5 comments/ 69640 views/ 8 favorites Gordian Knot By: adam applebiter [Author's Note – This is the third instalment of the story that began with 'Gotta Love Them Cheerios' and continued with 'Bluetooth'. I've tried to make it understandable to readers who haven't read those other stories, but I can't judge how successful I have been in achieving that.] Peter held his daughter close. It was raining a little but they hardly noticed as they stood at the graveside. As the mourners moved away, seeking refuge from the persistent drizzle in the long line of parked cars, they inadvertently gave Peter and Luce the privacy they needed. Luce lost her reserve, clinging to her father's overcoat for support as she sobbed against his shoulder. Peter didn't cry. There'd been enough tears already – two years of them since Georgina had been diagnosed with cancer. The fear, hope, despair, resignation and most of all, the waiting had been theirs alone. Georgina had insisted that Luce should still go to college and had struggled to put on a brave face whenever she spoke to their daughter by telephone. Peter, on the other hand, had held his wife in the night when she woke up crying, had sat at her bedside through interminable sessions of chemotherapy, had been spared none of the details of Georgina's inevitable death. No, he'd not cry over her grave – Not while his only daughter needed his support. Georgina would understand. Theirs was the last car to leave the cemetery. Peter had asked Jean-Paul to see to the drinks, et cetera, back at the house. As he pulled into the driveway, hearing the familiar growl of the gravel under the tyres, he broke the silence. "Luce... You don't have to be here right now...If you'd prefer, you could go next door and..." Next door was the home of Luce's godparents, Jean-Paul and Lucy, whom she was named after. The two families had been neighbours for over twenty years and business partners almost as long. "Thanks Dad, but I'm alright now." Her cold hand rested lightly on his, on the gear lever, and she looked sideways at him. This was the first time she'd thought he actually looked his age. Usually, people were incredulous when they found out he was approaching fifty: Today he looked every day of it. While her parent's had shielded her from most of it, Luce was a bright young woman and could figure out just what the last two years had cost her father emotionally. Pausing only for the briefest of hugs on the doorstep, they joined the wake. Jean-Paul, redoubtable friend that he was, had made sure that everyone had a full glass of something and had found sufficient cloakroom space for all the wet coats. He came straight to Luce, brushing her cheek lightly with his lips and gesturing for her coat too. Peter followed him to the cloakroom. "How are you holding up?" Jean-Paul asked, as soon as they were private. "Ok. I don't think it's really hit Luce yet. I'm not sure we've done her a favour, keeping so much from her. Georgina's death really came as a shock to her." "So she will grieve and you will console her and at least she didn't have to see her mother fade away. My friend, you've spared her much – don't ever doubt that." Jean-Paul hugged Peter. It was a gesture that they would only share in private but, well, they'd shared a lot over the years and if Peter were going to cry on anyone's shoulder, it would be Jean-Paul's. "Thanks Buddy. Let's get this over and done with, huh?" Peter let go of Jean-Paul and with a stoic attempt at a smile, returned to the family room. As he moved through the throng, thanking people for coming and accepting their condolences, he noticed that Lucy had gathered Luce in and that the two were having a quiet cry together in the corner. A few other women drifted close to them but Lucy waved them off. When Peter passed that way again, the corner was vacant. Lucy had spirited Luce away somewhere. When all the guests had left, Peter and Jean-Paul gathered up the empty glasses and full ashtrays and deposited them in the kitchen for later attention. They were just about to go looking for the Elles – a longstanding nickname for the two Lucys – when footsteps on the stairs heralded their return. Both women had been crying a lot. The red rimmed eyes and streaks on their cheeks were testament to that. As Luce let go of Lucy's hand and crossed the kitchen to hug her father again, he could barely focus on her for the moisture welling in his own eyes. "Sorry for leaving early, Daddy. I just couldn't take any more." She mumbled against his shoulder. He stroked her hair. "Its ok Luce. Everyone understood...I'm sure." Jean-Paul caught his eye and nodded in the direction of his own house. Peter nodded ever so slightly. "We'll be off then." Jean-Paul said, moving close enough to pat Peter on the shoulder while Lucy pressed a Kleenex into Luce's hand, squeezing the girl's fingers gently. Jean-Paul and Lucy left quietly. It was a long time before either Peter or his daughter moved. Eventually, they made their way to the stairs and to their respective bedrooms, whispering goodnight to each other in the dark corridor of an eerily quiet house. * * * Lucy arrived during breakfast and insisted on getting started on washing all the crockery from the previous day's gathering. Peter was too preoccupied to put up even a token resistance. "Luce, I have to go over to the hospital and pick up Georgina's things. Do you want to come with or stay home?" Peter asked his daughter as they sipped lukewarm coffee. "I thought I'd make a start on sorting out Mom's things with Lucy... Unless you'd prefer us to wait until you're back." "No. That's a good idea." Lucy joined them at the table, helping herself to coffee. "Georgina and I discussed it weeks ago... When they started just making her comfortable. We've got plenty of boxes, bags and tissues." "I'll leave you to it for a couple of hours then." Peter stood up, rounded the table to kiss his daughter then bent to kiss Lucy too. Luce wasn't in the least bit surprised that he made no attempt to aim for her cheek. She grown up seeing her parents and their neighbours kissing each other and it had never looked that platonic. By the time she'd learnt that word, she'd picked up enough clues to know why they were so affectionate. Not that she ever let on that she knew her parents and Godparents were swingers. It was emotional work, sorting through all her mother's personal stuff and Luce was glad of the company. The Elles shared stories about the things they found, reminiscing about Georgina, and there was almost as much to smile about as there was to grieve. "I worry about Peter." Lucy changed the subject out of the blue. "He seems so detached from all...this. You're under the same roof, Luce. How's he really coping?" "I think he's trying to be strong for my sake. He's sleeping in the guest room. He can't bear this bedroom alone – surrounded by all Mom's things. I'm glad we're getting through all this stuff. Perhaps it'll be easier for him then." "Oh. Poor Peter." Lucy started welling up and reached for a tissue. The box was emptying pretty fast. "You could help..." Luce observed cryptically. "I'll help you both, however I can. You know that." Lucy was sincere. She and Jean-Paul had been very close to Georgina and Peter for a long time. "I think Dad could move back in here if he wasn't alone." Luce gestured expansively around the master bedroom. "Luce? You mean..." "I know you guys have