5 comments/ 15504 views/ 5 favorites On the Canal Bank and After By: geronimo_appleby Okay, here's my entry for the Earth Day contest. I'm not 100% as to which category it should go in, so it'll be interesting (for me) to see where it ends up. It begins with Amy watching her mother as they take part in an Earth Day project to clean up the local canal bank. Amy has a suspicion her mother might have a new lover in the offing, but she's determined to put a stop to their hanky-panky. But it doesn't go according to plan... Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. I'm half expecting a bumpy ride 'cause of my recent dig at the Loving Wives folks; and in its own way, even though it might slew my score a little, it'll be interesting to see what happens if they spot my name on the New List. If there are any errors outstanding, I apologise. Yep, all me own fault. Also, I tried a couple of experiments in regard to point of view and tense and I'd appreciate some feedback on how that works, or doesn't as the case may be. Thank you for reading. GA -- Ranong, Thailand -- 27th March 2014. Prologue Amy realises there's something going on. She's seen it before, she recognises the signs. So she knows she has to watch them. Amy doubts he'd risk doing anything with the journalist and the photographer from the local paper close by. But, as it goes, she's to find out soon enough she has that wrong. They're all on the canal bank, a team on either side, with fourteen to a team. There's no significance in the number -- twenty-four volunteers plus the four co-ordinators, which makes it twelve plus two on each bank. They're spread out like an army patrol, the canal as the axis, working in pairs. One holds a large black refuse sack while the other collects whatever detritus is in their path. Occasionally there's a call for a co-ordinator to examine something too large to fit into the bag, usually a rusted bike frame or supermarket shopping trolley that will need a special collection. It occurs to Amy early on to wonder about how so many shopping trollies end up in the undergrowth by the canal when the nearest Tesco is two miles away, but the thought drifts away when she sees her mother, the chief co-ordinator, on the opposite bank, with Anthony close by. It's midday and, at a call from Amy's mother the teams converge for a forty-five minute break, a picnic on the bank of the canal organised by Anthony at the council's expense. Amy settles on a patch of grass a few feet from the body of the group and listens to Anthony expound to the journalist, a dumpy blob of a woman with a digital Dictaphone held in one podgy hand. He's yapping on about the Earth Day initiative for the canal bank clean-up, giving it large, making sure the woman is in no doubt that this, and other efforts all along the waterway, are his idea. The journalist thanks Anthony and, after the tog takes a few pictures, moves off for more sound bites, this time from eager volunteers. As the Earth Day chatter goes on around her, Amy watches her mother. Sure enough, amid the conversations about the canal clearance and other clean-up events, the gushing praise for Anthony, with comments about the apparent apathy of the public at large, Amy watches her mother flirt with the Godsend himself. The man, Anthony, the saviour of the canal, the self-serving arrogant pig, a council employee at present, but with political aspirations, stands and stretches with his hands against his kidneys. He makes a bit of a show about his aching back, although he's spent most of the day in the Range Rover moving from group to group along the length of the waterway, the pair from the newspaper in tow. Amy hasn't seen Anthony bend to pick up a thing; she rolls her eyes and mutters about him being such a wanker. Despite the man giving her a few days' work, at her mother's request, Amy didn't have much time for him. Then, while Amy keeps a surreptitious eye fixed to her mother, Anthony leans in and murmurs something into the woman's ear. Amy has to look away quickly when her mother's eyes flick in her direction. Feigning nonchalance as she nibbles a sandwich -- which is actually quite good -- she sees Anthony saunter off down the bank Nobody so much as glances at him while chatter and laughter swells from the group of volunteers, most of them excited by the possibility of their smiling faces appearing in the paper. But Amy's attention never wavers, and ninety seconds later she watches as her mother rises to her feet. Her mother throws a surreptitious glance around the gathering before she too ambles away. Amy gives her mother half a minute start before she gets up and follows. Sure enough, as she suspected, Amy sees her and Anthony meet a hundred yards away from the gathering. The clandestine pair hurry away, so preoccupied that neither sees the young blonde woman following. They move at a quick pace along the muddy track, veering abruptly to the left, away from the water. Amy quickens her pace when she sees her mother and Anthony duck out of sight. She's careful to avoid splashing into any of the small puddles dotted along the path, desperate for a covert approach. When she arrives at the spot where she thinks Anthony and her mother left the path, Amy sees a gap in the tangle of hedgerow. She takes a moment puzzling over how either her mother or Anthony knew about the near indistinguishable gap in the green, but pushes the questions away when she realises she's wasting time -- one or the other must have been to the place before, most likely Anthony, Amy decides, and then she's pushing into the gap, branches and leaves plucking and scraping at her arms. She doesn't have far to go, just a yard or so until she breaks out into a more open area, a crossroads of sorts, a litter-strewn T-junction of dry earth beaten flat by the passing of feet. Amy realises she's standing on a track most probably used by the inhabitants of the housing estate just beyond the cheap, wooden-slatted fence she can see a few feet in front of her. It's the kind of place local kids would use during weekends and holidays: hidden dens and hide and seek, a short cut from the estate to the world beyond. There would probably be a gap in the fence, a couple of loose boards perhaps... Amy stands at the junction, dappled sunlight from the cool, April midday speckling the ground. She has to make a decision -- left or right? On instinct she opts for the left, moving along as quiet as she can in a round-shouldered half-crouch in response to the low overhang of tree branches either side. She freezes when she hears voices. Her head turns slowly to the left as a low chuckle reaches her ears, with Amy's shoulders, torso, hips and, finally, her legs and feet swivelling so she's face on to the sound. Ahead of her is a snarl of brambles, a dense thicket, and it seems her mother and Anthony are right there on the other side. His voice sounds less than three feet away. He's right there with just the brambles for cover. Being very careful about where she places her feet, she doesn't want to stand on a dry twig or disturb any deadfall leaves, Amy creeps along. Nature forces her to approach very slowly, with the angle of her line dictated by the absolute need to remain unseen. Stealth is instinctive, and it takes her almost three full minutes of heart-pounding creeping to get to a point where she can observe her mother and Anthony. She parts the chaos of brambles carefully with both hands, taking care to avoid their claws as she eases the tangled mass aside. Amy hardly dare breathe. Her mouth is open, with just enough air going in in shallow gulps. Eventually there's a gap, a spy hole big enough for her to peer through. It's not perfect, her view is obscured by a mesh of branches and thorns, but it's enough. She catches the gasp in time, clamping her mouth closed before the swell escapes her. It's enormous. Huge. And the sight of it, so primeval, so intimidating, floods her pussy with heat. Amy's vulva swells with bestial desire. Her opening is suddenly itchy as her body responds automatically. Regardless of her boggling brain, the shock of it, Amy's clitoris pulses, tiny jolts of electricity as her insides melt. Somehow she resists the urge to squeeze her breasts as her nipples thicken and swell. Then she gulps, swallowing heavily as she stares at the incredible size of Anthony's erect penis, her mother kneeling and gamely attempting to suck the thing. That bludgeon is terrible to behold, a weapon of a thing as thick as her wrist, the gnarled and knobbed criss-cross of veins giving it a medieval appearance. Anthony's cock is like an instrument of torture, and Amy's mother is already whimpering as she tries to accommodate the girth of it in her mouth. Anthony is standing there, his expression avid, lupine as he looks down at Amy's mother, her lips bloodless and stretched as she massages that cock down at its root. "Go on, Astrid," the