I originally placed this in loving wives because, at its heart, that is where the story belonged. It contained a clear warning that it included themes of incest and readers should move on if they found that offensive. Despite the fact that I've seen several other LW stories with such an element, I received some very negative feedback on the first chapter. Consequently, I revised the remaining chapters and decided to try the story here.
This is a fantasy, a story about flawed human beings caught up in circumstances they can't control. It is based in part on knowledge I acquired as a marriage and family therapist. Generally, incest is incredibly destructive to individuals and relationships so I strongly encourage everyone to keep it in the realm of fiction.
In all cases, sex that is imposed on someone through trickery, coercion, force, drugs including alcohol or violence is illegal and unacceptable. Having cleared my conscience, I hope you find the plot and characters in this series interesting and worth reading.
*****
She stood in the darkened living room and slowly looked about her. Bathed in blue-white moonlight, the expensive furnishings were clearly visible even at midnight. Everything was tidy, neat - just the way her husband liked it. No toys remained from the boys' afternoon play. Not a newspaper or magazine lay about. She knew the kitchen was spotless. Even the bathroom was clean despite her husband's usual late night shower.
Inside, she felt as empty and as lifeless as the house. The children - the one bright spot in her life - had been tucked in many hours earlier. If her brother hadn't stopped by to visit, the day's end would have been like so many other endless evenings - put the kids to bed, clean the house, wait for Tom to roll in sometime between eight and nine, fix him a late snack while he "unwinds" in front of the boob tube. As often as not, he'd doze off, rouse himself long enough to shower and crawl into bed where he'd immediately fall asleep snoring softly.
Week after week, Monday through Friday it was the same thing. The only difference on Saturday was that Tom would arrive home by 6:30 expecting a "home cooked meal" to be on the table. The kids were to be asleep by eight. His wife was to be in the sack and ready to take care of business by nine. Sunday used to be family time. Now, they didn't even go to church together. Instead, Sunday was golf or tennis or some damn thing where he could schmooze with his business partners or potential clients. Tom might arrive home by one or ten. No matter when he finally showed up, he expected the family to be there to greet him.
Even the arguments had ceased. Kristi begged for him to spend more time with the family. She reminded him of his pre-marital promise not to be like his father. Her father-in-law had been a workaholic who died at forty-eight of a heart attack. Tom had often bitterly complained about how distant his father had been while he was growing up. For a while, Kristi thought that her husband was having an affair. She even hired a private investigator to check up on him. It turned out that he did have a mistress, a mistress named Frank Kelly & Son Construction, Inc. He'd picked up right where his father left off.
A tear trickled down her cheek as she remembered their early years together. Tom had been handsome, romantic, attentive. He was devoted to her and she was madly in love with him. They went places and did things. They would stay up late at night discussing everything under the sun. They had a circle of friends -other young couples with common interests. They made passionate love whenever and wherever the urge struck them, which was often.
Then the kids came along and Tom started working longer hours. It was for her and the kids he said. It was his responsibility to provide for them. She loved being a stay at home mom, so at first she didn't object. As the hours got later and later, she tried to tell him that time together was more important than one more kitchen appliance or the latest fashions. Then his father died and responsibility for running the business fell solely to him.
In Tom's last conversation with his father, he promised not to let the business they had built go to ruin or leave the family's hands. Then things really went to hell. The economy tanked and construction projects started to dry up. He became obsessed with success. Tom refused to downsize the business saying he couldn't do that to his employees. They were like family he said, never seeing the irony in that. Increasing his efforts to drum up business meant that Sunday was no longer reserved for Kristi and the boys. He still claimed it was all for his family and acted hurt if challenged on that point. Most talk now centered on the business. There was little time for romance. Sex had become a routine, passionless chore and even that had dried up in the last couple of months as Tom worked even harder to bring his latest project in on time.
Above all, Kristi missed the passion. In a more genteel age, she would have been called hot blooded. She liked sex -- a lot -- but she didn't want sex for sex sake. She was a one man woman. For her, sex was saying "I love you" without words. It was a way of connecting with and pleasing her man in the most intimate way possible. She wanted to feel desirable and loved and valued, not ignored and taken for granted.
For a long moment, Kristi stared out the big bay window in the living room. The beautifully landscaped front yard stretched away to a road which would have been barely visible had it not been for the seven foot tall stone wall that cut off all sight and sound of passing traffic. The wall was for privacy and security Tom had said. More and more it made her feel she was in a gilded prison compound, totally cut off from the outside world.