been swapping beds for years." Luce shocked her godmother into silence. "I just think Dad needs someone with him for emotional support... I know it's really awkward and it's not really fair on J-P but-" "Jean-Paul wouldn't be an issue. If you know about our relationship with your parents, you must know how much my husband thinks of Peter." Lucy emphasised her relationship to Jean-Paul deliberately. "But? There's a but...right?" "Yes. But Peter... your father... has just lost his wife. I don't think he'd be comfortable falling straight into the arms of another woman. Trust me on this. I know him very well." "It was just a thought..." Luce was crestfallen. She'd thought she was really helping her father. "And I'm really touched that you would think of it and then actually ask." Lucy hugged Luce tight. They were both in tears again. "If it would help, I'd be in his bed in an instant, but it won't help and won't happen. Sorry Luce." "I was so sure the only hurdle would be J-P and I had that covered..." "Covered?" Lucy had a sudden thought what 'covered' meant in this context. Surely not? "I thought... I could... balance the numbers... with Jean-Paul I mean." Luce flushed crimson. She couldn't even look at Lucy as she owned up to this. "Good God! No." Lucy was horrified at the suggestion but, of course, Luce didn't know about her true parentage. Oh what a tangled web we weave... "I... I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..." Luce started sobbing. Lucy held her close. "Luce, it could never happen. Jean-Paul would kick your young tush right back over the fence if you tried to trip him." Luce sobbed awhile longer then eased herself back upright. "I've made a real fool of myself, haven't I?" "Not a bit of it. Your motives were good and if I told Jean-Paul what you'd proposed, he'd be terribly flattered and quite unbearably smug for weeks... which is the only reason this conversation will stay between the two of us... And Georgie, if she's listening. Shall we crack on? There's still a lot to sort out." "Sure." Luce forced a smile and opened the next full drawer. * * * Despite her assertion, Lucy didn't keep the conversation in the realms of girl-talk. Jean-Paul, masculine and predictable, crowed over the interest of such a young woman, though not for long. He too saw the implications. "It's not as if Little Luce was just looking to get under you, you old stud. "Lucy had thought about the girl's motives a lot and could still not fault them. "She was offering her skinny young body-" "You mean her lithe, nubile body." Jean-Paul corrected, enjoying baiting Lucy. He got elbowed for it and stopped grinning. "She offered her skinny young body to, in her own words, balance the numbers. She was willing to put up with being mauled by a middle-aged man so that her father could cry himself to sleep in my arms." "And you told her no, of course." "Of course. If you want a 'lithe nubile body' to play with, I'll hire a hooker for your birthday but you are not going to bed your own daughter." "I'd prefer some new golf clubs. C'mere." Jean-Paul made a long arm and drew Lucy into his lap. He kissed her emphatically. "Luce doesn't know that I'm her biologically father, does she?" "No. But she did know Georgie and I husband swapped, or she'd never have proposed this trade. Is that lump I'm sitting on for me or 'your daughter'?" "It's for the twenty year old heiress next door." Despite Jean-Paul's claim, his fingers had deftly undone Lucy's blouse and worked their way past her bra to tease her nipples. She refused to be baited so he picked her up bodily and carried her to their own bedroom. It wasn't the most athletic or frenetic sex they'd ever had. Instead they undressed each other slowly, snuggled together under the duvet and made love with exquisite gentleness. Lucy guided Jean-Paul into her body and held him there, neither of them moving, while they kissed softly and caressed all their other erogenous zones. Jean-Paul hadn't changed much over the years. He did a lot of sports and his body was still hard with muscle mass and bronzed as the statue outside the town hall. Lucy adored his body: if it was his temple, then she was the vestal virgin. She spent much time and money trying to keep herself in equally good shape but not with so much success. Jean-Paul, however, didn't notice or didn't care that her bra held up her tits where, twenty years back, her tits used to hold up her bra. He didn't care about any of the depredations of time. He loved his wife, stretch marks and all. His fingers traced her stretch marks now, following the fractional indentation of her skin along those pale lines. How could he not love these reminders that Lucy had given him beautiful daughters? The twins were at college right now but would be home for the holidays next week. "Pretend I'm Luce." Lucy's whisper crept into his ear, disturbing his reverie. He looked down at her, his attention entirely upon her once more. "If you want to..." Lucy looked up at him with nothing but love in her eyes. Her vagina gripped him inside her. "Never." He finally started to move his hips, pulling back then pushing inexorably forward until he was balls-deep again. "This is for you... Always, only for you..." He punctuated his assertion with forceful thrusts that made Lucy arch her back, pressing her belly against his as she moaned with delight. Lucy moved in rhythm with Jean-Paul as they made love in comparative silence, punctuated only by increasingly laboured breaths and the moans and sighs of two people approaching climax. They came together, not earth shatteringly, but in the same quiet way they'd made love. Afterwards, They lay still, still coupled, as Jean-Paul softened inside her. Without a word, they slept. * * * The next night, the four had dinner together at Jean-Paul and Lucy's house. Peter had dropped a hint earlier in the day that this was more than just a social gathering and Luce wondered what all the suspense was about. It was clear to her that their hosts were in on it: the knowing looks and none-to-subtle hints throughout the meal had her way beyond curious. When they'd adjourned to the living room with coffee, Peter coughed for attention and stood to speak. Luce wondered at the formality that indicated. She listened intently. "Luce, you know that Jean-Paul and I have been business partners for many years?" "Duh! Of course, Dad. You're the company attorney while he does all the real work. Not that you actually make anything: its all venture capitalism, right?" "Succinctly put, though we do make something – money. And investment may be all we do these days but way back when you were in diapers, we manufactured, imported, marketed and held the patents on a number of things that the brains of the outfit – Jean-Paul – invented." "You invented things?" Luce looked across at Jean-Paul. "What?" "Um..." Jean-Paul was never entirely comfortable in the limelight. "Gentlemen, if I may?" Lucy took over explaining. "Luce, Honey. Jean-Paul invented the network vibrator." "Jean-Paul Mannon? You're Jean-Paul Mannon?" Luce looked incredulous. Jean-Paul simply nodded. "But your surname is Henri." "My mother's maiden name. I changed mine to protect the family from the negative aspects of fame." "Oh my..." Luce struggled to take it all in. "This is amazing!" "Honey." Peter wanted to continue. "That's not actually what I was trying to tell you. When we set up the company to