Anniversary Waltz #5: Until Death Do Us Part
Chapter 1

Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Lesbian, Heterosexual, Cheating, Incest, InLaws, Interracial, Black Male, White Female,

Desc: Incest Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Sad news take Paula away from home. She finds a unique way to get a discount funeral. But Steve's left home not quite alone, a situation that will prove to be the ultimate test of their marriage.

Paula Oldham glanced at the Caller ID as she flipped open her cell phone. She smiled. Mummy! Probably calling to invite them up for the weekend and unveil another wonderful anniversary present. The gifts almost made it worthwhile to have been married to Steve for seventeen years.

Not that he was awful, but, well, nineteen years! She certainly felt she had earned every one of the paychecks he brought home. Especially since he got that promotion.

Mother's voice sounded odd. Paula asked her to repeat herself.

In cold, flat tones, her mother said, "Your father, Paula. He is dead."

Daddy! Dear, sweet Daddikins, who always had a kind word and a blank check for her. She would have collapsed if her still-svelte body wasn't already flat on a lounge chair by the pool.

Paula wiped away a tear, brushed blonde hair from her eyes and collected herself. "I'll just throw some clothes in a bag," she said, figuratively, "and drive over to the house right away."

Her mother cut in. "Whyever for?"

"To -- to take care of things, of course. The funeral and the cemetery and -- Oh, Mother, just to be with you!"

"If you feel you need to, dear, very well. But don't put yourself out on my account."

"Mother, are you all right? You must be in shock."

"Hardly. I just can't get very upset by anything that happens to that awful man. I'm glad, mostly. Glad the charade is over."

Amid expressions of stunned dismay from Paula, her mother's story emerged. Her parents had stopped speaking eight years ago, when her mother had walked in on Mr. Noonan in bed with their dental hygienist. "And," Mrs. Noonan noted, "I had really liked that dentist. He was very polite."

"But, Mother, all those times we visited -- I never knew!"

"Yes, dear. I did wonder about that."

"But -- you lived together. Why?"

"Why does any couple stay married? For the children."

"I'm an only child!"

"Yes, and so sensitive, dear. We didn't want to upset you. But, now -- well, I'm just glad I can talk about it at last. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to clean out his closets. The Goodwill's coming in a half-hour."

Steve air-kissed his wife and watched her walk to the car. Just after she started it, Paula rolled down her window and called to him.

"Be sure to pick up my dry-cleaning. I'll want the black sheath for the funeral. And don't crease it."

He nodded. "I'll have Nanny pack it. She'll know what to do."

Paula had let the car roll back. She stopped it with a jerk and poked her head out the window to stare at him.

Steve caught himself just before he would have frowned. He did not want to have the Nanny discussion at that moment. He just waved. "I'll tell the kids good-bye for you," he said.

"Whatever." She pulled out and peeled away.

Steve pulled the door shut and padded back into the house. His slippers slapped against the tile. When he was a teenager, surfing all summer, he ran. When he was a young man, with good money and a hot girlfriend, he strode. Somewhere into marriage and parenthood he started walking. Pushing 40, he padded in shorts and a T-shirt bearing the faded logo of a concert he no longer remembered, sucking in the beginning of a paunch when he passed a mirror.

He flopped onto a couch and flicked on the TV. Three times around the dial and nothing captured his attention. He looked through the pile of magazines on the coffee table. They were all Paula's. He decided he didn't need to know thirty-nine ways to tighten his buns.

Between getting older, struggling to keep up with his job and trying to build up their meager savings before the kids got to college, he had pretty much convinced himself his life sucked. The only saving grace was Paula, beautiful Paula, and their marriage. Almost seventeen years, and all of them sweet.

So when Paula was in a bad mood, his world crumbled. And the mess with her father had her in a very bad mood.

A faint song floating down from the second floor reminded him of the other reason for Paula's displeasure.

Nanny had been with them for several years, and she was terrific, but the kids didn't need her anymore. Flame-haired Suzy was a gangly soccer goalie with one state championship already on her record. Ricky had been a flop at soccer -- coming from a family of athletes, his dark skin wasn't the only reason they called him the black sheep -- but he was so book-smart that he'd been skipped ahead two grades. He joked that he'd lap Suzy before she finished college, and he just might.

