francis sounded unmoved by her admission. "Nearly. I'm sorry, Francis. Sorry for teasing you so much and for upsetting you. I went too far. Now I'm finished. I'll go if you still want me to." Helen stood up. There were two tear tracks on her cheeks but she was smiling at him. "Stay." Francis managed one syllable. * * * * * They'd made it to bed without another word. Helen had undressed herself, then him, taken her time folding or hanging his clothes as appropriate, then joined him in his bed... not Christabelle's tonight. Francis silently accepted the invitation of her spread thighs, moving between them and letting her delicate fingers guide his cock into her body. He moved with purpose inside her, thrusting as deeply as he could, but without haste and without the rage he'd felt until a few minutes ago. His lips parted against hers too, as he kissed her deeply, penetrating her mouth much as he was penetrating her pussy. Helen sucked at his thrusting tongue and clenched herself around his thrusting cock, enjoying his long smooth strokes and very respectable girth. His wiry, greying chest hair scoured her breasts, stimulating her nipples into full and very sensitive erectness. Vanilla it may have been, but in Helen's world, vanilla sex was something of a novelty in its own right. It wasn't lost on her that the only man who regularly made love to her this gently and this 'normally', was her father, Parry, and that hardly counted as 'normal'. Francis bucked and thrust harder in response to Helen's fingertip finding his ass. She knew how much he liked to have his anus massaged and was more than eager to please him tonight. His increased vigour pleased her too. "Say my name." She urged breathily between kisses. "Helen..." Francis husked as he thrust into her, goaded by her slowly intrusive fingertip. "Oh, Francis... Yes... Make me come... Make me come as you come inside me..." Helen offered unnecessary encouragement. Francis had always called her Christabelle during sex: Hearing him use her real name while he fucked her was new and good. "I... I'm doing my best..." He spoke through gritted teeth, fucking her hard and fast now, his balls slapping against her ass with each thrust of his hips. "You're making me... Oh God!... I'm going to come... Oh!... That feels so good... Yes... Oh YES!... OHHHHH!... I'm coming!... Come inside me... PLEASE!..." Helen let her orgasm cascade through her, a chain reaction of tingles from nerve cluster to nerve cluster, making her insides twitch and throb around his hot, hard cock as her glands squeezed even more juice into the cauldron of her vagina so that it bubbled around him. "I'm... Ahhh..." Francis' seed flooded her pussy as he came, slamming to a halt rooted as deeply inside her as humanly possible. His cock twitched as his come pumped out of it, milked by the pulsing velvet of her pussy walls. He was rigid for a few seconds until his seed was all spent, then he relaxed, settling his weight onto Helen, crushing her tits beneath his torso and breathing heavily against her ear. Helen hugged him tightly, so pleased with the tenderness of his lovemaking... and the slight tenderness of her pussy after his enthusiastic thrusting: A perfect balance. "Thank you, Francis." Helen kissed his cheek softly. His cock was just starting to soften inside her and she was determined to hold him there as long as she could. "Thank you?" "For not being angry with me anymore... Am I forgiven?" Helen asked. "You know you are." Francis tried to roll off her. She held him tighter, keeping his weight on her bosom, wanting to feel him pressing down on her for a few moments more. "Can I stay the night?" Helen really wanted to. She wanted to set the tone for this new phase of her liaison with Francis Deerborne: She'd still be Christabelle for him, but she wanted to be Helen too, at least some of the time. In deciding to tell Francis her secret, she'd also decided that she wanted to try being someone's mistress for a change: After all, she'd given up whoring – ok, practically given up whoring – and she needed some kind of hobby. "Stay..." Francis murmured. He was dozing off and his cock wasn't even out of her yet. Helen eased him sideways, releasing him from her embrace and feeling his limp, sticky cock finally slip out of her puffy, sopping wet hole. "I'll be right back." Helen buzzed his neck as she carefully got out of his bed. "I need the bathroom." She had a pussy full of mixed juices and a bladder full of recycled champagne to attend to. Normally, she'd have invited Francis along and made a performance of her ablutions, but not tonight. Francis was fast asleep when she came back with a damp face cloth. He stirred a little when she gently cleaned his penis, but he didn't wake up so Helen turned out the lights and snuggled into bed beside him. It was hard for Helen to believe that the naked man, curled up asleep beside her was the same man who, only two hours ago, was weeping with rage and perhaps only a heartbeat away from hitting her with those tightly clenched fists. As she joined him in the Land of Nod, she felt she'd redeemed herself for the way she'd treated Francis. * * * * * "Whoa!!!..." Francis woke up with his cock twitching in Helen's mouth. He bucked and ejaculated, his thoughts confused and chaotic, his eyes screwed tight shut against the intrusive glare of the sun. Helen swallowed his semen and gently worked her tongue over his cock, cleaning up every trace of his climax. As her tongue caressed the tip of his penis, the electric shock sensation pulled