market J-P's gizmos, I provided the capital, he provided concept and we split the company stock four ways. This is all laid out in your Mom's will but I wanted us to tell you first. Georgina left her shares to you, not me. Welcome to the board." "Me? Why? Surely you should have them." "No Honey. There're lots of reasons why I shouldn't control that stock. Firstly, we split the stock four ways instead of two to minimize the chances of deadlock. We only needed three out of four to agree instead of two out of two. Secondly, we were marketing a product aimed primarily at women. Having women on the board was essential. Thirdly, in developing the product, your mom and Lucy were Jean-Paul's testers. Their contribution had to be recognised. Georgina left these shares to you to maintain the balance. It does mean that your allowance has gone up rather a lot tonight but I'm sure you'll come to terms with that." "How much?" Luce asked, then "Oh God! That sounded awful. I didn't mean it like that." "Relax Luce." Lucy moved to sit next to the young woman, to reassure her. "Its an important question. I'm the accountant here so there's no point asking these guys anyway. Off the top of my head, about half a million a year. That's not counting the value of your shares. On paper they're worth nearly ten million." "We have forty million between two households and we live in a suburb of Ann Arbor?" Luce had difficulty balancing that equation. "We like the quiet life. This is a good place to raise families and people here mind their own business." Peter explained. He left out his personal reasons for wanting to live below the radar of public scrutiny. * * * In the morning, the Elles went to the office to sort out the paperwork and bank details. They spent the afternoon shopping. "Luce, now you know how well off your family is, I want you to know that absolutely no expense was spared treating Georgina. Everything that could be done was done." "I know. I thought about that last night. I felt guilty about losing my mom and gaining a checking account. I was thinking about Jean-Paul too. My godfather invented the sex toy of the century. D'you have any idea how popular they are on campus?" "I have a very good idea how popular they are all over the world. We own a large proportion of the networking websites people link up through." Lucy explained. "Last night... It was all I could do not to blurt out that he was my hero. I kept thinking about my proposition... Jean-Paul's already been responsible for so many of my orgasms. Oops!" Luce remembered just whom she was speaking to. "Sorry. Too much info." "Lighten up Luce. It's just us girls here. I was the first woman ever to use one, remember? And your Mom was the second. You might as well know we didn't only swap husbands from time to time. Georgie and I... well, we had our moments too." It was Lucy who was embarrassed now. "You're blushing!" Luce announced with girlish glee. "The generation gap has finally caught us up. That's the whole point of network vibrators. It doesn't matter who's on the other end, male or female. In the halls of residence, you know it's a girl at the other end but you still get off every night. Sometimes its nice to be together in the real world too." "So you've..." "Lots. But guys are still an important part of a balanced diet." "Luce!" Lucy couldn't help but laugh at the imagery. "What? I'm only enjoying the fruits of your labours. After all, it was you and your husband that made it possible." "I guess so. It's just... Oh, forget it... I must be getting old." "Would Jean-Paul really 'kick my tush back over the fence'?" Luce changed the subject. "Yes. Then I'd –" "I'm teasing you!" Luce interrupted, grinning. "I'm not eager to crawl into anyone's bed right now. I'm still worried about Dad though." "We're all worried about him. But there really is nothing to be done just now. Give him time, Luce. Give him time." "I know. Are we all shopped out? I'd like to get home in time to cook Dad dinner. He wouldn't eat properly left to his own devices and that's one thing I can do for him." "Sure honey. Let's go find the car." * * * The following day being Sunday, Jean-Paul prevailed upon Peter to go for a round of golf. After all, there was little to be achieved just moping around the house. Luce put on some old clothes and went up into the attic for a sort out. She hadn't been up there more than an hour when she found a taped up box. Being the only sealed box there, it piqued Luce's curiosity. She slit the tape with a craft knife and opened the top. There were some old notebooks that, upon closer examination, appeared to be journals. Under these were two bundles of photographs: one bundle was blatantly pornographic while the other looked like the standard family snapshots. Luce put the photos back in the box and settled down to read the journals. Gordian Knot * * * "Luce!" Peter called out as he arrived home. There was no answer and he assumed she was next door with Lucy. It was only when he went upstairs to change out of his golf gear that he saw the ladder to the attic and the light from the open hatchway. Thinking Luce must have forgotten to switch it off, Peter climbed the ladder to reach the switch. He heard sobbing. "Luce?" He climbed higher until his head was above the hatch. Luce was sitting, surrounded by notebooks, staring red-eyed at him. "Luce! What's the matter?" He clambered up the last few rungs and went to his obviously upset daughter. "Don't touch me!" Luce screamed at him, batting his hand from her shoulder. "Don't touch me." She repeated quietly before returning to sobbing. "Luce, honey, what's the matter?" Peter fought the impulse to hug her. "You-you raped her... You raped my mother!" She screamed at him. "Our mother." Luce whispered. Peter realized that the notebooks strewn across the bare boards of the attic must be Georgina's old journals. He felt suddenly cold. "Luce, I can explain..." It was lame, clichéd even, but it was all he could think to say. "Explain?" Luce was shrill. "How can you explain raping your own mother, pretending to be her husband, fathering your own half-sister? How can anything explain that?" She shuffled away from him, pressing herself into a corner. "Luce..." Peter said sadly. "Luce...I'm not your father. Georgina and I would never have risked that but I was her husband and, yes, I raped her. It was a mother's love for her son that let her forgive me and..." Peter could see he wasn't reaching her. He shut up and went back down the ladder. Luce curled into a tight ball and cried. Eventually, sheer emotional exhaustion made her sleep. When she woke up, the house was silent. She looked at her watch: 11PM. She crawled to the hatchway, swung her legs down onto the ladder and descended, flicking the light off as she passed. The landing was dark except for the line of light under the guestroom door. She turned away from it and went to her own room, collapsing onto her bed still dressed in dusty, grubby clothes and hugging a pillow to her bosom. Now sleep evaded her. "And what?" Luce demanded, standing over her 'father' as he shielded sleepy eyes from the glare of electric light. He squinted at the alarm clock: 01:25. It took a few seconds to realize what she meant. "And I loved her – as a son and as a husband. You grew up in this house. Did you ever see anything but love between us?" His eyes could focus on her now. He was wide awake. He sat up. "No." Luce