man growls. "Suck it, girl. Go on. Go for it," he urges. "See how much you can swallow." Amy mother pulls away. She coughs and gags, with silver threads of drool hanging from her chin all shivery when she moves. Her eyes water and she cuffs at her mouth, sucking in a deep draught of air. Anthony laughs and hauls Astrid to her feet. "Told you," he says. "We're better off waiting 'til later. When we get back to the office." He takes hold of his member and waggles it. "We'll have the place to ourselves. Nobody will disturb us there." Amy pulls back little when Anthony glances around the hidey-hole in the woods. "Then we'll be able to enjoy ourselves, Astrid," he adds. "This is too risky out here. If anyone came along... "There's that woman from the paper. "And what if her snapper friend takes a picture? "I must have been mad to suggest it..." It seems like Amy's mother doesn't give a fug about journos or photographers. "But, Anthony," she whines. "I'm so bloody horny! I'm so horny right now!" The man steps back and stuffs the unfeasibly large lump of cock into his trousers, and Amy gulps when she sees the bulge of it. Astrid rolls her eyes and rubs a hand between her legs, going at her pussy through her cargo pants. "God, Anthony," she moans, doing a little dance, moving her weight from one foot to the other as though she desperately needs to pee. "I want it now. Right here. Please." She gasps, the fingers of one hand clawing at the man's chest, snagging his polo shirt. "I'll slip my trousers down. I'll bend over and you can do it from behind. I'm wet enough," she mewls. "God I'm so fucking wet for you." But Anthony just laughs at the woman's urgency. "You'll have to wait," he says, rearranging the huge lump of male gristle in his trousers. "Later, I promise," Anthony adds, his tone softening. "I-uh-I ... I'm supposed to give Amy a lift home," Astrid stammers. "Can you sort it out? Can't she take a bus?" He shrugs and adds, "You'll have to come up with a reason, Astrid." Anthony cups his bulge with the palm of a hand. "Otherwise..." He leaves it unsaid, the implication that if Astrid wants him, she'll have to think of something. "I'll try," Astrid mumbles, but she doesn't look happy. Then Amy is forced into a weird, sideways crab-walk, squatting on her haunches as she tries to keep some cover between herself and the other two when they begin to move out of cover. They're in a discussion about what to do, with Amy's mother all agitated while Anthony attempts to soothe her. As caught up as they are neither Anthony nor Amy's mother hear the shuffle of her boots on the ground. They don't see her as they make their way back to the clean-up volunteers, voices receding. Amy slumps onto her backside, her back up against a tree. She sits there in the sun-dappled silence, legs bent, elbows on her knees, head in her hands. She attempts to process what she just witnessed, her emotions in conflict and her mind awhirl. She closes her eyes and the first image into her mind is Anthony's huge cock. Amy groans, the heat between her legs burning hotter. Suddenly she's on her feet and unbuttoning her cargo pants, unzipping them before she shoves them to her ankles. A hand delves into her underwear after she's squatted down, a straight arm against the tree, fingers working at her sodden sex. Thoughtless to discovery, Amy rubs herself, her head filled with a fantasy reel of her with Anthony's cock in her mouth. In her mind she sees him slurping at her pussy, his eyes locked on hers as he licks her. Then, with his massive jib waggling and dancing, Anthony is between her legs. The great cock-head nudges her, a battering ram that presses at her scarlet flesh, and Amy's body forced to accept the invader as, inch by slow inch. Anthony eases into her. She's filled with him. His cock is a solid lump of living flesh inside her. Anthony pauses and smiles, his grin wicked, almost malicious as he continues to stuff Amy with himself. "Oh, fuck," Amy gurgles, coming around the three fingers she's got wedged in her body. "I can't ... I shouldn't," she gasps, her guilt at masturbating over such an obscenity overwhelmed by her desire. "Daddy," she mumbles as thoughts of her cuckold father come to her. "Mum's going to fuck him ... Oh, fuck, that bitch is going to get that big cock." By then she's grunting and gasping, her orgasm boiling. Amy moans and sighs and has to bite on her bottom lip to stop herself screaming her pleasure. Her fingers work at her opening, the flat of those four digits mushing around her vulva, teasing her clitoris as her climax rolls on and on. Finally, spent and gasping, with dirt and leaves plastered to her thighs and undercurve of her buttocks, Amy stands on legs as unsteady as a new-born colt's. She gives herself a minute before hauling her trousers to her waist. Her hands are trembling when her fingers scrabble at her zip. Amy sniffs her fingers and gets another blast of surging lust when she smells the scent of her own depravity. One Late afternoon. It's cooled considerably, and Amy has her blue fleece on. There's a mountain of neatly tied refuse sacks piled in the top corner of the car park. A reasonably large crowd has gathered, mostly the volunteers massed together in front of the steps outside the red-brick, two-storey building that houses the council offices, its design an anachronism compared to its modern neighbours, its presence testament to its status as a building of special historic interest. Amy isn't particularly interested in the history of the place; her mother and Anthony up there at the top of the steps have her complete attention. There are banners and posters behind them: glossy, in-your-face proclamations about the canal bank clearance project; Anthony's brainchild, his vehicle to the mayoral platform with Earth Day as the fuel. Anthony, milking it, is thanking the volunteers for their efforts. His arm sweeps to encompass the pile of bin liners, rusted bike frames, old-fashioned prams and other refuse the teams have collected from the canal bank or dredged from the water. To Amy's eye he's looking smug, but everyone else seems to be gawping up in admiration. The journo and her photographer sidekick are there too, the woman muttering into her Dictaphone, the man bustling around in that busy yet somehow invisible way that photographers at public events and weddings seem to have. Amy experiences a flare of hate for the man cuckolding her father. But, paradoxically, when she glances at the front of his cargo pants she feels the warmth flood south, her sex heating. The urge to rub herself is so strong that Amy can't resist. She shuffles back, moving further away from the periphery of the crowd, contriving to hide the lower part of her body behind a wheelie bin, the plastic container pristine, all shiny and new and destined to stand along the canal bank -- albeit securely fastened to a concrete plinth to prevent it from being lobbed into the water by one of the apathetic louts so mindless to the conservation of the planet. A facsimile of the posters behind Anthony is fixed to the side of the receptacle masking Amy's body, all part of the plan to, hopefully, educate the public and convince them to use the bin instead of dumping litter along the path. Amy glances around, checking her immediate area for anyone in a position to observe her clandestine antics. Satisfied nobody's looking, Amy's hand slides into the gap between her belly and her trousers. Her fingers find the elastic waistband of her underwear and slide down while, up on the makeshift stage, her mother is looking simultaneously embarrassed and pleased at being singled out for praise. Amy wonders, briefly, if her mother is aware of the dirty marks on her knees. Then she forgets about her mother as she rubs herself, her attention drifting, only vaguely aware of her mother's shy little wave to the gathering below. Anthony is blathering on about Astrid's efforts in helping organise the event, but his words mean nothing to Amy. She can see his jaw moving up and down, but her mind has floated away and she's there behind the brambles again. In Amy's head the sun is high in the April sky. There's the occasional burst of laughter from the picnic crowd of volunteers while an occasional car moves through the estate beyond the fence. It's another world in amongst the green. Amy can see her mother's lips stretched around Anthony's cock. The awful size of the man's appendage, the brutal exterior all gnarled and knobbly causes an arterial burst of lust between Amy's legs. Her nipples tighten again, but she can't squeeze her tender breasts because that part of her is in plain sight to anyone who might happen to look in her direction. Her mind might be in the woods but her reality is only partially obscured by the wheelie bin. Her fingers find the cleft of her sex sodden. Her labia are slick with desire, and when the tip of her forefinger slides over