his hips violently back, dislodging him. "Ahh!" He gasped. Still not coherent, though he was definitely wide-awake now. Slowly, he cracked his eyelids a fraction, letting his eyes adjust to the brightness of the morning. "Good morning." Helen's voice was bright as the daylight and musical in a way that made him think of frost: not cold, but because it had a high, tinkling bell-like clarity. "Good morning." Francis blinked away the last of his sleepiness. "Did you enjoy that? I learned it in London, when we went over there to find a new gallery space." Helen had thought she knew every trick there was but Sabine had managed to teach her one more. "It was... different." "Just different?" "Different and delightful." He made a small effort to recall last night's events. Had she really...? "Before you ask, yes, it was all true." Was Helen reading his mind? Or was he being predictable? "About your father?" He still felt the need to ask. "About fucking him, yes. He gets to do what you only fantasize about. Not that that's much of a distinction: Its still my ass that gets reamed by both of you." Helen moved back up the bed, resting her head on Francis' shoulder and draping an arm across his chest. The wiry hair there tickled a little against her arm but Helen kind of liked it. "So he doesn't just fuck you?" Francis had to know it all. His own tastes being so... kinky, he felt he had to hear every detail. "Not hardly!" Helen chuckled at the absurd idea that Parry would limit himself to straight sex with no twists. "After he saw my secret video collection-" "He's seen those recordings?" Francis sat bolt upright, spilling Helen off of him. "Silly. Of course he has. He even tried your praline game with me." Her eyes smouldered as she mentioned Francis' most perverse peccadillo: The praline game. "He's seen that?" Francis felt suddenly cold. "He's seen everything. Daddy and I have no secrets. My whoring turns him on. He'll probably be so excited when I tell him you know about us, he'll fuck me 'til I can't walk." When he gets back from South America, Helen mentally added. "Francis? Your face looks shocked but if I had to guess, I'd say you're excited too." "If you had to guess?" "I don't have to, do I?" her hand curled around his second erection of the morning. It was hard to deny her allegations in the face of such hard evidence. "No. You don't." Francis pushed her hand away, pushed Helen away to give himself manoeuvring space on the rumpled bed and got to his knees. Helen flipped onto all fours, arching her spine downwards to make her ass stick up just a bit more... just a bit more invitingly. She knew what Francis was about to do, even before his tongue made contact with her ass hole. That was why she'd spent a few industrious minutes in the bathroom before giving him his 'wakeup call'. "Chocolate?" His voice behind her was the verbal equivalent of wide eyes. She smiled into a pillow, settling her tits down on the heaped duvet and sticking her bottom up even more. "I thought you'd like a little breakfast." She murmured. "Ooh!" His tongue was probing her tight ring again as Francis tried for more than just the faint hint of chocolate his taste buds had detected on the sensitive puckered skin of her sphincter. This was the praline game that made Francis such a unique member of Helen's circle of 'friends'. Helen knew that after half an hour, those chocolates would have been melted by the heat in her body, though not completely liquefied: She deliberately bought the finest, most expensive, hand made chocolates for these occasions, with hard nougat centres and about eighty percent cocoa content to stop them melting away entirely. Through a glass darkly She relaxed, letting his tongue ease fractionally into her, feeling her ring yielding to the soft insistence of his caress. She knew he liked her to make him work hard for his candy so she lay passive, letting Francis do all the work. All she had to do was relax and let him tunnel his way into her ass, which Helen didn't mind one bit. She enjoyed being rimmed and Francis predilection for more penetrative tongue work was quite stimulating. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to reach for her clit and make herself come while Francis had his tongue stuck inside her but she was saving herself for after. Once Francis tongue had eased her sphincter enough for him to push perhaps an inch into her, she decided it was time to let him have his candy. As she squeezed internally, Francis felt her tighten around his probing tongue and knew what was coming. He loved the sensation of being pushed back out of her, displaced by the mainly melted chocolates Helen expelled, one by one, into his open mouth. Eyes closed, in ecstasy, Francis chewed and swallowed the hard centres. Somewhere in the dark corners of his imagination, Christabelle was doing this but in the real world, it was Helen's ass pressed against his mouth and it always had been. He'd never played this game with anyone before her... She'd been only the third prostitute he'd tried as a surrogate for his daughter. She'd seemed to understand his needs from the start. Now he knew why. Another chocolate took his mind off Parry and Helen, right back to Christabelle and him. Oh Christabelle... Helen popped out the last of the chocolates then relaxed again so that Francis could lick out the melted traces of his treat. Francis' pushed deeply into her ass hole, tasting the bitter dark chocolate there. His lips, making contact with the sensitive skin around her puckered sphincter, felt