answered. In all her internal tirade against her so-called-father, now half-brother, she had ignored the evidence of twenty years observation. No matter what else, she couldn't deny that they'd seemed to be in love. "Sit, please." Peter patted the duvet next to him and waited. After a long moment's pause, she complied. "Better. Luce, I know this has come as a shock, following right on top of our mother's death but you must know I loved Georgina and she loved me. If anything, the fact we had two relationships made us even closer than other couples because our bond was more than just mutual attraction. What you can't possibly grasp is just how wonderful it is to lie in the arms of a woman who's loved you unconditionally since before you were born and who, no matter what, will never ever fall out of love with you. To make love and watch her face contort in ecstasy as she comes and to whisper "I love you Mom." as she comes back down. I loved Georgina all my life. I loved her as a child and I loved her as a man and our love hurt nobody." Peter paused. He'd spent years rationalizing his relationship with his mother but he'd never expected to have to argue its case. "For all this perfect love, you still went swinging." Luce sounded belligerent. "Because of our love. Who we slept with for fun couldn't upset our relationship. How many men would Georgina have had to fuck before I was no longer her son? How many women in my bed would stop her being my mother? How many kinky games could match our own secret fetish?" "So where do I fit in?" Luce got to the point. "We wanted to be a proper family, to have a child of our own. I had a vasectomy before we even moved in together, during the weeks when Georgie was packing up all those journals I thought she'd burned. We both knew the risks inherent in incest and it seemed the best solution. But Georgina wanted a baby so much..." "Who's my father?" "I am. That hasn't changed just because you've read a few old journals. I was your father from the moment you were born. I held your mother's hand as she pushed you into this world. I cut your umbilical cord. I gave you your name and I loved you every moment since. But Jean-Paul did the one thing I couldn't." "J-P? My godfather is really my father?" "Your biological father, yes. But I will always be your father in all other ways. Jean-Paul was adamant about that. He never wanted you to know. He gave Georgina and I the greatest gift – you." Peter heard his own words and flinched at their triteness. "So I'm named after Lucy because she let her husband stand at stud?" "No. You're named after your godmother because she made it possible for Georgina to have a baby. She saw how much Georgina and I wanted a child and she persuaded Jean-Paul to help." "So do they know about you and Mother?" Luce wasn't thawing. "No! We told them I was infertile. We never elaborated. They wouldn't have understood." "I doubt I'll ever understand either. Everything I've ever known has been a lie, hasn't it?" tears were welling in her eyes again. "Our love for our daughter was never a lie." Peter tentatively reached for her hand. Luce didn't pull away. "I am your father, Luce. That isn't a lie. I am and always will be. You're all I have left in the world." He was in tears too now. Clinging to her hand desperately. It dawned on Luce what he meant. He'd lost his wife publicly and his mother privately and was grieving both. Despite her anger, she felt a pang of sympathy for him and somehow the fact that they'd both lost their mother drew her closer to him. She pulled her hand away, but gently, got up and returned to her own bed without a word. * * * They avoided each other for the next couple of days. When Luce wasn't in her room, reading Georgina's journals, she contrived to be out of the house. Peter was kind of glad not to have to deal with all this right away. He had no idea how he could mend his relationship with his daughter but he figured the more of her mother's journals she read, the less he would have to explain. To this end, he left a box outside Luce's bedroom door. It was almost full of Georgina's later journals: all the volumes since their move to Ann Arbor. He noted with slight satisfaction that the box disappeared from the landing overnight. It was Wednesday evening before he saw Luce again. She came into the family room with one of the newer journals, folded herself into one corner of the sofa and continued to read. She didn't say a word to Peter. Late in the evening, Luce closed the notebook – she'd appeared to be halfway through it – and burst into tears. Peter, guided by paternal autopilot, moved to his daughter's side and held her. He met no resistance as she pressed her face to his chest and sobbed almost soundlessly. Peter held her tight, saying nothing. He glanced at the notebook as it slipped to the floor. It was the last one Georgina had started. Luce had read them all. Thirty years of her mother's private thoughts in three days. Little wonder she was emotional. "I'm sorry Dad." She mumbled against his shirt. "I – I understand now. Mom's... explained...Sorry." She made to get up, pushed herself upright and ran to her room. Peter followed her. He tapped on her door. "Luce, can I come in?" He turned the handle without waiting for a reply. The door swung open and he entered. Luce was sprawled on her bed, her face pressed into the pillows. The room smelled musty with old books. Georgina's journals littered the floor. "Luce." Peter sat on the bed and rested a hand on her back. "You have nothing to say sorry for. You've done nothing wrong." "But I called you a rapist... I thought... so many terrible things about you... I ..." "I was a rapist... I was obsessed with our mother and I raped her. Anybody would have reacted the way you did. You're reaction is the only normal thing about this situation." They talked quietly for several hours and Peter told her his side of the story: about the inheritance from his estranged father, the pictures and video, the growing obsession and eventual rape, the reconciliation and consummation. When he'd finished, he was exhausted. Yawning, he kissed Luce's forehead and bid her goodnight. The guest room beckoned. "Goodnight Dad." Luce's voice halted him in the doorway. "Sweet dreams Luce." He turned out the light and closed her door. Peter slept well and woke late. As he lay in bed contemplating the situation, he concluded that, these traumatic few days not withstanding, he was glad Luce knew the truth. The timing could have been better but there was no use crying over spilt milk. When he finally got as far as the kitchen in search of coffee, there was a note for him on the counter. The Elles had gone shopping. Peter smiled to himself when he saw that the note was on the back of an Amex envelope. Some things were clearly back to normal. * * * "Hello stranger." Lucy answered the door and found Luce on the porch. "Come in. I've just made a fresh pot." "I could smell it. Why d'you think I came round?" Luce followed Lucy to the kitchen. "I thought perhaps it was to tell me you were still alive and well, so I could call off the FBI." "Sorry. I had some issues to sort out. I guess I've been dodging everyone this week." "I'm teasing you, Honey." Lucy patted Luce's knee maternally. "We missed you though. The twins 'll be home this weekend." "Cool. How long for?" "Just the weekend. I think they just want to make sure they see you