So, with the kids growing up and out of the house more than not, it didn't make sense to keep paying a nanny. Paula pouted whenever he brought it up, though. She seemed very attached to the girl -- well, woman.

Zosia had matured from the coltish au pair they'd brought in. Though she still had her delightful accent, she was thoroughly American. Somewhere she'd picked up a talent with cosmetics to rival Paula's. Even though she spent most of her time in the house, cleaning or cooking, Zosia still made herself up every day, bringing out her high cheekbones and full lips. And her glossy black hair was always in the latest fashion, as far as he could tell by comparing it to the covers of Paula's magazines.

Yes, she was a woman, and quite talented. Talented enough to find another job in a snap, he'd told Paula more than once. But his wife wouldn't hear of it. And so hearing Zosia sing -- or seeing her long legs coming down the stairs as she brought down the laundry -- just reminded him of what they could do with her salary.

He was still frowning over that when she walked across the archway opposite him. She stopped, propping the laundry basket on one hip.

"Mr. Steve, something is wrong?"

He shook his head. "No, nothing."

She shifted the basket to her other hip. "But you frown. Over father-in-law? Or missing Mrs. Steve already?"

He forced a thin smile. "I think I can manage until the weekend when I take the kids. No, I was just... Just thinking."

"Don't think so hard, maybe?" With a smile, she left the room.

He was still moping a few minutes later when she reappeared, minus the laundry but with a frosty mug and an ice-cold beer. She set them next to Steve and sat down across the room.

"So," she said. "My papa always say, 'Drink some, think some.' Well, it sound better in our words. But idea still good. You drink. Zosia keep you company."

He had to smile at that, an honest smile. She had been so shy around adults when she first arrived. So much had changed. She came with just three dowdy dresses, all of them so poorly fitting that she looked like a potato. She had built a better wardrobe than Suzy. His daughter lived in sweats. Zosia was the one who wore outfits like the loose red shorts and tight yellow tube top she had on then.

No one would mistake her for a root vegetable anymore. She had a very attractive figure, and she didn't seem to mind showing it off. That was one thing that puzzled Steve about Paula's ardent defense of Nanny. His wife usually didn't like it when he was around other good-looking women. It was crazy to think he'd stray, of course -- or, he thought, that he'd even have a chance after what all those years behind a desk had done to his body. Still, Paula had a jealous streak.

Yet she didn't mind Zosia. Paula even helped her pick out clothes, and sometimes those were the ones that showed off her body the most.

Maybe, he thought as he sipped his beer, Paula had chosen the outfit Zosia had on. It certainly displayed her body. He could see her breasts clearly outlined inside the top. And the loose shorts not only left her shapely legs exposed, but when she sat with her legs crossed underneath her -- as she was -- he could almost see all the way to her...

He almost choked on his beer and tried to cover it up with a cough. Had he seen what he thought? Zosia's skin was pale and he could see her thigh clearly disappearing into the big opening of her shorts. Then she had shifted slightly and he'd seen a dark patch that -- it couldn't have been. But he was the one who had to shift around, crossing his legs to conceal his growing boner.

She seemed oblivious, just sitting quietly and smiling at him as he drank his beer. He was embarrassed. She was Nanny, after all. Practically a member of the family.

Oh, great, he groaned inwardly when that thought bubbled up. That only added to his guilt about wanting to let her go.

The silence was becoming awkward. Her smile made him squirm. He cast about for conversation. It was the same tongue-tied feeling he had when he found himself trapped in an elevator with one of the people who worked for him. He had no small talk.

"So," he said leadenly. Zosia tilted her head expectantly. His brain froze.

"So," he tried again. Nothing came. It was the elevator thing again. Think, he told himself. What do you say to your workers?

"So -- Do you like it here?"

Inside his head, a bright neon sign began flashing, "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!"

Sure enough, her reply only made him feel worse.

"I love it here! Is so good! You very nice peoples, very nice to Zosia. Give me my own room, pay good so I can buy pretty clothes, everything good."