like the most tender of kisses and made Helen want to kiss him back. She tensed, tightening around his tongue to urge him back out then quickly turned to kiss him properly. His mouth still tasted strongly of chocolate and his lust was palpable in the frenzied assault he made on her mouth. "Fuck me." She implored, more than ready to be taken forcefully. "Not Christabelle... Fuck me!" She didn't want him 'making love' to his daughter in his head right now. She wanted Francis Deerborne's cock hammered into her rectum until he came. She wanted him to remember all the harsh words of last night and to vent all that rage on her now. "Fuck me like the filthy little whore I am." She turned her back on him again, burying her face in the pillows and wiggling her ass in invitation. Francis didn't need much encouragement to get rough with Helen. His palm contacted her butt cheek hard, making her rear up. "Oww!... Don't fuck around... Just fuck me in the ass." Helen didn't really object if Francis wanted to spank her. It wouldn't be the first time and she quite liked how passionate men got after they'd reddened her cheeks and made her cry. Francis shuffled closer and forced the hot hard head of his rigid cock against the ring of her anus. Helen relaxed as much as she could and waited for him to push on through. A moment later she got what she wanted. Francis slid deep into her rectum until his hairy balls tickled her smooth labia. "Oh yes... That's what I need..." She gasped as his shaft sank into her. "Bitch..." Francis croaked as he pulled back and slammed forward as hard as he could. "Yes... I am... What else?" Helen wound him up gently, wanting his best game. "Whore..." Francis slammed in again, a fraction deeper this time, making Helen moan with lust. They'd forgone lube: He'd noticed but didn't care. A part of him wanted her to hurt a little for her sins. "Oww..." Helen knew he wanted her to not enjoy this, so she played up to his desires like the good whore she was. "Slut..." Francis withdrew completely, watched her asshole slowly contract then thrust back in with all the force he could muster. "Yesss..." Helen hissed. Her hand surreptitiously found her clit and strummed it quickly, feeling that familiar churning in her abdomen that meant she'd be coming soon. "Filthy...Depraved...Harlot..." Francis fucked her hard and fast, punctuating his efforts with further imprecations through his clenched teeth. "Oh yes... Stick it in my mouth." Helen felt Francis accidentally pull back too far and dislodge himself. She knew how much he loved watching her do the ass-to-mouth routine: Him, Eric, her father and quite a few other guys. She Rolled onto her hip and twisted round to suck his cock, streaked with dark brown traces of Belgium's finest. It actually tasted really good and Francis surely loved the sight of his cock sliding into her mouth after it'd been so far up her ass. She deep-throated him twice – easy enough because Francis was thick but not very long – then quickly got on her back, pulling her legs up by her breasts. Francis knew what to do. He lifted her hips up until her feet nearly touched the wall, then eased his cock back into her ass, looking down at Helen's beautiful face, with just a trace of chocolate on her upper lip. "Now stop fucking around and just fuck me in my ass... Please!" Helen implored, knowing the effect her potty-mouth would have on Francis. She also used two fingers of one hand to spread her slick labia, holding herself open so that, looking down, Francis could see the juices bubbling in her pussy while he delved into her bowels. With her free hand she rubbed her clit hard, squeezing the tiny, engorged bud between her fingers for a moment then using four fingers, held flat, to rain quick slaps onto her spread pussy, making herself gasp. Francis pounded her ass as hard and as fast as he could, all the while watching her stretch and rub and slap her pussy, spreading her juices liberally around her crotch, making it shiny and slickly obscene looking. Helen moaned and sighed, not entirely without just cause. She would have made a lot of noise anyway, knowing Francis liked her to be vocal, but she was on the brink of an orgasm and it took none of her prodigious theatrical talent to sound like she was having fun: She was. She stopped rubbing her clit and stuffed three fingers right into her pussy, pumping them as aggressively as she could, letting the heel of her hand keep her clit in the game as she curled her fingertips inward, striving for her G-spot. "Yess!!!... Yes... Fuck my ass, Francis!... Fuck me like the whore I am... Oh yes... I'mm gonna... cum... Fuck! yesssss!... AHHHHH!" She started to climax, her hand a blur as she frigged herself with fingers three-abreast. Then it happened: She squirted; fluid arcing up and splashing down across her breasts and face. When she was whoring full-time, that had always been a good for a major tip. This morning, it was enough to precipitate a burst of unparalleled enthusiasm from Francis. Fuck! Who knew he had that much energy? "You... filthy... fucking... whore..." Francis managed to growl. He was on the ragged edge now, moments from coming inside her. Helen had other plans. She straightened her legs a little, effectively pushing Francis away and so dislodging him again. She was shaky and exhausted by her own climax but, ever the pro, she reached out to him, eliciting Francis' help to sit up, her spread thighs either side of him. She leant right forward, grabbed his twitching cock and closed her mouth around his