before you go back to college. Have you decided how long you're staying home?" "Another week or two. Dad's still in the guest room. I don't want to leave him all alone while he still can't sleep in his own bed." "Still? Oh, poor Peter." "This just arrived." Luce dug her new credit card out of a pocket. It shined, excitingly golden as she flexed it. "Fancy a bit of retail therapy?" "You have to ask?" The Elles finished their coffee and headed into town. Luce steered them into an upmarket jewellers to look at gent's watches, settling on an understated and elegant piece by Patek Phillipe for a mere $30k. Lucy nearly had heart failure. "Luce, are you insane?" "Relax Lucy. It's a once in a lifetime extravagance. Trust me." Then to the sales assistant. "Can you engrave something on the back for me?" "Certainly Miss." He slid a small notepad and an antique fountain pen toward her. "If you'd like to write down the inscription..." "No peeking." Luce admonished Lucy as she wrote, shielding the pad from prying eyes. "It's a surprise." She tore off the top sheet, folded it in two and handed it to the assistant. After a couple of hours of 'normal' shopping and a bite of lunch in a sushi bar, the Elles picked up the now engraved watch and headed home. * * * "Forgive me, Mother." Luce whispered to herself as she applied the finishing flourishes to her makeup. She had a lot planned for tonight and things were certainly going to change around here in the aftermath. She looked at herself in the dressing table mirror: Pretty hot, if she said so herself. This was the first time since coming home for Mom's funeral that she'd even felt like dressing up. Not that she was going all out like on a first date: She'd picked out her most conservative dress. Conservative it may be, frumpy it ain't. Makeup complete, Luce slipped out of her robe and into the dress. She caught a glimpse of herself in a cheval glass and paused. "I hope to Christ, you know what you're doing, Girl." She said to her reflection. The girl in the mirror, half in, half out of a very blue dress, winked at her. Peter wondered what his daughter was being so cryptic about. As he showered and shaved, he replayed their recent conversation. It still didn't make any sense. Why was tonight a special occasion? It wasn't anyone's birthday or anniversary and Jean-Paul hadn't known anything about it either. Oh well, there was nothing to do but play it out and see what Luce was up to. When he'd finished dressing, smartly as per his daughter's orders, he was just deciding to wait downstairs with a cuddly bourbon when he heard a quiet knock on the door. He opened it and... "Like it?" Luce reached up and with one finger gently lifted his lower jaw back into place. "Why am I dressed up if you're off to the Prom tonight?" "Shh. You're all dressed up because I am and I'm damned if I was going to be the only one. Besides, I couldn't wear Mom's diamonds with jeans and a sweatshirt." Luce brushed back her hair and turned her head a fraction so that the solitaire in her ear caught the light. Peter smiled down at her. "Georgie would certainly approve." He bent and kissed his daughter's cheek. "I know. Mom bought this dress for me – last Christmas. Remember?" "No. But it should have come with a jacket." Luce glanced down at her cleavage. It wasn't that revealing, just a bit of décolletage. "I think that may be the first time anyone's had anything negative to say about my boobs. I have it on good authority that I have very nice boobs. I can get references if you like. I know!" She raised one finger theatrically. "I'll give you the phone numbers of some boys so you can call them and ask." She wore an impish grin. "You can give me the numbers of those boys so I can call a hit man." "Daddy!" Luce feigned horror. The clock in the hall chimed the hour. "Shall we make a move or are you planning on making us fashionably late?" Luce took Peter's arm as soon as they were out of the front door. She'd insisted on the front door instead of the usual route via the little gate out back, asserting that they were not properly attired for knocking on kitchen doors. So they strolled arm-in-arm down one driveway and up the other. Jean-Paul answered the bell. He was formally dressed too but had even less idea what for than did Peter. He was charmingly complementary about Luce's dress though, observing that the effort of dressing for dinner was now amply rewarded. Luce kissed him for that, then tutted at herself as she removed a neat lip print from his cheek. Throughout dinner, Luce refused to be drawn on the reason tonight was a special occasion. She just fended off enquiries with a smile and told them to consider it payback for what they'd done to her last week. Lucy had some theories of her own – all wrong – but let her goddaughter keep the men in suspense until dessert was cleared away and the smell of coffee filled the dining room. "Luce, haven't you kept us waiting long enough?" Peter asked. "Yes Luce, what's the special occasion?" Jean-Paul wanted to know. Luce looked across the table to Lucy. "Don't look at me, Honey. This is your show." Lucy wondered how Peter was going to react to his present. She was as eager to see his expression as she was to find out why Luce had bought him such an expensive watch. Luce shrugged and took the exquisitely wrapped box from her clutch bag, turning it over in her nervous fingers. Suddenly she had major stage fright. "I-err-I've been trying for days to find the right words for this moment..." Three silent faces waited for her to continue. "I guess everything I really want to say is in here." As if coming to a snap decision, she thrust the box at Jean-Paul. "This is for you... With all my love." Lucy was stunned. Jean-Paul? Not Peter? What was Luce doing? She stared in silence as Jean-Paul, looking puzzled and more than a little surprised, opened the package. Peter watched impatiently as his friend removed the ribbon and paper with his customary care not to tear it. Jean-Paul finally got the paper off. He frowned when he read Patek Phillipe embossed on the leather of the box. He opened it and ever so carefully lifted out the watch. It was truly a thing of beauty – elegant, understated, as flawless aesthetically as it was mechanically. Jean-Paul was speechless. Then he turned the watch over in his palm and read the inscription. "Well, what does it say?" Lucy's patience was completely exhausted. Jean-Paul didn't say anything, just handed her the watch to read for herself. Lucy glanced at it then looked across the table to Luce. The girl had big tears in her eyes. As Lucy watched, the first of them rolled down her cheek. Luce tried to stand – hell bent on flight. Jean-Paul was on his feet before her. He folded her into his arms and hugged her tight. He looked almost ready to cry too. Peter picked the watch out of Lucy's unresisting hand and looked at it. The inscription read "Thanks for the DNA". He glanced up at his old friend and mouthed "Sorry." Jean-Paul said "It's ok." But it was anybody's guess whether he was answering Peter or speaking to his eldest child. He held her for a long time, like a seawall, unmoving while the tide vents all its pent up energy against it. He had time to think. When he'd first agreed to father Georgina's child, he'd insisted that that child should never know. Peter would be the father in all but the biological sense. It had been a fine idea but over two decades