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or sometimes you just don't see it coming!

The Beginning!

It isn't essential to have read the parts of the Inheritance series that have been previously written to understand this story, it will be sufficient - if you haven't read the other parts - to know that this is part of a bigger story and that this is where it all begins. It has also, as these things tend to do, gotten much bigger that I ever thought it would. Because of this I have decided to split this part of the story into two 'smaller' parts, as much as to get something published as anything else. However it stops me from continually adding more and never getting it finished, and once it's been published I can move on to the second and final part.

This is a fiction; all of the characters are made up, some of the characters are based vaguely on real people but really, really vaguely. Oh and they're all over 18. Enjoy!

May 1987

John Porter was not a man given to excesses of emotion, if anything he prided himself on his calm, almost clinical mind. He did have a temper -- a fine one, but he kept it firmly under control, preferring reason to anger. But as he entered the room he was angrier than he had ever been. On the bed in front of him, sprawled his daughter -- lying in her own vomit, a bottle of wine lying next to her, the dregs staining the bed clothes. She was partly dressed, and her semi-nakedness emphasised her vulnerability, the dishevelled clothes showed him glimpses of her body, a full breast uncovered, her perfect body, her sexy body. Her father recognised her as a stunningly, pretty girl even with the slight swelling in her normally flat belly but John didn't think of his daughter that way, as open and lewdly available as she was now. His recognition of her sexuality and attractiveness did not lead to feelings of desire, nor did it lead to feelings of guilt, John simply, dispassionately, (and with a tiny twinge of pride) understood that his daughter was beautiful even if she was impossibly rebellious at times, and was passed out drunk in front of him.

John searched around and found a flannel in the nearby bathroom. He started carefully cleaning her face and hair. Gently he wiped the ruby coloured mess -- wine and smeared rich red lipstick - away from her mouth. The anger he felt was over-ridden by his concern for the girl and her unborn child.

His attentions must have stirred the girl's consciousness. She opened blurred, unfocussed hazel eyes.

"Daddy?" She asked in a little girl voice, surprised even though it had been her call, drunken and slurred that had brought him several hours through the night to get her. "Wha_? What are you doing here?"

"You called us Jane. Don't you remember?"

Slowly Jane shook her head, the motion aggravating her nausea, "No." She told him, "Wha_? When?"

"It doesn't matter lovely girl," John's voice was soft and loving, "I'm here."

She looked at him, mascara and tears mingling as they rolled down her cheeks, "He left me daddy, he left us!"

"Don't worry about him Jane; you're coming home with me."

Jane looked about her, seeming to see the mess she had made. "Am I in trouble, daddy?"

John pulled her to him, feeling her softness, and he cradled her -- the mess on her face ruining his shirt, something that never even crossed his mind -- "No my lovely girl, you're not the one in trouble." His voice so low it rumbled in his chest.

Jane snuggled drunkenly into his strength and he held her for a few minutes.

"Come on now, let's get you dressed." And he found a coat in the wardrobe, draping its loose volume around her, before guiding her down the staircase and out to his waiting car.

John went back inside and after a quick search he located Jane's handbag and purse. Checking for her house keys he closed the door and drove her off into the night.

Even though it was past three in the morning Elizabeth Porter was wakeful and waiting for her husband's arrival with their daughter. And without a word she whisked the girl away, up the stairs to a bedroom, where she undressed her and put her to bed. The car journey had given the eighteen year old time to sober up, so Elizabeth had few worries about leaving her, and when she did it was only after she saw her daughter sleeping soundly.

"Are you going to punish her?"

John was sitting in his chair by the fireplace with a cup of tea. He was staring into the flames, and didn't appear to have heard her. Elizabeth repeated herself.

John looked at her, "Jane? I don't know, that very much depends on what she chooses. But it will be her choice. Oh no, don't worry. She's very upset and she'll need some time to get her head together."

Elizabeth knelt by her husband's legs, he stroked her hair, "Him on the other hand."

Elizabeth looked up at John's face, "You're not going to... You know." John knew people, people who could do things like that.

John looked down and cupped his wife's face, "Oh no, he'll live. But he'll be very aware of what he's done wrong. And I don't think a divorce will be a problem."