Her hands waved around, conducting a symphony of joy. "Is best job ever. All my friends back home, I write, they say, 'Zosia, you so lucky!' Is true. I only wish I could -- you say, 'repay?' Yes. Wish I could repay you for all you do."

She was so excited, she couldn't sit still. Her legs stroked against each other and she arched her back, pushing her chest out. Steve felt like a cad for talking to Paula about -- well, about firing her.

He raised a hand. "You don't have to repay us, Zosia. You've done more than we could ever have imagined. We couldn't run this house without you... Uh, I mean --" His face grew warm. "I mean, you're -- you're so talented. You could do anything."

A broad smile shone on her face like the sun. "Thank you, Mr. Steve," she said. "But you are too kind. Zosia can not do enough for you. I would do anything -- anything! -- to thank you."

She rose from her chair and approached him. Steve was ashamed to catch himself staring at her jiggling breasts with their prominent nipples. He stammered and looked away as she loomed over him.

"Oh, look," he said, pointing to the window. "Suzy and Ricky are home."

Zosia turned to look. "I will go make snack," she said. Just before she left, she retrieved the empty beer bottle and took the glass from Steve's hand. Her fingers brushed his and he felt his cock twitch. He had to wait a minute to cool down before he could get up to tell the kids the news, feeling old and dirty.

Paula's mother, who had all the beauty money could buy, was incapable of a frown. So it was with the same rigid, wide-eyed expression accompanying all her comments that she said, harshly, "Why are you still married?"

Paula laughed politely. "I love Steve."

Her mother dug her hands into the arms of her chair. "Bullshit. You're young enough to snag a good looker yet. Dump him before it's too late. Biggest mistake I made was to stick with your father after he got old and fat. I should have kicked him out when I still had prospects. All men are rotten, and the secret to life is to throw them out before they really start to smell."

"Mother, don't be so bitter. Daddy was a good provider."

"Money? Is that why you're holding on? Give it up. If he isn't rich by now he never will be. Take half of what he's got and move on. You'll survive."

Paula shuddered at the prospect of "surviving" on half of what Steve kept insisting was next to nothing. But there was no arguing with Mother on that point, she'd already learned. So she changed the topic. Shopping always cheered them up.

"Put your shoes on," she said. "Let's go look at caskets."

Mrs. Noonan rolled her blue eyes. "They can stick him in a pine box or throw him in a sack for all I care."

That was how Paula ended up at the funeral home alone. She had packed for the weather, so she felt slightly out of place in a summery flower-print dress when the man who greeted her in hushed tones wore a somber black three-piece suit. Still, she reminded herself, the dress did show off her tan.

And it made her feel happy, which was a needed antidote to the cold, gray atmosphere of the place. The generically religious paintings, the muted colors, how quiet everything was -- it gave her the creeps.

Even the live bodies around were a little stiff. The man she was talking to -- Eric, he said -- could have replaced Disney's animatronics, although he looked less like Abe Lincoln than Denzel Washington. His voice was as monotonous as the thrum of a distant train. She wanted to pinch him just to see if he was real.

But she just sat back into the leather chair as he droned on about perpetual care. It seemed selfish of her father not to have taken care of such arrangements himself.

Finally they got to picking the casket. Paula had been looking forward to it. She imagined it something like car shopping, with all the colors and options and dickering over the price. And she loved dickering.

The casket showroom was carefully arranged, she could tell. An experienced shopper, she recognized that the layout was designed to draw her toward the most expensive models. That was fine with her. She always wanted the best. She just didn't want to pay for it.

The money wasn't even the point. It was the process. Paula hung bargains in her closet like hunters put up moose heads.

This trophy, she thought, would be more like a lion. Eric was a worthy opponent, with smooth patter and a deft way of steering the conversation away from prices. His monotone was gone, and he made "mahogany" sound like a symphony. His description of the satin pillows made her knees weak. When he rubbed his hand across the bronze handles she felt as if he were rubbing her thigh.

Yes, he was good, she thought. But she was better. Subtly she laid the foundation for her bargaining. "And the inlay -- oh, that's right, no inlay. Yes, I see. And so, this is your very best -- I mean, the best YOU have?"