glans, sucking hard on him. She took him back out of her mouth long enough to say, "Fuck my mouth." Then swallowed as much of his cock as she could at this angle. Francis grabbed two handfuls of her hair and jerked his hips, thrusting his cock to the back of her throat, making Helen moan, though it was muffled by his very effective gag. Helen rubbed the underside of his cock with her tongue and pummelled him with her cheeks as he slid back and forth, pulling her head toward his groin with each thrust. She reached around him to probe his ass hole with a couple of fingers conveniently lubricated with her own pussy juice. Pressure on Francis' prostate was like pressure on the trigger of a gun. Francis went off in her mouth, hosing the back of her throat with semen as he grunted and trembled, his balls resting against her wet chin. Helen massaged the shaft of his twitching cock with her tongue, milking him dry before letting him ease back from her face. When just the head of his cock was still in her mouth, Helen held it gently but firmly with her teeth and roughly lashed the tiny eye at the tip with her tongue, making Francis buck and groan with the almost painful intensity of sensation. Helen did that to him three or four times before he succeeded in pulling free of her mouth. Only then did she slip her fingers out of his asshole and let him collapse onto the dishevelled, sopping wet bed. He was gasping like an asthmatic and his heart was trying to beat its way right out of his chest when Helen rested her cheek over it and idly toyed with his softening penis. "One of... these days..." he wheezed, "you're going to... kill me." He didn't appear too worried by the prospect. "I wonder what it'll feel like, having you die while you're inside me." Helen actually did wonder what that would be like. Would it gross her out? Would it finally be a kink too far? Or would it be a rush, to be someone's 'final resting place' so to speak? "Lets not find out." Francis, still enjoying that mellowness that only an orgasm can leave a man with, didn't want to think how his daughter would react to the news he'd died in the embrace of a young woman. "Not yet at least." Helen teased him. "I'd miss tormenting you." "I thought you were done with that." "Not hardly! But now you know about me and Daddy, you and I can have all sorts of fun and games." "Like what?" Francis could breathe normally again. His fingers twined through Helen's hair as he lay looking up at the ceiling. What was she planning? "Well... How would you like to see what Daddy does to me? I have lots of home made movies, just like the ones I made of you and me." "That would be... interesting." Was as far as Francis was willing to concede his interest. If he hadn't just come so hard, his penis might have given him away, but it was unresponsive in Helen's hand. "And I'd really like to get you two together." "What? Why?" "To have you both fuck me at the same time." Helen suggested, knowing what Francis would say. "No... No way. Not ever." Yep, that's what she'd expected. "It was just a thought." Helen knew it would remain just a thought. Francis had limits and she knew most of them pretty well, last night's prank-to-far not withstanding. "What time do you have to go to work?" Francis glanced at the bedside cabinet. His alarm clock said he was already late. "About an hour ago. I'm surprised nobody's called yet." "And I'm supposed to be opening the gallery today. We'd better hit the shower." Helen pushed herself upright and clambered off the bed. "C'mon. Up you get." She pulled Francis by the hand until he too was on his feet, then she led him into his own bathroom. * * * * * "I just wanted you to know..." Helen whispered in Francis' ear... via the telephone, "I've taken that butt plug out of the exhibition." "Thank you." Francis had had a hectic morning after finally getting to his office and hadn't thought about that hateful practical joke on Christabelle until Helen mentioned it. "I hope you destroyed it." "Don't be silly... But it'll stay in my private collection from now on. I've replaced it with a different plug: A rather beautiful Lalique glass one. We only left it out of the exhibition because we were already showing a couple of other Lalique pieces and Eric thought we should have some variety." "Well... Thank you anyway." "You're welcome. And I'm sorry... I shouldn't have done that to you." Helen apologized again for upsetting Francis so much. "Let's say no more about it." Francis could be magnanimous when he wanted to be. "Was there anything else? Only, I'm keeping people waiting." His secretary had let him know his next appointment had arrived when she put Helen's call through. "No. That's all. Bye Francis." "Bye." Francis found he'd already been hung up on. He cradled the phone and waited for his secretary to show Christabelle in. He'd not dared to tell Helen that it was his daughter who was being kept waiting. "Hello Pappy!" Christabelle looked stunning as she breezed into his office, leant right across his desk and just touched her lips to his forehead. "Oops!" "Good afternoon, my dear. Oops?" Francis beamed. He was never happier than when Christabelle was near. "Oops, lipstick." Christabelle moved around to his side of the desk, took the handkerchief from his breast pocket and carefully removed the pink smudge from his forehead. Francis felt a twinge in his trousers as he surreptitiously admired the view down her top. Thirty seconds in his daughter's company and he was already glad he would be seeing Helen again tonight.