her clit, Amy can't help but gasp and wince. "Oh, fuck," she mutters, the finger probing her opening. Suddenly reckless with desire, Amy wedges her forearm further down into the depths of her clothing. Her forefinger is joined by her middle digit, and the young woman is rubbing at the nub of her clit, punctuating the urgent burnishing by sliding both fingers into her body. She sees herself closing her fingers around Anthony's cock. Could she even get her fingers around the thing, or was it simply too big? Amy cares nothing for Anthony. She finds him smarmy and creepy, with snake eyes and a leering smirk. He's also as old as her mother, although fit and muscular to be sure. He's even handsome, she supposes grudgingly, good-looking in the way of a square-jawed, rugged actor. One of those confident, middle-aged Americans she sees in films, the ones with the swept back hair and perfect dentistry playing unscrupulous captains of industry rich enough to get anything they desire. Not that Anthony is rich, not yet, he's just a council employee on a reasonable salary, a man with aspirations. She knows it's shallow but she just can't shift the image of his massive dick out of her head. Amy pauses, fingers barely moving against her sex as she studies her mother and Anthony together on the steps. How would they do it? Would her mother get down on all fours and offer her cunt with her buttocks high in the air? Would they be naked or half-clothed? Did they make condoms that size? What if Anthony got her mother pregnant? Did the man's jizm squirt out or did it just ooze? The thought of that cock spitting semen about indiscriminately, the picture of it in her head, brings a low moan from Amy. "Fuck," she mumbles, chewing her bottom lip, fingers going hard at tender flesh. Amy mewls, gasping back on the sound, her head swivelling like a nervous meerkat's when she remembers just where she is and how many people are gathered about. On the Canal Bank and After What the hell was she doing? The congratulations were coming to an end. The crowd of volunteers, happy and self-satisfied, begin to drift away. Amy's hand comes out of her cargo pants. She sees Anthony's mouth is close to her mother's ear, with the woman's eyes going wide at whatever he's murmured. Her mother's expression runs through several phases, telegraphing her emotions to anyone bothered enough to watch. First, incredulity -- she can't believe what Anthony has said. Next, delight, with Astrid's lips moving from the large O to form a banana smile, all teeth and adoration. Amy squirms and pulls at her crotch, arranging the gusset of her knickers back in place with a wriggle. She sees her mother's nod and watches her lips move as Astrid looks into Anthony's face. Although she couldn't make out what was said, Amy knows the moment is upon them. This is when her mother comes to her with the lie. Anthony saunters away to take the journalist by the elbow, and Amy watches her mother's eyes seek her out. "Bitch," she mutters, and then steps from behind the bin with a smile pinned to her face, her cheeks stiff with the falseness of it. Amy waves. Her mother spots her and indicates by means of haphazard sign language that she needs to speak to her. And to make her mother work for it, Amy stays where she is. "Anthony's asked if I can stay behind and make sure the lads from the tip collect all the bags," Astrid says as she approaches. She has an I-can-hardly-refuse look on her face, arms wide in appeal. "You'll be all right getting the bus, won't you, Amy?" Amy notices her mother's eyes slide away. Without waiting for a reply, as though it's a done deal, Astrid continues. "Tell your dad I'll be home in a few hours." Amy knows another co-ordinator is tagged to supervise the loading of the bags and ensuring nothing gets left behind for dogs or urban foxes to scavenge, but she holds her peace nevertheless. It suits her to go along with her mother's falsehood. Amy shrugs. "I suppose so." She delivers the statement with just the right amount of aggrieved truculence her mother would expect. "That's good, Amy. Thanks." A pause and then: "Anthony will appreciate it." It's almost imperceptible, but Amy notices her mother is just a touch too bright and enthusiastic. She reasons her mother might have been anticipating some resistance and is relieved her daughter has acquiesced so readily. "Well," Astrid goes on, with a nervous glance over one shoulder. "I suppose I'd better..." She throws a thumb over the opposite shoulder to signify her intent. "No rest for the wicked," is Astrid's closing statement. Then she's away. "I bet," muttered Amy under her breath as her mother skips up the steps. She glances at her watch and decides she'd give them five minutes. Two Amy has no trouble getting past the receptionist. First of all the stoop-shouldered, middle-aged lady behind the desk is in the process of handing over to the night security watchman, and with Saturday's business day being concluded, she's too intent on getting out of the building and away home to her cats and Bruce Forsyth on the telly to pay much attention. Secondly, since Amy is a familiar face, and togged out in the informal uniform of cargo pants and polo shirt, the council's motif on her right breast, neither the woman nor the guard take a second look. She slips past the open turnstile with a waggle of her fingers and takes the stairs two at a time, a hand on the rail as she boosts herself along. When she hits the third floor she moves quickly yet silently, the rubber soles on her boots plus the layer of threadbare carpet underfoot aiding and abetting stealth. She reaches the door to Anthony's office and, knowing the layout -- a small vestibule beyond the door before the man's office proper, another door in-between -- enters quietly, trusting her mother and Anthony will be in the room beyond. With her heart bouncing in her ribcage, her breath caught in her throat, Amy is relieved to find the anteroom empty. She lets out the lungful of anxiety she's had trapped inside her on a long sigh. Then she calms herself in readiness for the confrontation. While she's taking deep breaths Amy glances around. It's obvious the room has been used as an office for a personal assistant or secretary in the past. It's completely kitted out for use: three-drawer lockable filing cabinet, waste-paper bin, a dark-wood desk with modesty screen, a leatherette chair behind the desk. Amy moves to the adjoining door and presses her ear to the panel. There are voices beyond but she can't make out any of the words. Then the girl startles when the knob in the door rattles. The volume of one of the voices inside the other room increases, and it's suddenly apparent the door is about to be flung open. Amy lunges away, panic swelling inside her. She looks around, desperate for a hiding place, tiny mewls coming out of her. She can't be discovered. She has no excuse ready. Her plan was to make certain her mother and Anthony were at it before she burst in and delivered hell-fire. She's still in the middle of the room when the door opens. But, thankfully, nobody appears immediately. "I just don't feel too fresh at the moment, Anthony," Amy hears her mother say. "I won't be long. Give me five minutes." There's only one hiding place, and Amy ducks behind the desk a moment before her mother steps from the inner office. She's crouched there behind the modesty screen, with her throat feeling like it's clogged with her heart. She's certain her mother must have seen a flicker of movement. Her de-cloaking is imminent. But, instead of the anticipated cry of surprise, Amy hears her mother say, "You just keep that thing primed. I'll be back." Then Astrid's voice drops, the words coming out all thick and curdled. "I'm so horny, Anthony." Amy's mother sighs and, just before she leaves, murmurs, "Keep stroking it. Keep it hard for when I get back." "Don't take forever," Anthony calls. "If I keep doing it, I'll come." "That would be an awful waste," Astrid replies, and then Amy is alone in the vestibule, with Anthony in his office, his cock apparently primed and ready. Silence. Shuffling sounds from the inner office. Again, what she saw at midday comes to Amy's mind. Her body responds in the usual way and, with Amy, crouching behind the desk, she closes her eyes and tries to block the images. She fights against the dark urges inside her, denying that her pussy is sluicing and her libido is snarling. She wonders just what Anthony is up to. She pictures him stroking his cock, just waiting for her mother to return. Before she realises it, Amy is up from behind the desk. Then she's at the door and peering in. And there his is, sitting on a worn yet serviceable sofa. Of course, he's naked, but what brings the heat flooding into her vulva is the fact he's cranking his erection with both hands. The pair stare at one another for several long beats, with Anthony's face slackening