it had been harder and harder to ignore his daughter next door. He'd followed her progress through school, all the little triumphs of childhood and her transition to womanhood as avidly as her 'parents' though from a further vantage point. So was he upset now that the secret was out? Hell, No! Now the shock was wearing off, he was euphoric. Holding her for the first time as her father, he lacked the will power to let go. Peter felt Lucy's hand creep into his and squeeze his fingers. He tore his eyes away from the reunion to look at her. "How?" Lucy asked. Peter filled in the rest of the question. "It was all in Georgie's journals. Luce has been reading them. I had thought she wasn't going to say anything though." "Silly man." Lucy smiled at him. "How could she keep quiet about this?" She gestured at the others. "I suppose so." Peter was worried though. Was Luce going to reveal the other skeleton she'd found in the family closet? He tried to get his mind off that awful prospect by taking another look at the watch. "This is quite a thing." He turned the watch face up and examined it. "Our daughter certainly has a flair for the theatrical." Our daughter. There! He'd said it. From now on, that's how he'd think of her. Jean-Paul threw him a reassuring smile. * * * There were a couple of emotional hours including an embrace for Peter and Lucy, in the kitchen while supposedly clearing dishes, that left Peter with the first erection he'd had since – well a long time before Georgina's death. He hadn't thought seriously about sex for months. He couldn't see Lucy's smile because her face was pressed to his shoulder but his gallant reaction pleased her. She remembered what Luce had proposed – she'd have to talk to Luce about that again. Somewhere about midnight, Luce took Peter's arm home. The rest of him was attached to it but appeared to be playing host to a little too much wine. "Wait one minute. I'll give you a hand with him." Jean-Paul offered as Peter swayed on the doorstep. "It's ok." Luce pulled Peter closer so he could lean on her for balance. "We'll manage. Goodnight Lucy... Father..." Her eyes met Jean-Paul's as she said it. She blushed a little and looked all set to get emotional again. Gordian Knot "Goodnight Luce." Lucy put her arm around Jean-Paul and hugged his side. Jean-Paul simply nodded. He was choked up again. He pushed the door closed and turned to return his wife's embrace. They stood in the hall for quite some time before Jean-Paul swept Lucy off her feet and carried her to bed, her underwear hanging from one ankle like a flag of surrender. Jean-Paul lowered his wife gently onto the bed, hooking the almost discarded briefs off her ankle as he stood back up. With a flourish, he twirled them around one finger and sent them sailing through the air in the general direction of the closet. Lucy sank back, her arms stretched languidly above her head, her knees falling invitingly open. Jean-Paul's hand on her thigh swept her skirt up toward her waist, revealing her crotch. The lips beneath her trimmed brown curls were smooth and glistened invitingly. Jean-Paul sank down to the bed, by Lucy's feet and lowered his head toward the moist cleft. As his tongue made its first contact with her labia, Lucy moaned. She let her head fall back onto the pillow, closed her eyes and let the whole world revolve around her clitoris. Jean-Paul had always been good at this and enjoyed it almost as much as she did – or so he claimed. More moans escaped her parted lips as Jean-Paul's tongue parted her nether lips like a hungry bee dipping at nectar. Jean-Paul knew, almost to the second, how long it would take Lucy to climax. In twenty odd years he must have clocked up a thousand hours of cunnilingus and never tired of it. He guided Lucy to a quick, mild climax because he didn't want her exhausted before he'd even got his trousers off. As Lucy came, her fingers flexed then contracted, gripping handfuls of bedding as she tensed writhing under his caress, then relaxed. Lucy felt the hot rush of her orgasm flow through her, lifting her off the bed. As the moment passed and she subsided, breathing heavily, she felt the buttons of her blouse yielding under Jean-Paul's fingers. Opening her eyes to look at him, she took hold of his tie and drew the knot open. As his hands pushed the cotton blouse away from her bosom, she unfastened one, two, three shirt buttons then pushed against his broad chest, urging him upright. Lucy sat up, shrugged her blouse off her shoulders and reached behind herself to unhook her bra. Her breasts dropped a couple of inches as she peeled the brassiere off – They weren't bad though, for her age. Jean-Paul had certainly never tired of them. Right now he was busily dragging his shirt over his head. Lucy reached for his belt, unbuckling it to get to the button. As she drew his zipper down over the bulge of his erection, his trousers fell to his ankles. She sent his shorts to join them and freed his hard cock. She took hold of his shaft and wrapped her mouth around his glans, circling it with her tongue, tasting the saline slickness of pre-seminal fluid. Not that she had any intention of sucking him off. After only a few seconds of play, she called time out, bending lower to help extricate Jean-Paul's feet from the tangle of trousers and shorts. She undid the laces on his shoes so that he could slip them off then tugged the rest of his clothes off one foot at a time, socks and all. In moments he was completely naked. As she unbent her torso, Jean-Paul's cock batted her ear making her giggle coquettishly. She rolled backwards, lifting her legs either side of her husband until they pointed straight up and her skirt fell to her waist. Jean-Paul, taking his cue from her, unhooked the side of the skirt and drew it up the length of her legs and off. Her black pumps and hold-ups followed in short order, leaving both of them stripped of every stitch and every remaining scrap of will power. Pushing her raised ankles down and apart, Jean-Paul threw himself onto Lucy, impaling her on his cock. She gasped as he sank straight in as far as her cervix, his balls slapping against her bottom. The curly hairs of his scrotum tickled her anus a little – In a good way, since it made her squirm under her husband and Jean-Paul always preferred a lively wench to a dead assed one. It was like the last twenty years hadn't happened. Jean-Paul pounded at Lucy's pussy with the vigour of his youth restored. His hands kneaded her breasts, softer and well used as they were after feeding two babies. He didn't care that the firmness of youth was gone: Lucy, seen through his eyes, had changed only for the better. Her slack breasts could be corrected by any competent surgeon – and they could afford the best – but Jean-Paul disliked suck fakery. As he fucked her, hearing her moans of pleasure building toward cries of ecstasy, feeling the familiar, delightful grip of her pelvic muscles and the tightening in his balls heralding his own release, driving him on like a lash across his buttocks – As he fucked her hard and fast, he gasped out the words, "I... love... you..." Lucy came loudly under the onslaught of his driving cock, her nails raking at his shoulders as she dragged him down onto her, silencing any further sentiment with her open mouth pressed over his. Her orgasmic spasms tipped Jean-Paul over the edge and with one last thrust he let fly, flooding her