Part II
Recap of story so far: Stan is a middle aged man who lives alone and his health is deteriorating. He lies in bed thinking lurid thoughts about his daughter, and of unfulfilled desires that would have his deceased wife doing cartwheels in her mausoleum if she knew he was having incestuous urges of such a kind.
And now the story continued....
There was one thing I knew for certain - Although it was but an expression, to break a camel's back with a straw? It had some element of truth about it I suppose. For a start, I was every bit the insignificant figure in play. A pathetic excuse of a human being; completely devoid of any form of consistent goodness. I was consistent at masturbating, but that was not helping matters. Still, it helped me that's for sure. When I wasn't doing it I was thinking about it. Even during my working career as an architect, I would often have one hand on my crotch and the other on the board. Quite often lines weren't straight and drawings had to be binned, but not till after I had cum all over them. Heh! Those were the days.
My wife was a good source of relief before she had the kids. Then they became her most important things. Whatever light she had shone on me was gone, and with it, her love. At first I figured she would come back - the secret looks we would share would return. I missed them. I missed her.
Perhaps I didn't deserve her...
I remember my position with my kids quite clearly; I was a strict man. Peter knew this more than most. He had some balls on him though - usually answering me back after a telling off. Even if I was bearing down on him ready to beat him, he would not flinch. He was a brave soul. As for Penelope, she was not exempt from the rage of my 'slap happy' hands but never did anything to make my blood boil. If anything, her presence seemed to calm me. Peter knew this and would try and ensure that when I was on the rampage, he was in the same room as his younger sister.
Penelope was very fond of me. Her attachment to me drew resentment from my wife though she never once mentioned it. I had been an architect long enough to be able read the angles of expression on any face, and know whether it was a bad thing or a good thing. But that's just a disguised interpretation - I kind of got the picture when the sex dried up.
When an individuals mode of relief changes, his mind takes him to new locations; to new faces and scenarios, when the old ones no longer work. I started to incorporate masturbation in the house for the first time in a few years. It was addictive. It got to a point where there was no way I could engage with my wife intimately had she approached me with such intentions. Her mouth could not resuscitate my lifeless dick, it was dead to her.
At this point, other events occurred that I did not expect. Penelope often rested her head on my thighs or lay with me; she was very loving and thoughtful. I never gave any thought to her, if her head was too close to the intimate regions. But when she was 14 she seemed to be inching closer. I guess her head had grown a bit more since last time. Once she was on me she would lay completely still, so, often I would have to move her. Possibly she took this in the wrong way, thinking I was too busy trying to watch TV and did not want to be disturbed.
After that, she became less attached physically, which was a relief. But at the back of my mind a mine had been stepped on and as the smoke finally cleared a new door revealed itself. Locked for now, a mist-like string of erotic odour floated out towards me from out of the keyhole. The odour of incest.
The first whiff of it stunned the back of my head, like some strong mustard might. Except it was entirely pleasurable. Of course I struggled with the guilt associated with such inappropriate thoughts for a while. But after some time I incorporated them into my sessions.
Mostly thoughts of my mother. I would lie back under the duvet completely naked with one hand stroking dick, and visualise an image of my mother. Of course I needed pictures so I just took the earlier ones of when she was a young woman in her 20's. She was quite the model, with all her wigs and poses in those days. They made good wank material.
I especially liked the pose of her in the garden in a bikini. It was a strangely a picture I always skirted his eyes over whenever the family sat together to reminisce. I seem to vaguely recall not really liking it very much, and now I knew why; She stands with her back to someone, and one side of her bikini that covered her bottom... well, the material on one side had climbed up and over and one bum cheek was freely visible.
I lost count of the times I wanked off to that classic. I just hate that her face was not also in view. Still, it was quite a bubble of an arse that never failed to give me erectile spasms. I'm not sure who took it and why mum never discarded it, but I sure was thankful. In the face of a broken marriage, it was my only saving disgrace. Were there any grace in beating your dick furiously over sexual thoughts of your own mother, I did not find it.
After a while, even the guilt was lying face down in a pool of blood. Bludgeoned to death by my demanding sexual needs. I was like a baby suckling for milk, wanting to take control. To be on top and to suckle until she had an orgasm.
I was a mother's boy you see; I always held her hand and let her do everything. She was over protective and it wasn't until I was married that that bond loosened appropriately. I finally had air to breathe. She had kept me so close to her chest that I had one ear sticking out more than the other.
Now it was a fitting reminder of my mother, though not in the way she would have hoped.
As I was saying before, after my wife died, and Peter left, there were only two beating hearts in this house; mine and my daughters. Penelope had become accustomed to my immoral behaviour and adjusted to it perfectly. It was almost as if it didn't matter what shape my hands were, she always found a glove that fitted. She knew I desired her for a while now and had a glove for that too. It was a strawberry flavoured condom.
For months I had been an exhibitionist; stroking my meat pole in front of her. She seemed a willing audience though not an interactive one. The most intimacy we shared was verbally considered and without script nor plan. She was almost as good as me, in that, she was composed while I was a nervous wreck. A feeble conversion of the earlier Stan I remember in days of youth. A bit of a lad, and a mommy's boy rolled into one.
Penelope scooted over to me and surprised me. She clasped a section of the silk panties I had wrapped around my cock between thumb and finger and then looked at me.
'Daddy...' She said softly, her dreamy smile making me loosen the choke hold on my cock.
With my action, came her own. She unwrapped her tiny, rumpled panty from my throbbing member with the delicacy of a bomb disposal expert. It was sexier than Catherine Zeta Jones in that heist movie where she is avoiding the red lasers and has to jut out her arse at one point.
Once it was free and my dick was bobbing slightly, she held it in her hand in a half-closed fist and rested her hand by her side.
It was a small room and the smell of cum filled the air. If she could smell it she wasn't concerned. Actually she was used to it by now, and also told me her brother used to smell of cum a lot. Especially in the time leading up to his departure. It was an interesting bit of information. Perhaps Peter was pining for his mother too, or his sister, or both.
'Anyway daddy I was thinking... I have been visiting the church more often lately... because of accumulating sins.' She said frankly. I was only half listening because my eyes were fixed on the dick-soiled, cum-smeared panty held in a crumpled heap within her sensual grasp. It reminded me of a mother holding her child - with a delicacy that could only be admired. She knew it had just been on my dick yet she held it in her hand like it was the last tissue in the house.
I had not forgotten the condom either, which was resident on the right side. It seemed like a good omen. The faint scent of strawberry filled my nostrils and made my dick quiver in delight.
'I know that sometimes one has to take a few steps back before they can move forward again. I have accepted that much.' She continued.