in surprise. Yet, Amy notices, he doesn't cease his languid caress. The girl swallows, her attention fixed on that awful member. "Amy," Anthony says, with no inflection in the word, and Amy is unsure if it's a greeting or a question or a simple statement of fact. "What are you doing here?" he asks, apparently unconcerned at being caught with his dick in his hands. The girl says nothing. The words are a log-jam behind her teeth. Her throat has shrunk to the diameter of a drinking straw. No sound can emerge. It's difficult to breathe, her heart is bouncing again, her mind is awhirl with conflicting emotions, and her cunt is so hot and itchy. "Why don't you come in, Amy," murmurs Anthony, his tone hypnotic. "You look like you want to." That cock slaps down against the ribbed muscle when he lets it go, a sob almost bursting out of Amy when she sees the knob-head of the thing reaches Anthony's sternum. The man beckons to the young woman standing in the doorway with her eyes fixed on his cock. "You shouldn't be here, Amy," Anthony smirks. "Your mother will be here soon." At the mention of her mother, Amy nods. "I know," she croaks. He looks at her, an eyebrow arched. "What do you want, Amy?" "My father," the girl mumbles. "You shouldn't be doing it with my mother. She's married and..." "I haven't done it to her yet, Amy," Anthony replies, interjecting rudely. The girl bridles. "I saw you at lunch time." Anthony grimaces and lifts his arms in a parody of a Hindu God. "I haven't fucked her yet." Amy gulps when she hears Anthony utter the profanity. He has, in all Amy's previous experience in her dealings with him, been the epitome of charm and sophistication when dealing directly with her, and to see him sitting there with his cock lying against his body is like bursting in on her grandmother on the toilet. It's just wrong. Then, flexing some internal muscle the man makes his cock twitch, the movement causing it to lift and fall back of its own accord, a sight that brings a gasp from Amy, her pussy siping into her underwear. "She wants to fuck me, you know, Amy," Anthony breathes. His eyes are on the girl, his stare predatory as he lifts his penis and begins to stroke it. "Your mother's hot for this big cock." "You pig," Amy moans. Anthony chuckles, his stare locked on the girl's face. "What about you?" he asks. "I get the impression you're curious about it, too. What do you say, Amy?" he continues in that narcotic tone. "Would you like to touch it?" "No," Amy mumbles. "Oh," nods Anthony, "I think you do." His fist moves. The length of him is hard and swollen, the skin taut, the bulbous head bulging. "Do you think it'd fit inside you?" he asks at the same moment Amy has the exact same thought. "It'd be tight," he adds, grinning. "But it would go in. If I fed it into you nice and slow. Until you got used to it..." "Leave my mother alone," Amy mumbles. Anthony nods again. "I might," he says, "if I had a sweet little thing like you to play with." Anthony pouts and then smirks. "But your mum's very keen. And she's so enthusiastic. It's difficult to turn it down. I mean, it isn't like she's a dog or anything, Amy. She's very attractive, very sexy. And I know she's got a great pair of tits." "Buh-but my father--" Amy begins. "Isn't enough for her," finishes Anthony, cutting the girl off again. "She wants sex all the time, Amy. Your mother needs a lot of attention. She wants to fuck ... And I'm the man who can give her what she needs." He waggles his dick at the young woman. "And there's plenty of this to go round. You can have some, too ... If you want," he adds with a leer. Anthony pauses, eyebrows lifted in question. "Don't you want some, Amy?" he asks. "I'd love to fuck your tight little pussy with this." And then he's stroking it and moaning. Anthony's hands are both sliding up and down that cock. The expression on his face... The agonised ecstasy Amy sees there shoots a white hot flare straight between her legs. Her hand is down inside her knickers; Amy's fingers are sliding over her sodden vulva. She can't help herself; she can't resist. "Come on, baby," groans Anthony. "Come and sit on it." Three Astrid is in the Ladies. It's an old-fashioned place of white tiles and scarred blue doors, the bottom edges of which are nine inches from the floor. It could do with a make-over, but there's no money in the coffers that year. There are three stalls, with three sinks opposite, a long mirror running horizontally above the porcelain bowls. The woman is in a state of high arousal, with excitement at the prospect of finally feeling Anthony's huge cock inside her fizzing. Her stomach is churning like a washing machine, as it has been all day. Astrid's pussy is awash with desire, which is why she insisted on cleaning up before the sex. Always fastidious, Astrid can't countenance Anthony getting a whiff of her pussy. She's convinced he'll be put off by the sour musk that's been fermenting down below. It's a calculated risk that she'll be disturbed, but Astrid assesses the likelihood of anyone else using the facilities as very low, negligible in fact. She fills a basin with water, testing the temperature before hauling her cargo pants to her knees -- the last thing she needs is a scalded pussy! Then, a thrill coursing through her, a shiver of adventure, Astrid decides to forgo the trousers completely. She unlaces her boots and toes them off at the heel one after the other. Off come her socks and Astrid shimmies out of the cargo pants. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her delicate panties, and when she catches a glimpse of her reflection and sees herself naked from the waist down the heat floods her face. "Oh you've got it bad," admits Astrid to the woman in the mirror. Then, smirking at her alternative self in her other universe, she yanks the polo shirt over her head. Next thing her bra has joined the heap of clothes on the countertop. Fully naked, Astrid examines herself, trying to see herself from the male point of view. "Not bad," she decides, pouting at her breasts, cupping the weighty orbs in her palms. Astrid grins, knowing it was her tits that caught Anthony's eye in the first place. Not that she'd been keen on him at first, far too self-confident by half had been her first impression: cocky and more than a little selfish. Astrid had correctly assessed Anthony's short-comings during her interview for the position as Chief Co-Ordinator for the canal project, but when she'd walked in on him while he was changing in his office one afternoon, when she'd clocked the thing dangling between his legs, she had adjusted her opinion of her employer. Anthony, she decided, might be just what she was looking for. Jaded by twenty-nine years of marriage, and with an indifferent husband with a low sex drive, Astrid was on the look-out for something fresh. She'd had a string of young lovers over the past two years but was between cocks as it were when she'd barged in and caught him, literally, with his pants down. From that incident on she had made it obvious she fancied Anthony. She'd played up to him, giving him no illusion she was most definitely interested in his big cock. But, Anthony being Anthony, the bastard had played her along. He'd teased her for weeks, flirting, snogging, and even fingering her to several noisy, very squelchy orgasms in some very risky situations. For a man with his ambitions, Anthony certainly enjoyed taking risks. Yet he'd made her wait. It had been close down by the canal that afternoon. She thought he would cave and fuck the arse off her right there. And how fitting that would have been! Celebrating Earth Day with a glorious al fresco fuck! But, again, it hadn't happened. Anthony had her dangling. Astrid sluices water over her vulva. She washes away the musk of over-excited female and considers rubbing herself to orgasm while watching herself in the mirror. Under usual circumstances Astrid would never dream of such wanton behaviour, but such was her yearning for relief, despite the big cock waiting for her -- let him wait, the bastard -- Astrid succumbed to her base desires. So she decides to take a little risk herself and watches her own face while standing in front of the mirror, a hand between her legs. "Oh, fuck," she groans, voice curdled. "I want it. I want to fuck." Astrid's mind goes back to the other times, the other men, and she can't remember ever being so horny -- Not ever. Not once. She sees her reflection, the woman in the mirror; Astrid sees the woman wince, her face slack, jaw dangling. Her hand works at her sex, two fingers sliding into her body. The precisely razored triangle of her pubic bush grazes her palm as Astrid's digits probe deep. The woman grunts and moans, desire sluicing. Astrid comes in that grubby setting, the seediness enhancing her pleasure while she watches her face coming back at her through the glass. Astrid recognises the hunger and, from