We had a wonderful, albeit frustrating, time the next day. Nellie teased me by bending over in front of me on the stairs showing me her panty covered pussy. In the restaurant she slid her bare foot up my shin under the table; I could do nothing in response. The sexual tension was very high. Michael made some veiled references to his and Clara's trip to Port Elizabeth. I glanced at Nellie to see how she was taking it; she smiled and ran her toes up my shin.
After lunch we went down to the breakwater at the river mouth and watched the giant waves roll in and burst over the rocks, the spray flying high into the air only to be blown away by the wind. Nellie and I climbed out of the car and walked a little way down the breakwater to feel the power of the wind and the sea. I took her hand as we stood there watching. "I'm sorry..."
"Sorry for what? That Michael's doing your wife? That you're doing your mother?" She looked at me. "I'm not sorry!" She looked away. "They deserve each other." She squeezed my hand.
When we returned to the car the red spots were again on Clara's cheeks and Michael was looking smug.
Back home I made a fire while Michael poured drinks. Nellie busied herself preparing food while Clara sat paging through a glossy magazine. When Michael went up to the garage to fetch more firewood I took the opportunity to cuddle up behind my mother, my crotch pressed against her backside. She gently pushed back clenching her muscles. I was erect again after a full day of sexual innuendo.
I turned her face towards me and kissed her lips, our tongues touching. It was a short kiss and, as I broke away, I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see Clara standing in the doorway looking at us, her mouth had fallen open in surprise and the red spots on her cheeks were back. She turned away before I could say anything. I hesitated a moment, then continued as though nothing had happened; Nellie was unaware of the incident.
The evening passed smoothly enough with Clara icily brittle towards me, polite to my mother and hanging on every word my father said; more than before, if that was possible.
When we were making plans for the next day Michael told us that he and my mother had to attend some function the next morning, but that it would be finished by lunch time. And then, depending on the weather, we could go and explore the beach at Cannon Rocks, a wild, untamed stretch of coast a few miles away. We all said good night and went to our bedrooms.
In bed first, naked as ever, I waited for Clara to come to bed expecting an explosion, recriminations. I rehearsed what I was going to say in my head; if she said this, I would say that. If she said that, I would say the other.
Eventually she emerged from the bathroom, climbed into her side of the bed, pulled the duvet up to her chin and turned the light off. She turned her back towards me, lying on the extreme edge of the bed away from me.
"Clara..." I said.
"I don't want to hear it! Kissing your mother! Never in my life..." she hissed. "If your father knew!"
"I..."
"I said I don't want to hear it!" She interrupted me.
I shrugged in the dark, rolled away from her, pulled the duvet up and went to sleep. When I awoke next morning, the sun was streaming in the window. Late. The house was quiet. I looked over to Clara's side of the bed. Empty.
I lay for a time enjoying the warmth, the peace. My need for a pee forced me eventually to climb out of bed and go to the bathroom. I had a morning erection from the full bladder making aiming the stream into the loo without messing difficult. I decide to pee while showering, solving the problem.
I stood there under the warm water, a long stream of pale yellow liquid spraying from the tip of my penis. As always I had left the door to the bedroom open and at that moment Clara walked through the room. She stopped at the sight of me, her mouth open in shock. Like last night. She was rooted to the spot. "That's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen!" she gasped, her voice clear above the running water. "How could you? Your father..."
I turned my back on her. I finished showering, dried myself, dressed in a warm track suit, and then went down to the kitchen for coffee. I saw Clara in the living room on my way through. "Would you like some coffee? Tea?" No answer. I made a pot of filter coffee then, mug in hand, walked through to the sitting room.
Clara ignored me.
I sat down and looked at her. She was sitting upright, knees together, dress primly pulled down, pretending to read a periodical, some glossy home-makers magazine; English, of course. "We need to talk," I said.
"Nothing you can say will make any difference. Nothing!" The red spots were back on her cheeks.
"Clara..."
"Nothing! You are the most disgusting person I have ever met! Kissing your mother as though she were a whore. Urinating in the shower. You never wear clothes to bed. Shorts without shoes, no shirt. The list goes on and on! Your father..."
That was enough for me, I stood up and walked out the room. "Don't you dare walk away while I'm talking!" She screamed at my back. I carried on walking, up the stairs to our bedroom where I retrieved my computer and returned to the sitting room.
Clara continued as though I had not left the room. "You expect me to carry my own suitcase, to open my own doors. Your father..."
"Yes, my father," I interrupted. "I have something here I want you to look at." I fired up the computer while I talked, entering the password.
"Nothing you have could possibly interest me! I don't want to see it."
I selected the video of Clara and my father and pressed play, turning the screen towards her. She turned away, "I don't..."
I reached out and grabbed her behind the neck forcing her face towards the screen. She screamed, fighting me with all her strength. I held her tight. "Ow, you're hurting me! Let me go!!"
"Look at the screen!" I shouted. Slowly she stopped struggling as the pictures on the screen registered. I loosened my grip. She stared. When it came to an end I pressed the play button and we watched the whole video a second time. Then a third time.
When it was finished we sat in silence. I said, "Yes, my father..." I paused. "Did you enjoy his fingers up your cunt? Who's the whore now? As though he wasn't finger fucking you hard enough, you had to grab his hand and slam it into yourself. More! Harder! Did you enjoy it when he spunked all over the place?" I used the term my mother had used that day. "Did he have his thumb up your ass? Watch it again!" I pressed the play button.
After it had run its course I sat back and looked at her. "Do you think I didn't see you caressing his prick through his trousers, the way you did me, thousands of times! You're a disgusting cock-tease!" I asked again, "Who's the whore here? Who?" Now I was shouting.
I grabbed her behind the neck again and dragged her off the sofa. "Ow! Ow! You're hurting me!" I pulled her to the end of the sofa where Nellie had exposed herself to me the previous afternoon, not that I was thinking of that right now!
I forced her down till she was lying over the armrest, her ass in the air. She was kicking her legs, her hands trying to get to my hand holding her brutally in place. As she tired, I swapped hands and then reached down and flipped her skirt up over her back. I saw that she was wearing a skimpy G-string, her perfect cheeks open to my view, the skin white and fine. Perfect? I could clearly see four red wheals across both ass cheeks; red wheals with a faint blue line down the middle of each. Someone had taken a cane to her recently.
I raised my hand and smacked her hard on her right cheek. The cheek jumped, her buttocks clenched. She screamed. I smacked the other cheek. Really hard! I am a big man, played squash for many years. Smack! Smack! Smack! I lost count after ten.
When I stopped both her ass cheeks were bright red. Clara was whimpering, her legs were spread.
Still holding her behind the neck I reached down and felt between her legs, my fingers pushing under the tiny triangle of fabric covering her crotch. I was shocked at how hot and wet she was; I was expecting a tight dry pussy from the brutal beating I had given her. As she felt my invading hand her legs snapped together. Smack! "Open your legs! Wide!" No response. Smack! Her legs shot open. I pulled the G-string down leaving it at the top of her thighs, then felt again for her pussy. My fingers slipped easily in.
"Is this what Michael does? My father?" No reply. Smack!
Clara screamed into the pillow, "Stop! Please stop. You're hurting me!"
"Answer my question!"
"Yes," the answer muffled by the pillows.
