Jennifer Unchained

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.

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This story takes time to develop and it has a unique theme so I've placed it as a novella. It includes some elements of voyeurism, teasing and a threesome.

Chapter One

There are times when life seems to deal a bad hand, then follows it up with another, and another. This was just one of those times. Hannah had moved out with the two children, citing irretrievable differences. The truth was that her new beau, Harry, was apparently was making all of that difference, and wasn't even interested in being a step-father. I saw that but was powerless to intervene, so Hannah would have to sort that out.

I worked away from home a lot, which often necessitated long hours on the road at weekends. I had known she hated being alone with the kids all week, but the money was good, and it was the only type of work which suited me. Man, I had really loved Hannah, up to the point I realised something was amiss. Then she left, and I was faced with an empty hole which nothing could fill. Of course, her affair didn't - couldn't - last, and now she had gone home to her parents, citing me as the baddie.

The house was big, too big now, and empty. Hannah didn't want it so eventually it would have to be sold. So I lived for my work. The briefs had gotten murkier of late as well. It's one thing being a trouble-shooter, having people depending on your advice, it's quite another turning up to one organisational disaster after another. It gets wearing after a while wading through toxic working atmospheres, applying sticking plasters when the reality should be bullies and shysters being hung out to dry. That isn't my job; I can only report on what I find and watch the organisation wrestle with unpalatable solutions.

Then my car, my pride and joy, got hit broadside by someone who wasn't looking as I reversed off a road. It was a Jaguar XJ and the last model of its line. You could say they broke the mould, literally. In fact so literally that it turned out I'd have to wait months whilst Jaguar made a new mould to repair my car. That meant looking for a commutable job around London on a train line. So here I was in the canteen of a Hospital Trust, lunching alone because the natives were wary of me. They had been trying to close the place down for years, by moving the in-patients out into homes in the community, only the community didn't want the remaining ones living next door and the parents didn't want them moved out of the smothering hospital regime, for fear of something worse.

I had been trying to dismantle a brick wall of opposition from all corners for several months now. I was making steady progress but the wear and tear on my nerves was starting to show in nervous ticks around the eyes.

She appeared from nowhere, a disembodied voice at first, out of sight of my bowed head, not seeking to make eye contact with anyone. "Mind if I join you?"

That was an odd request. Is this seat spare would have been a more neutral question. Joining implied some sort of active engagement. I looked up, politely. She was pretty, probably about thirty, auburn haired, with bright, sparkling eyes. I like to look at women when I'm relaxed; call me a voyeur. I instinctively eyed her up and down, before I checked myself. She might have been slim but her body was hidden behind a long, loose-fitting jumper and skinny jeans. So my only guide were her intriguingly protruding tits.

"Of course, help yourself."

What I wanted to say was: surely there are plenty of other empty seats? My presence at the hospital wasn't universally welcomed, and I tried to avoid awkward situations where possible.

She laid her tray confidently on the square table for four and slid onto a seat at right angles to mine. It was a bit close for comfort but at least she wouldn't be facing me, obliging me to look at her. I tried to resume my meal, concentrating on what was on my plate, but acutely aware of my rudeness in not at least attempting to make polite conversation. I was afraid that she might interpret my starting a conversation as flirting, because I found it difficult to make small talk with women without appearing to do so. So I merely smiled and retreated into my own world again.

Then she spoke. "I think we've met before. You're Richard Wallace, aren't you?"

I glanced at her sharply, with surprise. She was looking at me inquisitively. I forced myself to hold gaze, and I nodded. "Yes, but I'm not on the staff here. How...?"

She interrupted me, evidently having rehearsed what she was going to say.

"No, I know. You're the new firefighter. I just wanted to say I wish you the best of luck. Don't feel too down if you fail. Lots of people before you have done just that."

"Thanks for that. This is my fourth month and it looks promising. But I'm under instructions not to discuss progress with staff, except in formal settings."

She laughed wryly. "That's the good old gagging order! The suits on the Board want to control the message. That's part of the problem. I'm Tessa, by the way. I'm a support worker; in here today for training. I'm not on the staff either."