nowhere, wonders what her husband is doing at that moment. He doesn't deserve it; he doesn't deserve a slut for a wife. But Astrid didn't see herself as a slut. Not really. She's protecting her husband is how she sees it. That's how she justifies her behaviour to herself. Astrid needs more than he can offer in a sexual sense ... She really needs more. And he just can't meet her demands. So she has affairs. She sleeps with other men. The alternative is to tear his life apart with the serrated blade of divorce -- But what good would that do? The aftermath would be three people in anguish: Astrid, her husband, and Amy. So, with that slewed logic, Astrid reconciled her desires with her actions: she was doing what she needed to do, but, at the same time, protected everyone. Astrid winces and groans and mumbles nonsense as her orgasm boils. A mindless pleasure overwhelms her and, while her fingers work at her sex, there are no rights or wrongs. She gulps and stares at her reflection, the depravity of her situation, the certainty that, at last, she's going to get plugged by Anthony's extraordinary penis heating her blood. Eventually, finally, with Astrid gasping and staring into the mirror, her climax cooling after a juddering climax, with her mind clearing, mortified by how far she'd gone, the woman staggers away from the counter. Her body thrums. Her breasts ache for a man's touch. She wants to feel fingers mauling at her flesh, hot breath on her neck while she kneels on all fours and offers her sex. Astrid is filled with urgent yearning for Anthony's cock. She wants to feel him inside her; she wants his hands on her body, and she wants his mouth against hers. Gathering her clothes in a bundle, cursing when a loose sock drops to the floor, Astrid bends to collect the errant article and then pushes the door open a crack with her hip. She checks the corridor -- no sign of anyone. And so, clothing clutched to her chest, Astrid scuttles along the hallway, negotiating the whole perilous length to Anthony's office near the lift, thankful the council is too stingy to install CCTV. Imagine the guard's face... When she reaches the sanctuary of the outer office Astrid stands with her back against the now closed door, clothes still bundled against her breasts. She sucks in a deep breath and lays her stuff on the desk, intending to surprise Anthony with her nakedness. But it's Astrid who gets the surprise when she opens the door. Four He was shocked when the girl walked in. Not that he let her see of course, his politician's brain had assessed the situation immediately, weighing up all the factors in a frantic burst of synaptic activity, and where a lesser man might have leapt to his feet and covered up and began babbling, Anthony saw something in Amy's expression that decided his course of action. "Amy," he says, letting her see his cock. He continues to stroke it, using both hands -- he knows from experience that the ladies love seeing him do that. Well, a few of them have ... over the years. "What are you doing here?" he asks, going for completely unconcerned, even though his heart is hammering and he feels the organ might just burst on him then and there. And wouldn't that be one for the journalist and her photographer -- him naked and hard, dead on the sofa with his dick in his hands. But, he reasons, if this got out into the public domain his embryonic political future could be ruined. So he watches Amy carefully, his brain registering every flicker on her face. He studies her, intently analysing every flicker, every nuance, deciding on the best course of action in dealing with the time-bomb ticking away. On the Canal Bank and After Her mother will be back soon. He gives her a few seconds more. He can see signs of her inner turmoil. Anthony knows she wants to have her say, to berate him for the affair with her mother. He isn't sure how the girl knows, but is certain that's why she's here. But she's thrown by the sight of him naked and erect, and Anthony recognises the hunger in her eyes. He's seen that look before. "Why don't you come in, Amy," he murmurs, adding, "You look like you want to." He releases his cock so it slaps down against his taut stomach, watching for a reaction from the girl. She doesn't disappoint him. He sees her eyes go round, eyebrows startled arches while her throat move as she gulps down on whatever it was that was about to come out of her mouth. Anthony knows his outsized member is having an effect. Amy's eyes are fixed on his cock, and her expression decides Anthony on his next move. He beckons her in with a wave of an arm, contradicting his invitation by saying, "You shouldn't be here, Amy." He smirks and goes for a choke hold, adding, "Your mother will be here soon." Amy nods and croaks, "I know." "What do you want, Amy?" he asks, hoping to move things along quickly. Amy mumbles something about her father and how Anthony should leave her mother alone. He interjects, putting some bite into his tone when he informs the interfering little bitch he hasn't done anything to Astrid yet. He gets a glimpse of the girl's true spirit when she snaps about seeing them at lunchtime. Ah, so that was it. That's how she knew. He tells her he hasn't fucked her mother and sees the arrow hit home. Anthony pushes on and, in order to focus Amy's attention on his cock once more, he tenses the appropriate muscles so the thing lying like a threat over his abdomen jerks. Her gasp is his reward. Then he goes in hard and tells Amy in lewd terms that her mother wants to fuck. He lifts his penis and strokes it, his eyes on hers as he goads the girl and says her mother is hot for his big cock. Amy moans, calling him a pig. He chuckles, his stare still locked on the girl's face. "What about you?" he asks. "I get the impression you're curious about it, too. What do you say, Amy? Would you like to touch it?" She declines, mumbling a no. He knows it's a lie. "Oh," he says, nodding. "I think you do." Then he tugs his cock. Let her get a good look at him doing that. "Do you think it'd fit inside you?" he asks. Anthony can't help but goad her. "It'd be tight," he adds, grinning. "But it would go in. If I fed it into you nice and slow. Until you got used to it..." The girl mumbles something he can't make out. He hears the word "mother" in there though. But he sees he's got her. It won't take much to agree to the lecherous idea that's formed during the brief interaction with Astrid's daughter. "I might," he says, "if I had a sweet little thing like you to play with. "But your mum's very keen. "And she's so enthusiastic. It's difficult to turn it down. I mean, it isn't like she's a dog or anything, Amy. She's very attractive, very sexy. And I know she's got a great pair of tits." Which is why he chose Astrid as the Chief Co-Ordinator -- She was a good candidate at interview, but it was her looks and her boobs that clinched the job for her. "Buh-but my father--" stutters Amy. Anthony knows the history -- or Astrid's version of it anyway. He goes in hard at the girl again, cutting her short as he interjects with, "Isn't enough for her. She wants sex all the time, Amy. Your mother's needs a lot of attention. She wants to fuck ... And I'm the man who can give her what she needs." He shakes his cock at her, adding, "And there's plenty of this to go round. You can have some, too. If you want. "Don't you want some, Amy? "I'd love to fuck your tight little pussy with this." Then he goes for the visual while Amy reels from his lewd invitation. He strokes his cock and lays it on thick with the moaning. He goes for the two-handed trick again, giving Amy the opportunity to gauge the size of him. Then, when he registers the expression on the girl's face and watches her hand slide into her cargo pants, Anthony mumbles, "Come on, baby, come and sit on it." And he thinks he can almost smell her cunt. Five It's madness, absolute insanity. Amy knows her mother will walk in and catch her, but she just can't help herself. The man's a pig, an egotistical letch that cares only for himself. She hates him, detests him, yet, somehow, that only makes her hotter. Amy enters the room and closes the door behind her. She hesitates, but when her attention goes from his smug, leering face to that cock, Amy finds herself going to him. The self-justification comes to Amy as she's kicking one boot free of her foot: if her mother walks in and sees this animal with his huge dick wedged in her daughter's pussy she'll want nothing more to do with him. Her mother will stand there all wide-eyed and stunned, her brain struggling to cope with what her eyes are revealing to her. She'll gasp and cry out and turn and rush from the room, flee the third floor, leave the building and never have anything to do with the arsehole again. What happens after that, Amy doesn't know, nor does she care. Her mother will go home. Amy's dad won't be a cuckold, not this time