insides with boiling semen then collapsing upon her as the years caught up with him. Still their mouths were glued together but slowly, very slowly, the passion of the kiss subsided, leaving only the tenderness. As his softening penis slipped from her body and his escaping semen trickled down between her buttocks, Lucy pulled her lips from his and pressed her cheek to his to whisper "I love you too." close to his ear. After a few minutes more tenderness, Jean-Paul rolled over beside Lucy, letting her up off the bed. She padded barefoot and butt-naked to the bathroom to clean up. When she got back, Jean-Paul was already asleep. She smiled the same smile she'd so often worn when watching the twins sleep, all those years back. She slid into bed beside him, snuggling up to him and feeling his arm snake around her, his fingers cupping one breast. He wasn't that fast asleep then. She pressed close, feeling his penis against the cleft of her bottom. He was totally flaccid. Never mind, she thought, morning was soon enough for a second round. He was always hard in the morning. Lucy closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep too. * * * On the short walk home, Luce had plenty of time to regret not letting Jean-Paul help. The night air had practically put Peter to sleep. What had started out as an exercise in steering a drunk was, by the time she reached their own door, a much more exercise-like exercise of carrying a drunk. Despite the coolness of the night, she was starting to perspire. Still, needs must... Once safely inside, she pushed Peter's coat of one shoulder then the other, letting it fall in a heap on the hall floor where she'd find it in the morning. Her own coat was a little more difficult as she had to hold onto Peter to stop him toppling over while she tried to shrug out of it. Finally, she let go of her father, let her coat drop and caught hold of him again before he fell. Peter just smiled inanely. She steered him toward the stairs that, surprisingly, weren't the obstacle she was expecting. Peter could perambulate well enough as long as she held him upright and did the navigation. At the top of the stairs, she turned him right instead of left and guided him into the master bedroom – the bedroom he'd been avoiding. This was the one part of her plan that his inebriation simplified – he was too drunk to notice. Luce undressed her father, having the presence of mind to drop his trousers before letting him sit down on the bed. She knelt to remove shoes, socks and the aforementioned trousers before starting on his shirt and tie. As she stood again, Peter's tie proved invaluable to catch him by as he started to slump back on the bed. "No you don't!" Luce chided as she snatched at his tie and pulled him back from the brink. She struggled with the knot that was now too tight but succeeded in getting it open enough to lift over Peter's head. His shirt came off the same way, as did his vest. "Where'sh the... the bathroom?" Peter mumbled as Luce was about to let him lie down. "Oh, dear lord." Luce muttered. "C'mon then, Dad." She hauled on his wrists, getting him on his feet again and led him to the bathroom, standing behind him to offer support without getting in the firing line. Peter saw the toilet in front of him and seemed to remember why he was stood there. He fumbled in his shorts for his penis, aimed at the porcelain and missed. "Dad!" Luce reached around without thinking and took control of her father's penis before he flooded them out. While she pointed him in the right direction, she had time to reflect on how the evening had turned out. Sure, she'd fully intended to end up holding this penis, just not like this. When Peter turned off the hose, Luce shook his penis gently to dislodge the last drop of urine then tucked the little guy back into the shorts. With a brief detour to the washstand, she guided him back to the bed, held him upright with one hand while pulling back the sheets with the other then let him flop down onto the bed again and lifted his feet in as he keeled over onto the pillows. He was snoring gently before Luce had even covered him. Luce had worked out all the different ways this scene could play out, had prepared arguments and tactics for every conceivable scenario – except this one. She looked down at the sleeping figure of her father and shrugged. This would perhaps be easier. She undressed, considered leaving her briefs on then changed her mind and peeled them down her legs too. Then she regretted leaving Peter's shorts on and pulled back the sheet to finish undressing him. He didn't stir. There! Now they were both naked – which would be one less hurdle to overcome in the morning. She got into her mother's side of the bed and put her arm around Peter so she'd know if he got up in the night, not that it was likely in his condition. She wasn't ready for sleep though and lay awake thinking over all that she'd done and what more she was planning. Since reading Georgina's journals and finding out that Peter was her half-brother, not her real father, Luce had wanted the love Georgina so often wrote about. She wanted to be loved by someone who'd been in her heart every day of her life and who, no matter what, would never stop loving her. She'd learned how much more than just a marriage Peter and Georgina had enjoyed and she wanted that for herself. In short, she wanted to take her mother's place in this bed. That required two things – Peter had to be sleeping in here again and Peter had to be her lover. Ok, so he was back in here and if he wasn't her lover before they got out of this bed, he probably never would be. She'd done all she could to deal with the objections she knew Peter would raise. Jean-Paul was her biological father and everyone now knew that she knew it. As far as the neighbours were concerned, Luce wasn't actually related to Peter at all so they would not have that much of a problem with adjusting to the new arrangement. Oh, there'd be a period of discomfort, but it'd pass. Their incest would, as it always had been, remain a secret. And Peter could hardly object to bedding her, simply because it was incestuous. He had previous form for that. Luce noticed that her hand had strayed down to Peter's limp penis and was cupping it gently. She wondered if she could get a rise out of it here and now. One way to find out. She stroked it with more purpose, wrapping her fingers around it firmly and kneading it. Slowly, the thing responded, swelling in her hand. She couldn't see it but she imagined it peeking out of the end of her fist and winking at her as she squeezed. A few minutes had Peter's penis fully erect, long and hard in her grasp. It felt big. She'd had a few lovers, so was no stranger to the variety of cocks but this felt bigger than any she'd encountered. Perhaps it was true that men's penises got bigger with age. Holding Peter's erection it dawned on Luce that, in addition to sleeping with him, there was precedent for non-consenting sex too. She let go of his cock long enough to roll him onto his back, making him snore even louder. Luce slid on top of him, her legs straddling his waist as she reached between their bodies to guide his cock into her. She'd been damp all evening, anticipating seducing him and the emotional release with Jean-Paul had only made her more horny. Now she was practically dripping as Peter's glans nestled between her labia. She eased back onto