Eric didn't ruffle. His brown eyes tracked her face, homing in on her. It took all her control not to betray her emotions. She danced the discussion to money, but he sidestepped her again and again.

Paula allowed herself a ghost of a smile. She was enjoying this, having such an estimable foe.

With her guard lowered for just that second, he moved in. "Then we can definitely say you prefer the Regency Ultima. Would you like that in gold, claret or black?"

It was an old trick: Move the customer quickly past the big decisions and get her committed to options. She could counter, but he deserved the moment. She went along. "Black," she said, caressing the dark wood. "I believe black is always the best choice." She looked into his eyes. "Don't you?"

He looked flustered for a second. Paula awarded herself a point.

"Yes," he said, "black is best. Though I myself sometimes like lighter shades."

Paula gave herself two more points. "Variety is the spice of life," she said. "And we all need spice, don't we?"

That got a ghost of a smile from him. Paula pressed her advantage. "Now this is a fine specimen," she said, grasping a handle and rubbing her thumb along its length slowly. She glanced down shyly. "But I have to wonder if I could afford to..."

"This model is only twelve thousand dollars," Eric said.

Paula looked up and caught his eye. She saw the flicker of defeat. It was no longer a question of whether she'd get a discount, only of how much. She thought she could knock a thousand or two off easily. But she scented bigger game. And she always like big game. The bigger, the better. Eric looked like a big cat indeed.

The casket had a split lid; only the upper piece was open. She asked him to lift the other side, which meant he had to step between her and the box. Paula didn't move aside, so her leg lightly pressed his as he picked up the lid.

She reached around him, her breasts just barely touching his back, and ran a hand across the lining. "I like the feel of that," she said, moving infinitesimally closer to him.

With such dark skin, Eric could be blushing like a crazy and she wouldn't know. Paula suspected she had him going, though. Just to be sure, she leaned in and whispered, "What do you think?"

Her breath in his ear made him shudder. He got out a standard line about quality, but she knew she had him.

Time to move in for the kill.

"I wonder," she said, staying close to him, "I -- but this is naughty of me..."

She heard him suck in his breath.

"This is naughty," she repeated, "but -- Could I, ah, try it out?"

His head whipped around to face her.

"Try --" He stopped, got his voice under control. "Try it out?"

"Yes -- the casket. It's just -- well, I bet you have. Just to see how it feels? Just for a minute."

Eric looked around nervously.

She plucked at his sleeve. "There's no one else here, is there?"

"No," he said, drawing it out into three syllables.

"Well, then." She lifted a leg up to the casket stand, letting the hem of her dress fall back to reveal most of her thigh, and made what looked like an effort to jump up. Instead she slipped back, clutching at him for support.

"Oh, dear. That won't work. Do you think you can lift me?" She grabbed his hands and put them around her waist. "You look strong enough."

She put her hands on his broad shoulders and he hoisted her up, depositing her inside the casket. Paula let her rear slide down, folding her up like a jackknife with her high-heeled sandals high in the air.

"Whoopsie!" She giggled, then put a hand over her mouth. "Shouldn't laugh in here, should I? Ah, could you -- I'm a little stuck."

He grasped the bare skin of her legs and swung them around and down. She lay back, hands at her side, blonde hair draping over the small pillow.

"Comfy," she said, wiggling around. "But the mattress is a little harder than I prefer." She smiled. "But then hard is good, I guess -- to keep them in place, I mean."

He was leaning over her, a hand on the side of the box. "Yes," he said, "it provides excellent support, although sometimes you get an exceptionally floppy -- uh -- Do you think you're ready to get out?"

"All right." Paula hooked a leg onto the side of the box and heaved upward. The only thing that accomplished was to make her dress fall to her waist, exposing a pair of white thong panties.

"I guess I need you again," she said, taking hold of his arms. But instead of pulling herself up, she somehow dragged him down. As she flopped back on the mattress, his head landed on her chest. He tried to get up, but her hands were tangled in his jacket and he was stuck with his face just an inch or two from hers.

He hovered there, so close she could feel his breath. Her body was on full alert, nipples erect, warmth flooding her groin. She parted her lips and looked deep into his eyes.