Elizabeth could see John's other hand balled into a fist on his other knee, his knuckles pale in the fire light -- by this alone she realised just how angry her husband was. In the twenty years of their marriage she had never seen him like this. Jane was a rebellious girl, for the last two years she had done almost everything she could do to disobey her father and mother, ending up married to Peter Bailey, and pregnant at just eighteen. In all this time John had endured her antics without any sign of this temper. Then earlier in the evening there had been the call that had caused him to drive off into the night.

"Mum?" Jane's voice was thick with drink and emotion. "Pete's gone, he's left me, mum. I want to die."

John Porter's response had been immediate -- driving through the darkness to where the couple had been living, kicking the door open and rescuing Jane -- and giving thanks that Bailey had not been present.

The next day a doctor attended. Examining Jane and the baby, he spent half an hour and took blood samples but felt that the baby was unaffected by its mother's efforts the previous night. Aside from several bruises Jane was also physically sound, but she remained in her bed for several days, at first because the doctor suggested it, but then because she wanted to avoid facing her father.

Her mother on the other hand was a constant presence. Jane dozed most of the first day, sleeping off the worst hang-over she had ever had. When she did wake, to drink water or go to the toilet, Elizabeth would be there offering support. Neither woman spoke, but Jane embraced her mother, silently thanking her. When she got back into bed she lay there, while Elizabeth washed her face with a damp flannel, cleaning it of smeared mascara, washed out make-up, and the shadowy smear of lip stick and revealing the fresh face of the girl underneath.

While she slept John looked in on them both, "I have to go out for a few hours. May not be back 'til tomorrow."

He returned two days later. Some years later he would tell Elizabeth and Jane of what had gone on, but at the time no questions were asked and nothing was offered.

While he had been away John felt justice had been served, with the assistance of the 'friends of a friend'. Pete Bailey lived, unharmed but scared. John's anger had been such that his friend had had to make some strong suggestions about the way to proceed. And John accepted he'd been right, it had been better done the way his friend suggested.

John loved his daughter, if Jane kept the baby John would love his daughter's child too. He despised Pete Bailey, but John now had him in a position where he would always know where he was and what he was doing.

On the fourth day since her return home Jane woke to see her father sat in the chair beside her bed, silently regarding her.

Jane sat up, and took a drink from the glass on the bedside table.

"How do you feel?" he asked quietly.

"Better. Thank you." Jane told him. The chilled water was warm compared with the atmosphere in the room. The drunken warmth she had greeted him with at their flat was gone to be replaced with a cold remoteness.

"Good. I'm pleased."

She wanted to rage at him, question his satisfaction. She wanted to shout, 'what is it pleases you?' she wanted to say. That you were right? That I was wrong? That I'm back here, in this house? Emotions swirled in her head, threatened to overwhelm her. The anger was bile in her throat, Jane wanted to scream at him. She wanted to leap across the room and hit him, hit him, until she couldn't hit any more.

She would have been surprised if she could have known, how genuinely relieved John Porter was that his daughter was home again, how concerned for her he truly was. And how upset the tension made him.

"The doctor says you need the rest. We should talk when you feel up to it." And with that John stood and loomed over her, leaned down and kissed her forehead.

Jane was shocked at such a show of emotion from her father. John had never been a touchy-feely kind of man. A kiss was almost unheard of. Her anger undiminished but bridled at least, Jane pulled the blanket up and sank into the pillows.

The next time Jane woke, her mother was sat at the side of the bed sewing. Jane went to speak but her mouth was dry and it came out as a croak. Elizabeth passed her a small cup of water.

"Have you heard from Pete mum?" Jane asked.

"In a way?" Her mum looked over her glasses at her.

"In a way?"

Elizabeth looked out of the window for a moment before she answered. "I don't think he is coming back."

"Did he say so?"

"Daddy made contact with him_"

Jane's face fell. "What did daddy say?"

"I don't know. But as I understand it he was in London and it looked like he wasn't planning to return. I believe he was advised that returning would not be a good idea."

Jane looked down, she dabbed at her eyes.

"What did we do wrong Jane?" Her mother asked her, "What did we do to drive you away? I mean daddy isn't the easiest man to live with at times, but he's always loved you and you've never wanted for anything."