anyway. And what can her mother do or say about Amy riding Anthony's cock? Nothing. Not a damn thing. So Amy strips, loving the slack-faced look of desire on Anthony's face when her body is revealed to his avaricious gaze. His stare lasers over her breasts and the heat of his expression when he sees her puffy-lipped and much depilated vulva sends a thrill through the girl. She realises the power she holds over the man. At that moment he's weak, so desperate with hunger for ripe body that he'd do anything to have her. "Leave my mother alone," Amy breathes as she approaches. He nods at her, all slack-jawed, his expression idiotic. "Okay," he mumbles. "Hold it up," Amy snaps, her chin jutting at his cock. "Upright so I can sit on it." Anthony complies and Amy clambers onto his lap. She reaches down and curls the fingers of one hand around as much of that dick as she can. It's big. It's so fucking thick! Amy gasps and rests one knee alongside Anthony, the other leg bent with her foot against the seat. With her legs spread wide, Amy looks down, chin on chest. She holds Anthony with one hand, splaying her labia with the fingers of the other, guiding the cock-head to her opening as she lowers herself onto it. The blunt dome butts Amy's body. She grunts and wriggles, her own desire boiling now he's so close to penetrating her. "Oh, fuck, put it in," Amy mumbles. "I want it inside me. Fuck ... Please ... Oh, God!" Anthony's pelvis lifts, his buttocks coming up as the girl eases down. There's a moment of resistance as the big knob-end pushes against Amy's opening. The girl grunts and forces herself down onto it, her pussy suddenly accepting the invader, a good length of it sliding inside. "Tight pussy," Anthony groans, his hands going to Amy's breasts. "I love you young ones," he adds with a moan. "Perfect tits and a tight cunt." "I'm twenty years old," Amy responds. "I'm old enough to fuck your ancient cock." "You're going to beg for more of this 'ancient cock' you little bitch," Anthony snarls. He thrusts up and watches Amy's face as his length and girth fill her. "You think?" Amy replies, her hips corkscrewing. "I think it'll be you begging for more of me. You'll want more of this pussy. You'll be begging me; you'll be down on your knees for it." "Bitch," Anthony growls. And then he pulls Amy's head down so he can kiss her mouth. Amy resists at first, repulsed. After all, she hates the arrogant arsehole with his cock stuffed inside her body. But then she's riding up and down. Her opening is sluicing her desire. She wants more of that thing. Her body craves more of it, deeper, harder, faster... Amy's tongue slides into the man's mouth. Now, despite her loathing, she's desperate for him. They devour one another, tongues locked in combat. They're like that when the door opens. Anthony's fingers are gripping Amy's buttocks. He's splaying her open. Their mouths are locked and their flesh is a metronomic slap-slap-slap of meaty thwacks. What Astrid sees is a young woman fucking down onto Anthony's cock. The length of the man is smeared with their combined lust, his balls dangling there between his thighs, bouncing and jumping. The girl's flesh is stretched tight, her pussy distending on the upward track of her ascent. As she stands at the door, staring in shock, Astrid can see the roundel of the young woman's anus, the dark smudge exposed because of Anthony's fingers clasping the cheeks of the girl's backside. It takes her a few beats to register the reality of Anthony fucking up into the woman. Then it finally hits her that the girl is her own daughter. "Amy!" Astrid cries. *Astrid* I'm shocked at first -- Who wouldn't be? I've only been gone for five, six, perhaps seven minutes, and when I get back he's ... he's shagging someone else. My mind boggles. I feel my reality wobbling. It doesn't make sense. How can this be happening? Where did this woman come from? Possibilities tumble through my mind, fantastic scenarios of dubious believability: she's a girlfriend of Anthony's, or a prostitute, either way it's an idea cooked up by him to get me involved in a threesome. But why not just ask me? I'm so horny I would probably agree to anything he suggests right now. It seems a little risky doing it this way. There's more chance of downright rejection from a woman by just springing it on her. How is having a blonde bouncing on his cock meant to induce me to participate? Then I look at her, on his dick, and she's all tight and stretched around him. It's a sight that stirs me. It's so fucking carnal, so lascivious. Something uncurls inside me, a dark longing, and I'm suddenly hornier than I've ever been before. I've never felt so hot for sex in my life as I did at that second. I was so hungry for Anthony's cock before, but now, with the mystery woman riding him, her pussy bulging on the outstroke, I'm even more in need. The question of where she came from evaporates. I don't care. If he wants to play kinky games with me, I'll go along with it. I'll do anything. All of a sudden, because of that image -- her buttocks and hips rippling as she hammers her cunt on Anthony's lovely big dick -- I can accept a threesome easily. And then it hits me. The girl on Anthony's thick cock is my daughter Amy. He's fucking my daughter! My throat shrinks. I can barely breathe. I try to call her name but nothing comes out. Not even a croak. I lean against the door jamb. It's that or I'll collapse. My knees feel so weak; I'm trembling; there's a strange and very disturbing sensation in the pit of my stomach. And when I see them kiss, that's when I manage to call her name. *Amy* I hear my mother call my name. Her voice comes from a long way away that reminds me of a snatch of one of the songs my father sometimes listens to, the Floyd's Comfortably Numb: There is no pain you are receding... And why I should think of that just in that moment, I have no idea. But my mother is there and I don't care. I'm filled, no, make that stuffed with cock. Anthony is huge; he's part of me, and as much as I despise him, I can't deny he's an awesome fuck. It's good, so bloody lovely to have him inside me that my senses are quite simply overwhelmed. My hips are moving, his cock is splitting me open, and every time I push down he goes a little deeper, going further than I've known a man to go before. I realise then on that same vague level that I've never really had a man. There's never been anything like this. Everything has gone. All my anger at my mother for her infidelities, care for my father and my contempt for the self-serving, conceited bastard fucking into me are desiccated emotions all blown away on a wind of desire. It's a hot wind, a desert zephyr, and I'm kissing Anthony when my mother calls my name. I turn my face to her, swivelling at the waist, my hands on Anthony's shoulders. And my hips never stop moving. I can't help it; I simply have to keep stirring my pussy around with that big thing inside me. I see her standing there. She's naked, and I know she would be where I am right now if things had been different. But it isn't her on that cock, it's me. And I never want to get off. Anthony pushes up as I'm moving down. He touches me deep inside. I look at my mother and, through my desire I mumble, "Your new boyfriend is awesome, mum. If I can fuck him a couple of times a week ... then daddy will never know..." *Anthony* The thing with Amy pushed Astrid from my mind. I completely forgot about the girl's mother. How crazy is that? But when I played Amy perfectly and she climbed onto my cock, when she started to ride it... Well, my entire world shrunk to the size of that tight pussy around my dick. It became a battle of wills. I knew she didn't like me. It was obvious, her disgust came off her in waves, but I had to own her, which made it imperative that she kiss me. And I managed it. I had that lovely young woman groaning into my mouth as she fucked my cock. But then the reality hits me hard when I hear Astrid calling her daughter's name. It's all over. It has to be. I can see it all happening: Astrid wild and spitting; the security guard responding to her screaming and yelling; losing my job; my ambitions a pile of shit. In my head I'm in damage limitation mode -- I'm thinking that if I can keep Astrid from going nuclear, then I might get out of this unscathed. If I can calm her down nobody has to know. A whole train of scenarios go through my mind in the blink of an eye. It's amazing how powerful the human brain really is. I've already gone through the issues facing me and decided on a preliminary course of action while Amy is still shunting her pelvis back and forth, her clit rubbing against the root of my cock. Then she's riding me again, and for me it's instinctive, I have to push up as she's coming back down. And then she says it: Your new boyfriend is awesome, mum. If I can fuck him a couple of times a week ... then daddy will never know... "Amy!" I