He bent down and kissed her. Nothing tentative, a full, lusty kiss. Paula wrapped her arms around him and held tight.

Their mouths crushed together. She felt an urgent need to feel his naked flesh, but she couldn't even get his suit jacket over his shoulders. He had the advantage and he took it. His large, soft hands explored her body, caressing her, fluttering over her thighs, cupping her breasts.

Paula unbuttoned the top of her dress, pulling it open. He kissed his way down to her nipples, sucking first one, then the other, tugging at them gently with his teeth. She felt her temperature rising. She clawed at his clothes, managing to yank his tie loose and pop several buttons on his shirt, but his vest still defeated her. She was wild with lust. "I need you," she sighed. "I need you in me."

Eric straightened up and offered her a hand to climb out. "No," she said, a gleam in her eye. "Let's do it here. If you dare." She reached down and pulled off her panties, flinging them aside.

His eyes grew wide, but his broad nostrils flared. He stood over her for just a few seconds before he started taking off his clothes.

First into view was his chest, as smooth and well-muscled as she had hoped, glistening like a chocolate bar. As his pants came down, she poked her head over the edge of the casket and whistled at the bulge in his brown satin boxers. At last they came off and she licked her lips and let out a soft moan. He was as long and thick as she'd ever had, a solid rod of dark flesh. She couldn't even wait; just the sight of him drew her hand to her slit, frigging herself in anticipation.

Paula's dress was bunched up around her waist. One leg was hooked over the edge of the casket; the other stretched high, leaning against the satin lining of the upturned lid.

He climbed into the far end and knelt there, stroking his cock. His eyes roamed over her body, making her feel wanton and wanted. "Take me," she growled.

He bent over her, not quite touching but so close that she could feel his body heat everywhere. The tip of his shaft made contact first, rubbing her inner thigh. She hissed in pleasure as the rubbery tip rolled along her slit, but he pulled back.

Her eyes narrowed. Tease her, would he?

She drew her legs tight around his waist and pulled him down. He slid into her like she was melting butter. She sank back into the casket as he pushed in deep, deeper. She felt filled, but he went deeper. When she finally felt his groin grinding against hers she was so stunned she couldn't move.

He slowly withdrew. Paula looked down, surprised to see his cock wasn't pulling her inside out.

Then he began to stroke, faster and faster, long driving strokes that buried his rod inside her before almost leaving her completely. At first she tried to ride with him, bouncing on the thin mattress. But he had incredible staying power. His arms like steel columns held him above her while his ass pounded away without a break. She gave up and lifted her legs, toes pointing to the ceiling, just reveling in the feel of him inside her.

Their bodies grew so covered in sweat that she began to slide back and forth. She had to grab hold of the sides of the casket to keep from smacking her head into the end on every stroke.

There were no words, just moans and grunts. What they were doing was beyond words. She felt as if she were divided into two women.

One was experiencing the fuck of her life, filled up as never before, losing track of the orgasms that flashed past like trains in a subway tunnel, ecstatically out of control.

The other was outside that body, watching everything, fascinated by the contrast of light and dark flesh, mesmerized by the rhythm of the strokes.

The two sides of her blurred together and rolled apart as minutes rushed by. Eric had finally slackened his speed, though not his hardness. His strokes were slow, and they felt even slower to her. Time was stretching like taffy.

She was exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. Her legs had long since wearied and fallen back against the casket, her heels propped along either side. Her hair was matted to her head, her thigh muscles aching. She knew she'd be paying for it for days of stiffness, but it had been worth it.

Eric's body slipped lower and lower until his elbows crushed the mattress on either side of her. His hot, sweaty body eased onto hers. He kissed her deeply, tongues tangling.

And then he pulled back his head and let out a roar that echoed off the walls. She felt his cock become impossibly thicker, drive into her. He roared again, arching his back.

Paula's weary body responded as well. She writhed under him as one wave after another seized her, flooding her.

Eric knocked three thousand off without her even asking. She pointed out some scratched from her high heels and got another thousand. "And," she said, "make sure they put in a new mattress. A softer one."

For the rest of this story, you need to Log In or Register