"Well, they better not see you getting too pally with me. I'm probably being watched to see who I get too friendly with."

She changed the subject. "Mmm, this quiche is delicious. I like eating here. They cook the food so well. Quiche and salad is a perfect combo on a warm day."

"Yes, it is warm. Pity I chose the lasagne."

So we confined ourselves to discussing the quality of the catering and the mild weather - small talk whilst we finished our meals. I began taking longer looks at her as she spoke. After all, it is only polite to look at someone when they're talking to you. And the more I looked, the prettier she got. She had smiling eyes and a sensuous mouth. Her profile was captivating. I could not help myself smiling as we spoke. My manner on such occasions has been described as charming but I hoped I wasn't appearing flirtatious. She had lingered over a yoghurt as we chatted, scraping the bottom of the tub, then licking the spoon slowly, longingly. I caught her eying me from the corner of her eye. I felt an uncontrollable stirring in my trousers. Was she flirting with me?

She got up to leave, taking a piece of fruit with her, for later consumption I suppose. I thanked her politely for her company.

I watched her as she walked with her tray towards the collection point, then as she headed for the door. It was hard to tell what her body was like, other than her legs looked well-shaped, and her shoulders and hips were in proportion.

I won't talk about that Institution because it would not be fair on the residents or the staff. All I will observe in retrospect is that this assignment was to prove one of my greatest challenges, and ultimately my crowning glory. I knew very little about mental health at the time, and only a superficial amount about social care principles, but a lot about business management. I would be a wiser man on every level by the end of this assignment. Some would even assume me to be a subject expert, including in ways I couldn't begin to imagine at that point.

Without the Jag, I had to walk to the station after work. The rail journey could take 60, or 100 minutes, depending on whether or not I caught the one rush hour through train to my home town, or had to change. So at the end of the day I was walking to the station, about a mile away from the hospital. To my surprise, a car pulled into the kerb just ahead of me. The passenger window rolled down and a disembodied voice said, "Want a lift?"

I bent down to peer into the car. It was Tessa. Seeing her again caused a pang in my midriff. I was about to decline her offer when the heavens opened. Was that fate, or coincidence?

She laughed and opined, "You'd be daft to say no, now; you'll get wet, otherwise."

I gratefully accepted and slid in, with relief, out of the shower. "I'm going to the station."

"I know."

"What else do you know?"

"Quite a lot. You may think I'm stalking you, since I waited for you to leave the hospital and followed you just now. Well, I suppose I am, in a way."

"Meaning?" That comment made me nervous.

"Call it an impulse. You don't remember me? Our paths have crossed before. I was at Millhampton Social Services when you rescued our care management system. I was a senior manager in mental health, then. Our paths didn't cross much, except at staff briefings, but I remember you. I have to confess I didn't think much of you then. You insisted that we improve our recording practices and collect more data, which added to our workload. Most of the staff were moaning. Three years later, though, we were reaping the benefits."

I wasn't sure what to say, or even think. There had been some negativity in her comments which jarred. We were stopped at temporary traffic lights for roadworks. Too late, I recalled from my previous walks to the station that there was a bottleneck junction up ahead, which led to major traffic delays in the roadworks. I would have been alright walking, but being held up in a car I would almost certainly miss my train. That meant a delay of over ninety minutes in getting home. I should have excused myself and got out of the car, but something about Tessa piqued my interest. I studied her more closely. In profile, she had exquisite features: a classically perfect nose, full lips, reddish brown hair, and a long, graceful neck. What, at first, I had thought to be merely pretty features were in fact understated and natural, without makeup. Then I remembered her. She had been the mental health team representative on the data scoping project. She had looked younger then, with thinner face and body, hadn't said much, and often seemed lost in a world of her own. Her body, if anything, was more interesting now that she had filled out a bit. How remarkable that I could recall her after so many years.

