This story is dedicated to Literotica member Greenreader.
This is the dark and tawdry tale of the dissolution and decay of those bastions of propriety and good taste - the old aristocratic Watson family of Newport. They were once pillars of the community, but have lost their way, due to their unhealthy never ending need for each other.
It is the story of a loss of control. It is the story of a lust breaking through binding chains. It is the story of a caged libido finally freed. It is the story of three generation of Watson women succumbing to their addiction for one man – a son, a brother, and a father/uncle.
It is the story of an all-consuming mutual obsession between five amoral people, which wrecked marriages, and ended a business empire. It is a dark love pentagon.
*****
Dramatis Personae
David Watson – the sex addicted artist
Miranda Watson – David's devouring mother
Meryl Watson – David's controlling older sister
Lucy Watson – David's daughter/niece
Kylie Watson – David's daughter/niece
PART ONE – MY BEAUTIFUL ALL CONSUMING MOTHERS
My name is David Watson and I am artist. I am nearly 38 years old and I am a composer. I live alone in my top story, downtown apartment with my piano, my music and my obsessions. I am unmarried. I come from a wealthy family. I'm the only son of those great stalwarts of tradition, Harold and Miranda Watson. I am a member of that venerable old institution – the Watson family of Newport.
I am a dissolute creature. I am beautiful and intelligent, but without any real purpose or centre or aim. I am full of myself. I am full of shit. I am only motivated by pleasure. I don't really understand the difference between right and wrong. I have so much time on my hands. I have the time to think, the time to sense, the time to feel, the time to brood. I make art occasionally. I drink too much and I am addicted to sex.
I am presiding over the collapse and disintegration of my family. Well, maybe presiding over is the wrong word to use. I am a disinterested spectator. The rot has set in. There is merely a varnish, a thin veneer, a coating of normalcy, which we present to the outside world and which covers our corruption, our incompetence and our decadence. I guess I am to blame. I am sitting on the sidelines, watching as my aging father loses control of his business empire and I have no interest in stepping in and assisting him. I am at the centre of all this.
My mind is teeming with dark desires. My body is always on edge. I always seem to have a hard cock. I'm always obsessed. I'm always wrapped up and locked up in my own reality. The women in my family, who I love and adore, dominate me. They orchestrate and organize my life for me. How could I ever lead my family back to greatness – I am surrounded on all sides by beautiful, pampered, manipulative and power hungry females. I adore them all so deeply, but they are the cause of my ruin. I am full of shit though. I may have misunderstood everything.
I am in love with someone I'm not supposed to have. I live in suspended animation. I dwell in purgatory. I can never get this resolved. I am not allowed to have the love of my life, but I am never able to tear myself away from her either. I can't move on. I don't want to move on. I want a resolution.
My top floor, downtown apartment resembles a beautiful glass and steel cage. It is minimal. It is elegant. It is cold and gleaming. I can walk to the large window at night, peer down and look out at the city below and before me.
I'm constantly reminded of my true love, here in purgatory, as there are images of her all over the dazzling white walls. My favorites are two enormous, ornately framed paintings, I had commissioned with her approval and behind his back. They are both full body portraits, which I have mounted together on the far wall of my apartment. My love sat for weeks, so the painter could capture her, so I could have my cherished gifts.
In the left hand portrait, she is standing by her bed. One tiny hand is on the bed head and the other reaches out to the viewer invitingly. The covers on the bed are turned down, as if she were all ready to enter the bed with the viewer, and make love with the viewer. She is wearing a filmy silver robe. It is open at the front. The artist has painted her with the candlelight behind her, so a soft warm glow streams through her translucent garment and clearly touches and outlines the curves of her body. Her fine short silver hair frames her beautiful face. Her light shining eyes watch me thoughtfully. There is a slight smile on her red lips.
In the right hand portrait, she is again standing and facing the viewer in the bedroom, but this time she is seen at the foot of the bed. More candlelight floods the space. Her arms are open as if she is inviting the viewer to enter her embrace. She is wearing a glowing white wedding dress and long gloves. It is a thing of beauty, but the artist has painted the dress, as if it were lingerie. I can see the shape of her breasts through the material. I can see the tips of her breasts. I can run my eyes slowly along her waist, her hips and her legs. I can see her body clearly through the outrageous dress. I can see a triangular shadow where her pubic hair is. I can see her soft thoughtful eyes and her inviting smile through the misty veil she is wearing.
I remembered the first time I showed the paintings to my beautiful and adorable Meryl. That was some time ago. I remembered the knock on the door when she arrived. I remembered walking naked down the corridor to the front door, with a glass of bourbon in my hand. I had a large hard erection. I opened the door and she gazed at me. Her eyes dropped to my cock for a long moment.
"Good afternoon, David," Meryl said, "Maybe you should let me in, before someone sees you and calls the police."
"And hello to you as well, darling," I said as she kissed my cheek softly, then made me turn around, smacked my behind, pushed me inside, and then closed the front door behind her.