it, feeling herself stretch to accommodate the beast. It was big – really big. She'd had cocks as long but it was thick too. She hissed through her teeth as she inched it into her body. He was certainly going to take some getting used to. She rested on his hips for a moment, enjoying having him all inside her and thinking of how he'd raped their mother's ass with this monster. Sweet Jesus! That must have hurt. Slowly but with gathering urgency, Luce moved her hips, pumping Peter's cock inside her. He was dead to the world and responded to the feel of hot young flesh around his penis only with occasional grunts. Luce rubbed at her clit as she drove her hips down hard on her new, living dildo. She was ready to explode when Peter groaned in his sleep and Vesuvius erupted in her pussy. It was the last straw, her orgasm pulsed through her, tearing an ecstatic scream from her throat as her body arched and her vagina gripped the spurting cock like a rodeo riders glove on the reins. Peter went limp inside her while she caught her breath. She was drenched in sweat and their combined fluids were leaking down her inner thighs. "Thank you, Daddy." She said, cheerily as she clambered off him. Turning on the bedside light she looked at herself in the dressing tale mirror. "Ooh! Look at the mess you've made of my little pussy." She put on the little-girlie voice she used to get her own way. Luce went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Hot water always felt good after sex, when all her nerves were still tingling and her senses seemed so much keener. As she washed herself, she let her soapy fingers linger as they passed over her anus. Good Lord! How was she ever going to fit him there? She'd never had a cock in her ass, though fingers and toys had both been fun and she hadn't refused any boy she'd fucked. They'd simply never asked her for that. She rinsed off and got out of the shower. Wrapped in the biggest towel in the house, she came out of the bathroom carrying a damp facecloth. Gently, she cleaned Peter's flaccid penis, his heavy balls and the stickiness on his thighs. Luce took off the towel she was wearing to dry him off then covered him up again, turned out the light and got back into bed herself. This time she was ready for sleep. * * * Peter woke with a blinding headache and a poor grasp of his surroundings. He groaned as the dim, curtain filtered, daylight stuck pins in his eyes. "Good morning, Dad." Luce's voice was a happy whisper in his ear but it might as well have been the church bells at close range. He winced. "Oh, you poor thing." She cooed and Peter felt a warm breast press against his chest as his daughter reached across to the night stand. He heard the plink-fizz of Alka-seltzer then a cold glass was pressed gently into his hand. "This'll help." Luce said quietly as she moved off him so that he could sit up enough to sip the hangover cure. Luce! ...warm breast... naked girl... Luce?... Peter's brain disengaged the auto-pilot and nearly crashed into the looming realization that Luce was in his bed. He sputtered, spraying Alka-seltzer across the covers. "Luce?... Wh...wh..." "What am I doing here?" She asked for him. He was clearly having difficulty articulating his concerns. She smiled demurely and sat up beside him, letting her share of the covers slip from her bare bosom. "I slept here. I didn't think you'd ever come back in here alone so I came with you." "Bu...But..." "But what? But I'm your daughter? Not really. But it's not right? Neither was marrying our mother. But this was Mom's bed? Now it's ours and I'm sure she wouldn't mind me claiming this as part of my inheritance." Under the sheets, her hand found his penis. Either he'd woken up hard or he liked what he saw because he was almost completely rigid. "Any more buts?" "Luce..." "Shh. These are the options. Plan A. You could throw me out of bed right now. Refuse to lay a finger on me. Pretend last night never happened. You could do that, but you'd keep inadvertently walking in on me in a state of undress, finding photos of me naked all over the house, be terrified to open your email in the presence of your secretary in case it's a video clip of me masturbating with your electric toothbrush. Inside 48 hours you'd be jerking off while fantasizing about me and you wouldn't be able to get to sleep at night because I'd be lying outside your door with a vibrator in my pussy having noisy orgasms and calling your name and begging you to fuck me in the ass. How long would it be before you gave in? Three days? Four? Certainly not five. Or you could try Plan B. Give in to your little girl without a fight, just like you've always done." "But... why?" Was all Peter could manage. He was not just hung over, he was shell-shocked. "Because you and Mom were the closest couple I've ever seen and I want to try for some of what you two had. I want to know how it feels to be with someone who's loved me forever. You and Mom are the best argument for Plan B I could find." Luce felt tears on her cheeks. Proof if it were needed that this was about a hell of a lot more than just the sex. She smiled all the same and took the empty glass from Peter's hand. This time, when she leant across him to put the glass down, she made sure both breasts pressed against him. In her other hand, his cock pulsed. Knowing that she'd won, she eased back and guided his empty hand to her bosom, sighing as his cold fingers instinctively cupped her flesh. Her nipple hardened against his palm and its twin perked up visibly. "I've already fucked you anyway, Daddy. While you were sleeping." Peter's eyes widened. "Wh..." "You came right inside me. It was marvellous but I think I'd prefer it with you awake." Luce slid her hand along his shaft, working it to full rigidity. "Will you, Daddy? Will you fuck me properly this time?" It was her little-girl voice again. For answer, Peter lay back, drawing her down with him. He kissed her forehead gently before speaking. "Luce, I'm hung over. My mouth tastes like somebody shit in it and I can't get all this straight in my head. Let me sleep, Honey." Luce slung a leg over him and eased herself over his hips just like last night. She pressed back against his cock, feeling it's hot length along her labia and butt crack. She kissed Peter, ignoring his dog's breath, and forcing her tongue against his. "Ok, Dad. I'll help you get this all straight." She reached behind her and pressed his glans against her sphincter. "That's one good push away from sodomy." She eased forward and pushed his glans down to her soft vulva then eased back on to it. "And that's about ten seconds away from fucking your daughter." She pressed slowly back until her labia gripped just behind the head of his cock. "You can stop me anytime you want, Dad. Just say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious and I'll stop right away. Ok?" She thrust back hard, impaling herself on his cock for the second time and squealing with joy as his hot hard flesh filled her. Peter, mentally numb from the after-effects of alcohol and dazed further by the turn of events, did nothing. It wasn't consent as such, but an inability to deal with the situation. His head throbbed so he slumped back into the welcoming softness of his pillows with a groan. He vaguely recalled that he wanted Luce to stop what she was doing but it was the only part of him that felt good and that was something to cling too.