The closest neighbors were an arrogant real estate developer and his obnoxious trophy wife who lived in the next fiefdom a mile down the road. She longed to be back in the little cottage they'd started out in, surrounded by other new couples and young families. It was a vibrant and friendly neighborhood where something was always happening. There were backyard barbecues and block parties, play dates at the park and chats over coffee in someone's kitchen. She had friends and so did the boys.
Then Tom decided to build their dream home. At first they worked on the plans together, but over time the project took on a life of its own. The square footage outgrew any lot available in town so Tom found six acres on the outskirts and the floor plan grew even larger. When Kristi complained about the potential upkeep, Tom said they could hire help. It would be a great investment, he argued. It would be a showcase for the company's capabilities. It would be great for entertaining. It would be a glorious house, but Kristi wondered whether it would ever be a home.
Her worries were founded as the years passed and the sense of isolation grew. They were only ten minutes from town, but they might as well have been on the moon. Her old friends drifted away. She welcomed them into her house. She worked hard to stay connected. Whether it was envy or discomfort at the differences in life style or just the inconvenience of having to get in a car and drive to meet up, her ties to the old community began to unravel.
Oh, they entertained. Tom made sure of that, but it was people who could help his business succeed. It was movers and shakers. It was one percenters. It was posers and people with their noses in the air. Increasingly, it was the bored and jaded who hinted that Tom and Kristi, especially Kristi, were welcome to join in their debauchery. She was sick to death at being groped in her own home by some smug bastard who thought it was his due. Her complaints to Tom fell on deaf ears. Apparently, he was more concerned with not offending business associates than he was in protecting his wife's virtue. She was done with waiting for her husband to get his head out of his ass.
With a sigh, she trudged to the kitchen. Flipping on the light over the sink, she reached up to release the child proof latch on the cabinet that held the pills. The top shelf was full of vitamins, supplements, three kinds of pain killers, antacids and her little basket of medications. The refills had come the day before, one pill to help her get through the day and another to help her sleep at night. It was a month's supply plus the ones she'd saved for the last two days - more than enough. She had to stand on tip toe to reach the basket. Kristi placed it on the counter and picked up one bottle in each hand. She stood motionless staring at the bottles while something cold and dark roiled about in her head.
At some deep level, a decision was made and a feeling of peace encompassed her. Taking a deep breath, Kristi raised her head and walked with a purpose from the kitchen. It didn't matter that the light still burned, the cabinet remained dangerously open and that her basket sat where she had placed it. What mattered was that she had a purpose.
Clutching the bottles tightly, she traversed the dining room, crossed the foyer and entered the hall leading to the bedrooms. The master bath would be best. Tom would never wake up. In the old house, he'd slept through a lightning strike that had blown up a transformer on the power pole nearest their bedroom window. Her scream and efforts to shake him awake had no effect. He worked long, hard hours and often had beer or wine with his supper. She'd long ago given up trying to rouse him when he fell asleep in his recliner.
She passed the boys' room without a glance lest she lose her resolve. She no longer had the energy to take care of them properly. They would be better off without her. Opposite their closed door, the guest bedroom door stood open. A sound made her hesitate. She froze, fearful that she would be caught and her purpose thwarted. Heart pounding, breath coming in a shallow pant, Kristi turned her head and looked into the room.
Pale moonlight poured into the room illuminating a figure on the bed. How could she have forgotten? Her brother had stopped by at supper time and asked to spend the night. The brother she had comforted night after night when their father had run off with his latest bimbo. The brother who had stormed out of the house when she came home with a black eye from a date gone wrong. He'd returned with his own black eye, a split lip and a triumphant grin declaring that that was one bastard who wouldn't be beating up any girls for a while. It was the little brother she had coached on how to ask for a date and told him which girls were dying to go out with him. It was the brother who had stepped up to be the "man of the family" when their abandoned mother was immobilized by grief.
Her hands shook until her arms fell to her sides. A ragged sob escaped her chest while tears trickled down her cheeks. She staggered against the door frame to keep from collapsing. As clarity returned, the enormity of what she had nearly done crashed in on her. The trickle of tears became a torrent. She sobbed silently as the pain in her chest stole her voice.