"David, you really should have some clothes on when you answer the door," she advised me as we entered the lounge room. "You can go naked, once the door is closed."
"I like scaring you, Meryl," I said, smiling.
"You're big dick doesn't scare me, brother."
I was about to say something, but my sister cut me off.
"What on earth."
She saw them. She lost the power of speech. My dear sister Meryl was mildly shocked when she first saw the two portraits. She dropped her handbag and gasped. She walked into the centre of my apartment and just stared at them. I started rattling off information.
"It cost me nearly five hundred thousand dollars to get them made. She had to pose for many hours. The bedroom is an exact copy of their original and the bed is a painted representation of the one where I was conceived. All based on photos, of course. She...,"
"Yes, I can see David - they're so creepy and so inappropriate," Meryl whispered, interrupting me, still staring at the portraits. "I can't believe she actually agreed to do something like this and then sat for them. But then again maybe I can believe it. It is her after all. I need a cigarette."
"Yes, she was so generous with her time," I enthused. "She even offered to pay for them and give them to me as a birthday gift, but I said no. I wanted her to know that I was making the effort."
My sister rummaged violently through her handbag. She found her case, pulled out a cigarette and her lighter, pushed the end between her lips and lit up. She took a drag and joined me.
"I bet you just can't stop yourself can you, now that you have these," she whispered.
I grew silent. I became absorbed in the image of my love in her wedding dress. I unconsciously placed my hand on my cock and began stroking myself as I looked at the painting.
"Case in point - stop that David or I'm going home," Meryl said softly, slapping my hand.
I took my hand away. I sipped my bourbon. My sister was silently fuming. She was jealous.
"Does dad have any idea you have these things," Meryl asked, still looking at the paintings.
I grew annoyed. I didn't want her to mention him.
"No, he doesn't know. He wouldn't approve Meryl, as you well know."
"David, I'll never understand this obsession you have with her. I just can't fathom it."
"She means everything to me," I whispered, absorbed in the paintings.
"Everything David," she asked, looking at me with a cold expression.
I cleared my throat. Meryl said nothing. She still stared at me. She drew back on her cigarette hard.
I dragged my eyes from the portraits for a moment. I looked sideways at Meryl. My sister was the only one who knew all the details of my love for my dream woman. I had someone to talk to about it, at least, while I dwelt aimlessly in purgatory. Meryl was prepared to listen and tolerate it. I turned to her. She blew smoke at me.
"I can leave if you like, David," she said, and then her eyes dropped to my cock. She was silent. "Well?"
"No Meryl," I whispered, "please don't go - mustn't go. I'm sorry. Please stay."
She watched me for a moment. She then turned back to the paintings.
"Oh my God, I can't look at them anymore. They're so wrong David," Meryl stated bluntly, and turned away. "You better hope he never sees them or else he'll cut you off."
"I don't care what father thinks. Mommy controls my purse strings. She won't cut me off."
"Oh really, David," my sister said.
I was silent and then I cleared my throat.
"That was just a warning," I finally said.
Meryl smiled. She turned and ran her eyes around the lounge room. She nodded slowly.
"And there are some new photographs of her on the wall," she said.
"Yes Meryl," I enthused, happy to talk about the collection of images of my love, once more.
I took Meryl's hand in mine and with an excited tone of voice pulled her towards the new photographs I had recently mounted. We stood there looking.
"You haven't hung any new ones of me, I see," she said with a cold jealous tone in her voice.
"They're in the bedroom, darling."
Meryl scoffed. She sucked on her cigarette.
"It's just so...," she said, shaking her head, before I cut her off.
"Meryl," I said.
"Okay, okay," she said, and then she cleared her throat. "We need to make an appointment for you with Doctor Freud."
I laughed softly. I drank my bourbon.
I still held Meryl's hand as we looked at the new photos. They were large, framed, behind glass and all featured my love. I adored the image in the centre the most. It was an enormous black and white. She was seated on the edge of her desk, in her office, dressed in a charcoal colored power suit. Her legs were crossed. Her short skirt rode up her thighs, so the viewer could see the black lace tops of her stockings and her black suspenders. The blouse she was wearing was unbuttoned, so the viewer could see the tops of her breasts and the edges of her bra. Her arms were crossed. Her high heel seemed to fill the bottom of the photo as she offered it to the viewer to kiss. She was wearing her spectacles down towards the end of her nose. She had a hard look – cold eyes and pursed lips. She was all business. I loved this photo.
"She looks so regal, David - you like seeing her all powerful and in uniform, don't you."
I grinned. I nodded.
"Don't tease me, Meryl," I said softly, squeezing her hand.
"You want to get down on your hands and knees and kiss her feet, don't you David."
"Meryl."
My sister chuckled softly for a moment. She grew silent and thoughtful. She briefly looked at my other photos. She turned to me. She ran her fingers through my hair. I closed my eyes as she touched me. I dropped my head.