"When you say Tessa, do you mean Theresa - Theresa Walker? I remember you, too. Whatever happened? As I recall only the most talented managers were picked for that project. Why aren't you on the management team there by now?"

She laughed again. "There's been a lot of water under the bridge since then. Life changes; I had to make a choice, a personal one. It altered everything.

"I have a younger sister, Jennifer. At one time, we had two perfectly healthy parents. Then a car crash robbed us of both of them, and left Jennifer with brain damage. She was moved here to this residential hospital after her medical recovery. That was six years ago; yes, while you and I were both working at Millhampton."

"Did it affect your work at all?"

She glanced at me sharply. "Why, did I appear to be distracted?"

"Well, yes, as it happens. I remember you in meetings. I thought you were opting out of the project, with your rather uninvolved, detached attitude. If I had known that you were suffering from trauma..."

"What? You would have asked for me to be removed from the project?" There was a challenging tone in her voice.

"No, I would have supported you. You were selected for a reason: your skills and knowledge. No service needs more support than mental health; the Cinderella service. I needed you to be fully engaged."

She smiled at that, and her tensed body appeared to relax. "I'm assuming that on balance, that was a compliment. I care passionately about my job, but now it's changed and become all-consuming. I need someone to talk to. I wanted to talk to you five years ago, as an outsider. It didn't happen. When I heard recently that you were here, it was like a second chance."

"Have you not had support for all that time?"

"Sure, but none I could rely on. I felt that nobody really understood."

I was intrigued, and getting a jumpy feeling in my stomach. Despite all my faults I have an empathy for people with problems. I felt something emotionally, and I wasn't sure that I wanted to get involved with it. What had begun as a chance meeting with an apparent stranger at lunchtime, had morphed into something complicated, with ominous implications. What kind of personal problems last five years without resolution? Why was she raising them with me, a non-professional? I didn't yet know the full backstory, but I could sense something out of the ordinary was about to unfold. My curiosity was aroused, despite my misgivings about the circumstances.

The car began to accelerate at last through the roadworks' lights, but it was too late. Theresa knew that. "You've missed your train. Would you like me to drive you anywhere?"

Why did I think that had been deliberate?

"No thanks. It's going to be a long journey home now. Just drop me at the station anyway."

"I've got a better idea. It's been something like a day off for me today, and this evening. I'll be at a loose end, and I don't want to end our conversation so abruptly."

Perhaps I should have drawn a line there and politely declined her suggestion. I didn't. I was hooked by the bare bones of her story. Something about her was arousing my interest on several different levels, and my cock was twitching unaccountably again.

"What do you suggest?"

"I'm going to suggest something I haven't done with a stranger before, not even to close friends."

She was driving quickly now and we were leaving the outer London suburbs, not heading in the direction of the station. She was casting frequent glances at me, whilst mostly concentrating on the road.

"I want to take you home. I'll order a takeaway - and not just any takeaway. Then I'm going to tell you a story, one you may find hard to believe."

She had definitely piqued my interest now and I was hooked. I tried to question her about it but she refused to say anymore on the subject for the moment. We spent the rest of the journey indulging in small talk, space fillers. It was clear I would learn no more until we had arrived at our destination. I was unfamiliar with the open countryside we were now driving through.

The car eventually turned through an imposing gateway on the outskirts of a village. The gravel driveway was curved and lined with bushes on the side facing the road, giving the grounds privacy from prying eyes. The house was detached, very large and probably late Victorian. The grounds were spacious and laid mainly to lawn and, apart from the recently cut grass, looked neglected. Plants and bushes were overgrown. What had once almost certainly been well landscaped, now looked somewhat neglected.

"Theresa, are you sure I'm not intruding?" I didn't actually mean that, but I wanted to be sure that she wasn't having second thoughts about inviting me.

"Tessa, call me Tessa, and I want you here at this moment. I may not get another chance."

She pressed a button on an intercom by the front porch. It crackled, then a female voice said, "Hi Tessa. Come on in."

I was puzzled. "Do you need permission to enter your own home?"