hear Astrid gasp, and I have to admit I'm pretty stunned myself. But it's up there in the top three dirtiest things I've ever heard come out of a woman's mouth. The message Amy conveys with those words... The potential... And Amy is still talking. She's twisted around, her flawless body swivelled so she can look back at her mother. I can see Astrid, too, if I lean to one side a little. I'm looking at the woman in the doorway, with Amy's tight tits right there close to me as the girl says, "I want more of this, mum." There's a catch in her voice that tells me she really means it. "It feels so good," she adds, her head lolling as she groans, "I mean it's so fucking GOOD!" I'm amazed, truly shocked, so stunned that, for once in my life I'm stuck for words and can't think clearly. I blink and actually shake my head -- This has to be a dream. It simply cannot be true. But, even as it's all going round in my head, when I glance at Astrid to gauge her response -- because, after all, it all hinges on what she does, how she reacts -- what I see is that undeniable look in Astrid's eyes. She's chewing her bottom lip and squirming, and that's when I get the first inkling about what she's thinking. Meanwhile, though, Amy is still bouncing around on my dick, and it's not so easy to concentrate when a lovely young blonde with a tight, hot and very wet pussy is fucking down onto your erection. Those sweet sensations tingle through the core of my length and, as crazy and surreal as the situation is, my cock doesn't care, and I can feel the surge simmering away in there. If I'm not careful I'm going to squirt into Amy. If this goes on much longer I'll fill the girl with jizm. Amy's buttocks are taut bundles in my hands. If I want to I can lean up and suck one of those elongated teats. I can feel her insides squeezing around my girth, her pussy molten and squelching lust. There's also Astrid with her tremendously enticing bosom. I fancied her when I first saw her. I knew with certainty that I'd hold those big babies in my hands, that I'd slobber over them while I fucked into the randy bitch right here in this office. That had been my plan. But a few moments ago it seemed inevitable that I wouldn't get to enjoy that little scene. I had thought it was game over as far as she was concerned. After all, she's caught me with my nudger packed into her daughter's pussy. That'd piss a lot of women off. But now, as she advances, her eyes glassy, a weird smirk twisting her mouth, I begin to think that perhaps, just maybe, things are about to get very interesting. "Do you mean it?" asks Astrid when she halts just a few feet away from where her daughter's taking my dick. "You won't tell your father?" A sob of pleasure bursts out of Amy. She swivels back around to look down at me, her urgent thrusting slowing even though her hips never quite stop moving. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Anthony," Amy says in a voice like a wet dream. I can't make out if it's a question or accusation, so I say nothing. Besides, I'm trying to keep from letting it all go, and if I attempt to respond I might just succumb. "This dirty bastard would love it, mum," Amy continues. I see Astrid staring at us, and it seems to me as though her sight-line is right on where her daughter is stretched around my cock. I groan as that image flashes into my head, breath hissing in through my nose while I clench my teeth against the agonised ecstasy. Somehow I manage to keep it all in. Apparently oblivious to my plight both women ignore me. Astrid nods. "A couple of times a week..." she mumbles. She has a distant look on her face as though she's seen something far and away. Astrid pauses, the dreamy look continuing until she shakes herself and says, "And you won't say a thing to your father?" I hear this conversation, this bizarre to-and-fro between mother and daughter, and it's like I'm not there. I'm suddenly invisible, a non-entity, and it's a very strange feeling to have, to be stuffed into the young woman while she and her mother discuss the rationing of my dick between them. It does cross my mind to interject, but I don't want to break whatever weird spell is at work here. So far things are going in my favour. It could be that if I open my mouth and speak I might say something to bring it all crashing down. So I sit there, my hands full of tight, nubile flesh, and await the outcome. I just hope I can hold onto my semen. "Not as long as I can do this," Amy replies to her mother. Then she revs up again, rising so I'm on the point of slipping out of her. "Not as long as I can do this," the girl repeats, slamming back down so our flesh smacks together. Then she's fucking me again, her mother gaping at the obscenity of her daughter's flesh corrupted by my dick. "What about me?" I hear Astrid groan, and when I look she's fingering her pussy and squeezing her tits with the other hand. "When do I get a go on it?" "Soon," Amy gasps. She's not looking at her mother any more, her eyes are squeezed tight, her head is lolling and long hair from her blonde ponytail brushes my face as Amy gets up steam. "You can have him soon, mum." So it goes on, this fantastic event, a mother-daughter thing that crept up and caught me entirely unawares. It must be the same for the women? They both have to be as surprised as I am -- surely? But it doesn't stop them: Amy is going for it, and the robust way she's getting herself there is very close to working on me, too. On the Canal Bank and After I gasp and groan and try to hold it together by distancing myself. I think about the canal clean-up and what a success the day was. There will be column inches in the local rag, nothing like the inches of column that Amy is so noisily appreciating at this moment, but I'll have my name and picture in the paper. This is the start for me, with local elections looming and my name on the ballot. It works, my mental diversion gains me enough ground that I hold the flood back while Amy succumbs to her orgasm. The girl gasps and grunts, a hand down between her legs as she rubs at herself. She jams her body down onto me, grinding her cunt against my pubic bone, my whole length inside her. "I'm coming," she mumbles, the words all clotted. And then she's kissing me, her mewls and gasps going into my open mouth while our tongues slide and slither. It goes on for some time, with Amy letting both her mother and me know exactly how she's feeling. Then, with a low moan she slides off me, slumping onto the seat next to me on the sofa. "Oh, God," Amy gasps, her chest heaving as she sucks in air. "Oh, God ... I don't believe I did that." But even if her mind has cleared a little, with Amy's climax thinning the fog of desire so logical and coherent thought becomes a possibility once more, well, it seems her mother is still lost in the mist. "Anthony," Astrid mewls at me. I take my eyes off Amy when the woman says my name. I see her staring at me, the hand between her thighs circling relentlessly. "I'm so horny," she mutters, eyes like coals glowing in twin braziers, her nose wrinkled while the words come from behind gritted teeth. There's no way I'm going to deny Astrid. One look at her face tugs at my vitals. If I don't fuck her now I'm going to explode. And the irony is if I do fuck her now I'm still going to explode. "On here," I mutter, rising to my feet. I point to the sofa. "Sit down. Spread your legs." Then I grab my cock and threaten her with its mass. "I'll fuck you, Astrid. If that's what you want ... I'll fuck you right now." Astrid glances at her daughter and looks doubtful. Then she sees me holding my dick and I watch her face as the uncertainty fades. The certain knowledge that I'm going to have both mother and daughter in one sitting makes me bold. My confidence soars. They're both culpable, both of them equally guilty, if either one has second thoughts later on -- or if they both decide it has all been a terrible mistake -- I know I'm safe. After all, if either one blabs, they stand to lose, too. I tease Astrid with my cock by rubbing the keel of the thing through her labia. The stiffness of that shaft splits her loose, floppy folds and slides over her clit. Astrid gasps, her throat working as she swallows heavily, looking up at me. I've got her on the sofa so she's all scrunched up with her shoulders against the upright, legs akimbo, her thighs wide, scarlet cunt gaping and very vulnerable as I hook the backs of her knees around my arms. Holding Astrid open, I look down at her. Her face is all creased with expectation and anxiety, with her mouth hanging open, her eyes fixed on my face. "Are you going to put it in?" she whimpers, helpless, her pelvis tilted. Beside us, Amy squirms around until she's kneeling, one hand on the sofa back, the other on my shoulder. I turn my head to look at her. "You're going to fuck her, aren't you, Andrew?" Amy mutters. I see the fervour in