"I couldn't stand to be in the same house as him!" Elizabeth was stunned by the vehemence in Jane's voice.

"But why?" Elizabeth asked, "What changed?"

Jane told her. "I woke up one night -- the sound of the rain -- and I could hear something else. It was coming from your room. I crept along the hall and I could see though the gap in the door. Daddy was whipping you. He was beating you, so your skin went red, there were marks, on your back, on your thighs. I was horrified. I mean I always thought daddy loved you mummy. That's abuse, that's what they call it, isn't it?"

To Jane's surprise Elizabeth smiled, and hugged her.

"My dearest lovely girl. I wish you'd come to me about it."

Jane looked at her, shaking her head, as she tried to understand. "It wasn't what you thought." Elizabeth told her gently, "Yes, your father was whipping me, but it's something he does for me."

Jane's eyes were wide in disbelief as her mother stood, turned and lifted her skirt, red wheals criss-crossed her thigh. Jane reached her hand out and touched them. The skin was raised and angry looking.

"I have a strong submissive streak," Elizabeth told her, "and Daddy is a dominant man, it's a game we play, as much about the sex as anything else."

"Isn't it painful?" Jane asked quietly, trying to absorb the impact of what she had just been told.

"Oh yes. But that's part of the fun of it."

Jane's disbelief was turning to denial now, "That's sick mummy, that's wrong!"

"Don't you judge me, young lady!" her mother's tone was strict, angry, now. "You've been running round like some kind of cheap tart these last two years, doing who knows what. Smoking pot, getting married to that layabout and getting yourself pregnant. You've been doing the best to ruin your life and your baby's and you have the gall to say what happens between two consenting adults -- a husband and his wife - is 'sick and wrong'?

"What daddy does to me is because I want him to! He disciplines me, he is my master and I submit to him, willingly! You shouldn't have seen that, it's true, but he wasn't doing anything I didn't allow him to do."

Jane looked down as her mother let fly with her blistering attack, Elizabeth couldn't see it but the eighteen year old's eyes were filling with tears.

"I've made a mess of it all, haven't I, mummy?" Jane blurted out as she grabbing a tissue, clenching it in her hand.

"Yes, dear you have." Her mother's fierceness was gone, her reply was blunt but gentle. "But it's not gone so far as it can't be saved." She reached out and took Jane's shoulders, hugging the girl to her.

"What's daddy going to do?" Jane asked between sobs.

"Well," Elizabeth told her, "I don't know. That's a conversation you'll have to have with him."

"And what about you?"

Elizabeth smiled, "I will always love you Jane, no matter what."

Having made his first million several years earlier John had begun to invest. A scrap metal dealer originally, like his father, John was no technophile, he could strip a car to its chassis or rebuild an ignition system, but the new computers that people were getting excited about were a closed book to him. He could see their importance and their use, but he didn't understand them.

John Porter had discovered that his real strength was people. Finding the right people and investing in them. It didn't matter whether it was time, or money, training or just interest -- John would find out what the person needed so that they could achieve what they wanted and help them. His reward for his investment was a small group of companies that he was planning to call the JE Group named for himself and his wife, the John -- Elizabeth Group.

To go with this business empire he was building a new house a few miles away, based on a small country house that was blessed with an impressive estate. The architect had sent the plans over and John was looking them over and making notes.

Jane's behaviour, perplexed him, but once again it boiled down to understanding why. John wanted nothing more for Jane than for her to be happy. Once he understood what had made Jane feel the way she did he could -- hopefully -- repair the damage.

Elizabeth knocked.

John looked at her in the doorway. His wife was lithe, and pretty, with perky breasts and a sexual appetite that never seemed to quit. John himself enjoyed sex but in an effort to keep up with Elizabeth's dynamic libido they had begun their 'games', those sexy games that pleased her so much and kept the two of them so much in love. Just seeing her standing there put a smile on his face

"I thought you'd best hear something I learned today," she told him. John leaned back in his chair to give Elizabeth his full attention. She walked over and sat on his lap. Settling her pert little bottom, she relayed to him what Jane had said about seeing their spanking sessions. His eyebrows rose, and he nodded.

