Rex Taylor: Turned on family

"Is something wrong, honey?" he wondered.

She shook her head and lied. "No. I just don't feel like doing it. That's all."

"I'll bet you found a gray hair in the bathroom," he teased, "and you're afraid you're getting old. Huh?" His hand cupped a tit through the silky thinness of her nightdress. "I dig older women," he leered, "or didn't you know that?" and he bent to kiss her neck. Still Laurel would not, could not allow herself to respond. Sam looked into her face. "Is it your period coming on?" Still no word of answer. She saw him shrug, she took his good-night kiss, and then he rolled onto his side. Sam was asleep in a minute and she was left to herself and her thoughts, there in the darkness.

Laurel trembled with that isolation. What had happened? Who could Sam have been with?

Laurel forced herself to consider Jamie for an agonizing moment. His daughter? But it had happened in other families. No! Out of the question! Jamie rarely wore any kind of makeup, and certainly not the garish red lipstick that had smeared Sam's cock. Of course, bright makeup for teenaged girls was a current fad. But that particular shade of red? Blondes, maybe. Girls with bright, golden hair…

"Oh, God!" she said aloud. Robin Mackenzie! It was so obvious! Why hadn't she thought of it sooner? But how, when? Well, Sam drove the girl home, didn't he? And didn't he have some ridiculous story about Robin being attacked by teenaged punks, that he'd rescued her from them? It was only a cover-up. They'd been shacked somewhere. Her husband had fallen for a wiggling ass in tight jeans, for fat titties in a tight halter top.

And the story he'd told her, which she'd believed and gasped over now, now that she was certain she knew the truth, his tale seemed as phony as hell.

An hour later Laurel had decided what she'd do. Tomorrow afternoon she'd send the kids out, and she would confront their father with the truth as she understood it.

It was easy last night, Laurel told herself, stubbing out another cigarette. She'd quit smoking two or three years ago. But deep in a forgotten drawer she'd uncovered one last pack of Kents, stale, dried-out, but still tobacco. The pack was almost empty now.

Yes, easy. She'd thought she knew the backward and forward of it, and she was ready to hit Sam in the gut with her challenge. But before she could, the whole, ugly truth dealt her a sneaky sucker punch.

The alarm rang at nine on Sunday morning. It was time to get the kids up and ready for church. Neither Sam nor Laurel went any more, but they both agreed that Sean and Jamie should go every Sunday. Sam always drove them to church, picked up the Sunday paper, and waited to bring the kids home.

She went down the hall tapping on the kids' doors. Grunts of disapproving sleepiness greeted her as always, but she was adamant. Wake-up detail completed, Laurel went downstairs to fix breakfast, certain that Sean and Jamie would be down very soon in their Sunday clothes, waiting for their father to crawl out of bed.

Jamie entered the kitchen as Laurel set the strips of bacon to dry on a paper towel. The girl was combing her hair, very cute in her kneesocks, navy skirt, and white pullover. Laurel nodded in greeting, then looked back quickly.

"Young lady, where is your brassiere?" she demanded in a time that wait! At least Jamie had the good grace to blush. And as well she might, for the pullover clung to her budding little body, boldly revealing the outlines of her nipples. Laurel was certain, too, that she could even see the pinkness of her daughter's nipples showing through the white sweater, but that might have been only her natural shock.

"Oh," Jamie pouted, sifting down at the table. She eased the comb through her dark, long hair with a lazy grace. "You never wear one. Why should I have to?"

"Because you're going to church," Laurel replied sharply, "and because I say you have to. As long as you're a child in this house, you'll do what I tell you to do. And right now I'm telling you to go right upstairs and put on your bra. Do you hear me?"

Jamie got up with a sulk and she went out.

Laurel set out the rest of the fried bacon. No one had come down to eat. Were they all asleep? Sighing, she ascended the steps, going to the nearest door, Jamie's. She tapped on it, then opened it and stuck her head inside. "Are you going to be all day?" she asked, just as her entire world came crashing down upon her shoulders.

Sean was sitting on the edge of Jamie's bed, his pants down, his cock up. It was a big cock for such a young boy, Laurel noted incongruously, at least what she could see of his tool. Most of her son's shaft was buried inside his sister's sucking cavern of a mouth.

They'd been warned by her knock, but her action followed too closely for them to break position. Jamie's head was still bobbing up and down, her eyes only beginning to turn toward the door. She'd removed her sweater, and her growing boobies jiggled as she sucked Sean's cock.

"Oh, no!" Laurel whispered, blackness rolling across her stunned eyes.

Some of that stunned shock was reflected in Sean's face. He seemed to be changing color rapidly as Laurel stared back at him, or was it only her own fuckering vision that gave her that impression? It was incest, perversion, disgusting, shocking. She knew they could see her, and still Jamie made no effort to stop blowing her brother. The little girl held her brother's knob in the O of her lips as she knelt between his, legs, and her hand began to jerk rapidly, up and down on the lance of his cock.

Sean moaned, and he moved as if he meant to stand upright, but he merely raised his ass a few inches off the bed and he stood humped over, hands clutching frantically at Jamie's head.

Laurel heard that moan, heard the lewd gulping noises her daughter made, and she watched the girl's throat curiously. It seemed to bob and bulge, as though an apple were caught inside it, and then Jamie let go her brother's dick, turning at last to face her mother.

The girl rose from her knees with painstaking care, stretching in jiggly fashion to retrieve her bra from the bed. With a smile she settled her tits into the pink cups, then fastened the catch behind her back and arranged the shoulder satraps to please herself. When she opened her mouth to speak, a pearl of cum glistened on the tip of her cute pink tongue and Laurel understood for the first time that Jamie had allowed her brother to shoot off in her mouth, right before their mother's shocked eyes.

"Were you saying something a while ago, Mother," Jamie asked.

Laurel herded them into their clothes and downstairs to the kitchen. Sam hadn't gotten out of bed yet, but he would soon and she wasted not a second in getting down to business. "What was the meaning of that, that horrid thing?"

"We were…" began Jamie, but Laurel cut her off.

"I know what you were doing," she said, "and it's a terrible thing, Jamie. It's sinful and perverted."

"NO!" Jamie chirped defiantly. "It's not terrible or sinful or any of those other things. It's nice. I like to do it. When Sean comes in my mouth [missing text]."

Laurel was aghast. "And for the love of God, how long has this been going on?"

"Not very long," Sean whispered apologetically. "Really. Not very long."

"And how did it start in the first place?" his mother demanded. "You – your sister?" Tears welled in her eyes and she was being as brave as she could manage to be under the circumstances. "This just breaks my heart," she added. "To see something like that."

"You do it, don't you?" Jamie asked. "With Daddy?"

Laurel's hand raised, as if she meant to slap her daughter, but she couldn't do it. Violence accomplished nothing. "Daddy isn't my brother," she said. "It isn't right for brothers and sisters to do such intimate things together." A sudden fear crept across her mind. "Is that the only kind of thing you've done?"