her face, and Amy's enthusiasm for watching her own mother taking my dick sends a surge of desire through me. There's fire in my veins, steel in my cock and lust in my words as I nod and say, "Oh, yes, Amy. I'm going to rip your mum's cunt apart." Amy swallows and stares at me for a beat or two before she leans in and kisses my mouth. "You're a real bastard, Anthony," she hisses at me when she pulls back. I shrug and smirk at her. Winking, I reply with, "And all the girls love a bastard, Amy. Just like you," I add. Then I pause and slide my dick through her mother's vulva again. "And her," I say, with Astrid groaning when I angle my cock-head at her opening. "Your mother loves a bastard, too." And that bitch is so wet I don't have to use my hands to guide myself into her. My hips do the work, my cock-head waggling until I'm lined up. A push forward and Astrid's body accepts me. Once the big bulb is positioned just right I can ease into her, going slowly so she can appreciate the long glide. "Oh, fuck..." mumbles Astrid. "Oh, dear God." She's looking at her daughter with a helpless kind of expression on her face. Astrid's eyes are wide, her mouth a big O. "We shouldn't be doing this," she says. "You can't watch, Amy." Amy's head goes side-to-side as she looks from her mother's face to where my length is slowly disappearing. "Shut up, mum," the girl mutters. "Me watching will only make it better. It's so hot..." Amy shakes her head again. "You saw him doing it to me. Now I want to watch you taking it." Astrid moans and stares back at Amy. "This is so wrong," she mewls. "But you're right, it's so sexy, I've never felt so dirty and depraved in my life." And then Astrid turns her glazed-eyed face to me. "Fuck me, Anthony," she whines. "If I'm going to do this with her watching ... make it good." *Astrid* Why did I do it? What motivated me to behave in such a way? I have no idea other than I was caught up in the madness. Yes, I could have turned and walked away when I realised it was Amy with Anthony. I could have left and tried to figure it all out on my own. What I would have done or said afterwards, I don't know, but I didn't have to stay. If I'd been in a normal frame of mind I wouldn't have stayed, but something held me there. All in all, my behaviour and actions leading up to the moment I stepped into Anthony's office were, of course, questionable. And again, I can't explain myself. If I try to think about the whys and wherefores I just go round and round and round. How did I feel when Amy mumbled on about sharing Anthony's cock? What emotions decided my actions when she gasped out that her father would never know? Well, honestly, I was thrilled, ebullient. My overriding concern at that moment was my own pleasure; I craved relief from the damnable sexual frustration, like a boulder inside me. I yearned for release. I wanted Anthony inside me, that huge cock stuffing me to the brim. I needed to come, was desperate for a climax. But it was also so much more. One orgasm wouldn't do it. Coming would only be temporary respite. The deep, hollow yearning would return. It was insanity, a craziness of sorts, if I'd been thinking clearly, if my mind hadn't been warped by my own perverted desires, of course, I would never have countenanced such an act. What, allowing my own daughter to witness such a scene? Not a chance. No. Never. But, as shocking as it was to hear Amy say it, I was so glad when those words came out of her. I heard the suggestion come from my daughter and I looked at the pair of them again, my eyes going to where they were joined. I wanted that. I wanted my body packed with that hard penis. I'd never harboured any sexual desire so much as to feel my body tight around the girth of that thing, male gristle filling me. I watched my daughter rutting, and in some wild, feral way it was beautiful. I decided I would do it. The decision wasn't thought through, the consequences weren't weighed; it came from between my legs, a deep, dark place inside me. It was my own desire goading me, and, at the time, it didn't matter that the other woman was my daughter; all I could concentrate on was getting my turn. Then I watched her come, envy curdling my guts while Amy gasped and moaned and kissed Anthony, his concentration fixed on her completely. Then, when Amy slid off him, Anthony looked at me. He stood up and ordered me to sit. Next, he teased me with his dick, sliding it between my flaps and letting the rigid underside of it glide over my clit. I was mad for him. I just HAD to get it inside me. And the way he put it in, the manner of that cock's introduction to my pussy was artfully done. He didn't use his hands, just manoeuvred himself, using his pelvis to guide the long probe to me. I was all doubled up, with my knees up by my ears. I was helpless, just lying there like a sacrifice as the head of Anthony's cock nudged my opening. I looked up at him and whimpered something about him putting it in. He was watching me, taunting me until at last he eased a few inches into my body. I gasped and clawed at his chest, trying to push him away while simultaneously lifting my buttocks off the sofa to take more of him inside. After that, after I stared at the long thing easing into me, we went at it. Anthony pummelled me, fucking into me like I haven't enjoyed in years. There was no style or finesse, only lust, pure and simple. I forgot about Amy, she and my husband were gone from my mind. It was all about my pussy and Anthony's root. How long did he hammer at me? I have no idea. I can recall urging him on with a sewer-mouthed torrent of obscenities. I begged my lover to fuck me. I squealed at him to let it all go and flood me with his seed. Which he did -- Oh, God, didn't he just fill me with semen! I was coming, moaning and thrashing, teeth snapping, and if I could have gotten at him, I'm certain I would have torn his flesh away. Anthony grunted and moaned, his face twisted into an agonised mask. He muttered something about how it felt to be inside me. He told me I was beautiful, spitting the words out with a crazed, wild-eyed look on his face. Then he plunged deep. Anthony went in once, probing at me before he pulled out, with almost the whole length sliding out of me. He paused, swallowed heavily, and then went in even deeper than previously. That happened three or four more times, and the final time he stayed there, his cock pulsing as Anthony's seed bathed my insides. Epilogue When, at last, it's over, when Anthony has finished pumping Astrid full of jizm, Amy stands. She blinks at her mother, who's all sprawled out, loose-limbed and gasping. Anthony is panting, too, with both of them sucking in great gulps of air, their expressions stunned, like survivors in a bus crash. "I'll see you at home," says Amy, her face expressionless, her tone wooden. Avoiding looking at her mother, and keeping her eyes away from Anthony, his long cock slackening and oozing gloop, Amy plucks her clothing from the floor. She grabs her boots and staggers from the room. She dresses in the vestibule, pulling on her cargo pants before she realises her underwear is still in the pile. Amy is fastening her bra, knickers stuffed into one pocket of her trousers when her mother appears in the doorway. "Wuh-what are you going to do, Amy?" stammers Astrid, a hand between her legs in an unconscious gesture against staining the carpet. Amy pauses and throws her mother a look. She shrugs and smirks, saying, "Sharing that thing with you, mum. What else? I can hardly say anything to daddy now, can I?" Astrid stares at her daughter for several seconds. Emotions claw at her, all scrabbling for her attention. "Baby," Astrid blurts while love for Amy and concern for their future swell in her chest. "Cuh-can we talk? Later? I ... We..." Her eyes slide away from Amy's face. Suddenly she's ashamed of what she's done. Abruptly aware of her nudity, Astrid covers her breasts and pubis with her hands. Amy shrugs. "Talk about what, mum? About how the apple doesn't fall far from the tree?" By then Amy's dressed. Her boots are laced and she's ready to go. She looks at her mother and shakes her head. Then she's gone. Astrid turns and sees Anthony watching her. He's stroking himself, his cock resurrected. "More?" the man asks. Astrid swallows, gulping down her sudden loathing for the man she'd been so desperate for not so long ago. "You're a pig," says Astrid, abhorrence for Anthony mixing with a slurry stink of contempt for her own self. Anthony laughs. "That's what your daughter said," he says. His fist moves up and down his length. "But she seemed to enjoy herself, eh?" "I despise you," hisses Astrid. Anthony rolls his eyes. "Yeah," he sneers, "but you want me to fuck you again, don't you, you hot-arsed bitch?" Astrid moans and, wondering where it will end, slowly walks to the sofa. "Yes," she breathes, a hand reaching for that tumescence. "I want it again."