"No," she smiled, "it's code for 'everything is OK'. When she says 'come and find me' I know there's a problem. Since it's my day off, I have some free time."

More intrigue. She ushered me through the large entrance door into a generous porch with two side windows, an umbrella stand, and pegs for rain coats. A pair of slim glazed doors opened onto a spacious, light oak wood-panelled hallway, with doors either side and a stair case winding up and round to the first floor. Windows either side of the entrance porch let in good light and gave the hall an airy feel. The ceiling looked to be of a complex carved alabaster design incorporating woodland animals, oak leaves, and pine cones in carved relief. Under the staircase at the back of the hallway were more double doors. The house had been built by someone with a lot of money, and taste.

I followed Tessa through the hall into a large, well laid out kitchen with a separate dining area.

It was tastefully decorated in a traditional style.

Tessa let out a deep sigh vaguely indicating the space all around her. "This is where I live, with my sister Jennifer, and two sleep-over carers on shift; a team of four and one subject. It's a big house - too big for us really, but it's our home. I know what you're thinking. How can I afford it? It was the family home. My father left us well provided for, and he had good life insurance. He was a company director, with all the usual perks including pension, investment portfolio and so on. My mother kept house for us all. I was a disappointment to them when I opted for a career in social care, especially when I specialised in mental health.

"But enough of that for now. Let's order some food. Then we can talk."

She told me that an upmarket hotel and restaurant in the village did takeaways, mainly for dinner parties and the like, and had been well patronised by the Walker family for dinner parties. Tessa knew the proprietor, and he agreed to send someone round as a favour, with something of traditional fare off the table d'hôte menu. It came extravagantly packed in foil dishes and was delicious: roast duck with crispy skin, roasted vegetables, and a rhubarb crumble and custard. Traditional English fare.

We drank an exceptionally fine red Bordeaux as we ate, and our conversation ranged over private lives, loves and losses, likes and dislikes, but again they were only pleasant, time fillers - an aperitif to the main course which was, of course, Tessa's intended story. She was holding back, talking about her family and her childhood, her relationship with her sister, their schooling, and so on. She was easy to talk with, and became livelier and more animated as the wine relaxed her. She clearly loved Jennifer very much, and became emotional at times as she spoke.

She was very pretty when she smiled, and she had beguiling eyes which drew me into their deep, dark pools. She smiled a lot and her eyes flashed frequently to emphasise what she was saying. She was drawing me in with her vivacity and sexual allure. My only question was whether it was deliberate or subconscious?

At last, she laid both hands on the table to indicate that our cosy chat had come to an end. "I have a suggestion to make. I want to change into something more comfortable. I suggest you do the same. If you aren't mawkish, there are plenty of my father's clothes in the main bedroom which are all laundered and stored, but of no use to anyone now. Pick out something casual - oh, and find a fresh shirt for tomorrow. You won't be going home tonight."

"Am I being kept prisoner then?"

"Think of it as an abduction. Then you will accept that you are entirely in my hands for the evening."

She was taking a risk by insisting I stay. She could not be sure that I would agree. The sleeping arrangements hadn't been discussed, and I was not sure I would accept just any proposition. But I couldn't drive after the wine, so borrowing her car was out of the question. A taxi was a possibility, but I was far too mean to spend money on one of them, so I consented with good grace to stay the night.

She showed me upstairs to the door at the top of the stairs on the gallery landing, facing the hallway and the front door. The landing branched off at each end in two opposing directions. A windowless corridor led in one direction, between rooms at the front and to the rear of the house. In the other direction, the corridor was blocked off by a door with a keypad on the wall. Tessa pointed to the door.

"That is Jennifer's quarters, with a carer's room beside it. My bedroom is the other way. I'm sure you will be finished freshening up before me. Go back down to the kitchen when you have changed and relax with another drink."

The main bedroom was, as its name implied, spacious and well furnished. The décor was fresh but in traditional style. A large window looked southwards over the rear gardens which fell away into a valley, towards a range of distant hills. There was no other property in sight to spoil the view.