"Well that makes a lot of sense." He told his wife. "You explained it to her?"

"Yes, but I'm not sure she has got her head round it yet."

John's smile was gentle. "To be honest, sometimes that's two of us." He reached for his wife and kissed her. "But if it works for you, beloved -- it works for me.

As for what we do, well, it's nothing to do with her, so she'll have to learn to deal with it." And he kissed Elizabeth again. This time she wriggled on his lap, shifting round so she straddled his lap, pressing her pelvis hard against the bulge in John's suit trousers. The movement of her hips was sinuous and lascivious, as she sought out his erection with her mons. John groaned quietly and pulled her close into him, kissing her deeply. He slid his hands across her tight -- if rather tender -- bum. Elizabeth squeaked into their kiss. Aware of how much he had to do that evening before he finished John took control, and gently slid her to her feet. Giving her a light kiss, he sat back.

Elizabeth slid down his body and onto the floor between his legs. "You're tense. I know what will do you good," she said as she slid his zip down and unfastened his trousers. With an experienced hand she drew John's cock out of his trousers and coaxed it back to fullness.

"Mmmmmmmnh!" Elizabeth moaned as she caressed John's erection, stroking her face with it, and kissing it lightly on the tip. Oh she loved this cock! It was her husband's cock, her master's, and she was devoted to it.

John responded by placing his hands on Elizabeth's head, not forcing her, it was enough at that point just to be in contact. He rumbled his pleasure, the sound was low in his chest. If she could have, his wife would have purred as she kissed the hardness before her.

Now Elizabeth stretched her head forwards and over, enveloping the head and sinking low onto it. Her mouth was warm and wet and John closed his eyes and pushed his hips forwards as she bobbed slowly up and down on him. Having wetted the head, Elizabeth licked him up and down, before sucking him in again and working his knob with her hands.

Elizabeth worked quickly to bring John off, she was very good at this. She knew what worked and what didn't. Pausing every so often to lick the head or suck his balls, Elizabeth worked John's cock with a delightful friction. Suddenly as she licked at them Elizabeth felt John's balls lift -- he was about to spend. She slipped her mouth over the head and wanked him quickly, to be rewarded with strong spurts of jism. Eagerly his lovely wife, demur, neat, guzzled him down, wasting not a drop.

When John had ceased his ejaculation Elizabeth made sure she cleaned his cock with her tongue. John lay back in his chair, temporarily sated. Elizabeth sat back on her heels.

"Damn! You're so good at that!"

"Did it please you, husband?" Elizabeth asked impishly.

"Oh most assuredly, beloved wife." And drawing her face to his he kissed her lips, tasting faintly his own spend. Drawing his wife to her feet, John rose as well and the two embraced, "Now -- I must work for a while...."

With that Elizabeth left the room, John would be at his work for a few hours yet, work he returned to after a few moments thought, but not before he had made the note 'play room - private?' on a pad.

The next day there was a quiet knock on his door.

"Come in!"

Jane peered round the door. John was struck by how young she looked in her long cotton nightdress, bare of make-up, but also, he thought, how pretty she was. She stood in the doorway, "Daddy can we talk?"

"I think that would be a good idea honey, sit down."

Jane came in and sat in the chair opposite his desk. "Daddy, I want to say how sorry I am for the way I have behaved. I've behaved stupidly and without thinking about you and mummy."

John listened and nodded, "Well, that's good. And I accept your apology. But that brings us to the next question? What do we do about the way you've behaved and the consequences?"

"What do you mean 'consequences'?"

"Well Jane, you've no qualifications to speak about, no job and a baby on the way. If you don't want to be here with your mum and I -- what do you want to do?"

"You're not going to kick me out are you?" Jane's terror at the prospect was obvious.

"Not unless you want to leave," he re-assured her, "But I think if you're going to have that child and try to support it, you will need some form of income, and somewhere to live."

"What do you mean -- if I'm going to have it?"

"There are always 'ways' Jane. If you don't want it - I'm not just talking about abortion, there's adoption."

"NO!" Jane was horrified. "I'm having it! It's my baby. I will bring it up somehow." The fear had turned to anger -- anger that her father had even suggested getting rid of the child.