Ethan's Nieces
Copyright© 2025 by sublock
Chapter 24: The Speech
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 24: The Speech - A young man comes home from his first year of college to find that his family's changed... a lot. As the summer progresses, he gets a strange summer job and faces some big fears with the support of his parents and siblings. Note: has quite a lot of partner-sharing (swinging). Not an exclusive harem story.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Ma/ft mt/Fa Fa/Fa ft/ft Fa/ft Mult Teenagers Consensual BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Workplace Sharing Wife Watching Incest Mother Son Brother Sister Father Daughter Cousins Uncle Niece Aunt Nephew Grand Parent InLaws Rough Gang Bang Group Sex Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Swinging Anal Sex Cream Pie Double Penetration Exhibitionism Facial Oral Sex Voyeurism Public Sex Small Breasts Nudism AI Generated
We washed ourselves a bit and put on some clothes, and our group finally started heading towards the central plaza. It was 12:45 — fifteen minutes before Richard’s speech. The afternoon sun was warm but not oppressive, filtered through the mountain pines, and the air carried that clean alpine scent mixed with woodsmoke from last night’s bonfires.
The amphitheater had been transformed since the opening night ceremony. Professional seating had been arranged in concentric semicircles around the raised platform—actual chairs rather than cushions and blankets. A podium stood center stage with a large screen behind it for presentations. I saw Richard and Patricia chatting with some of their admin staff and doing last minute checks. The production value was serious, intentional.
People were already filing in, and the atmosphere was different from Friday night’s celebration. This felt solemn, important, like we were about to witness history rather than just a party.
Emma found us immediately, pulling us toward the section where our family had claimed seats. “Front and center,” she said. “We should be close for this.”
Our extended group took up nearly three full rows. Mom and Dad sat together, holding hands, both dressed simply but looking more relaxed than I’d seen them in years. David’s family filled the row behind — Sofia looking elegant in a sundress, Marcus and Keisha whispering to each other, Mia and Lily flanking their parents.
Lauren and Becca settled beside Emma, the sisters glowing from our porch encounter. Jessica and Tom claimed seats with their friends Derek and Simone. Katherine and Vivian sat with them as well. Aunt Linda and Uncle Philip sat with Sarah in their row behind us.
Around us, other families and groups were settling in. The Madison family took up an entire section — Josie and Robert with James and Carol, their five kids spread among them. The Thorntons sat with the younger couple they’d been spending time with, four generations represented between them.
I scanned the crowd, trying to estimate numbers. Maybe 300 people total? Not everyone from the retreat — some had chosen to skip this, probably tuckered out from all the sex and partying. But the majority had come, understanding this moment mattered.
At exactly 1:00 PM, Richard Chen measured the crowd and then walked to the stage. He wore the same simple outfit from Friday — dark jeans and a fitted black shirt — but somehow looked more authoritative now. He smiled and raised a hand, and the crowd quieted immediately, anticipatory energy crackling through the air.
Richard stood at the podium and looked out over the assembled group. For a long moment, he said nothing, just letting his gaze move across faces, making eye contact, acknowledging presence. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm but carried effortlessly.
“Thank you for being here. For trusting me with this weekend. For opening yourselves to possibilities you may have thought impossible.”
He paused, letting that settle.
“When I started Blackwood fifteen years ago, it was just seven couples gathering in my living room.” He had a remote in his hand, and behind him he started clicking through pictures — him and a handful of other folks in business attire, talking on phones, laughing and drinking.
“We were surprising ourselves with success as money managers and planners, we were working hard, and we were partying hard. I’m not gonna lie, the swinging was fun ... we felt carefree and powerful, ready to take on the world and fuck our way through it. It felt like nothing could stop us, and we were breaking all the rules — including how far we could go with the group sex and orgies. Once we started bringing our families into things, well ... It was better than drugs. We were hungry for honesty in a world built on lies.”
There were pictures of orgies now. Guys trading high-fives across naked bodies. Women grinning as men were cumming on them.
Some of the pictures were pretty funny, and Richard was having fun with it: “I think the blue tie may not have worked with the leash collar, but let’s give Patricia credit for having an eye for composition. This one we called ‘The Board Meeting’ ... you can guess why. Do you still have that paddle, Steve?” These elicited some laughter through the crowds.
“Hey, that’s me!” someone shouted, answered by a few cheering whoops.
“We started small. The monthly parties. The vetting and then bonding with families and friends. The building of trust and weathering the criticism. Testing whether a community could sustain around radical desires and sexual freedom, or whether things would break down into drama and shame. And mostly testing whether breaking the ultimate taboo — incest — could actually create stronger bonds rather than destroying them.”
He clicked the remote, and the screen behind him lit up with a graph showing Blackwood’s growth over fifteen years. The curve was exponential — starting nearly flat, then rising sharply in recent years.
“Well, that was the answer. So the question was: what next?”
Another click. Pictures of us unloading from the buses, gorgeous shots of the mountainscape, the first evening’s sunset over relaxed, naked bodies.
“What began as ten families is now approaching 500 members. This weekend alone brought 350 people to this compound. And some of you came because something in our society is breaking. You felt it. That’s why you’re here.”
Now he was showing economic indicators: unemployment rates, inflation, market instability. Then climate data: temperature increases, disaster frequency. Wordclouds of political instability: state violence statistics, supply chain disruptions, infrastructure failures.
“I’ve been watching these downward trends since the turn of the century,” Richard said. “Not because I’m a pessimist, but because I’m a realist. The world order we knew is shaking up badly. Economically, environmentally, politically — the democratic systems we’ve relied on are collapsing. Not might collapse. Are collapsing. Now. While we sit here.”
The crowd had gone completely silent, everyone leaning forward. Richard paused, looked at his notes, then set them aside.
“You know what, I’ve given this speech in my head fifty times. Every version has charts. Every version ends with me making a compelling case.” He gestures at the screen. “But the truth is, I don’t know exactly when things fall apart out there. Could be years. Could be next spring. What I know is that every family I watched this weekend fucking joyfully, openly, without shame — I thought: that’s what surviving looks like. Not the bunkers. Not the food stores. That.”
“But I’ll be honest, for a while, it was all I could think about. I really lost myself. Anytime I wasn’t running the company or planning the next orgy, I was doomscrolling. I wanted to make as much money as I could because I wanted to party like it was the end of the world. But Patricia, God bless her ... Pat helped me notice the people that we’d recruited, the reliability of our community ... If the world was going to end, we were incredibly lucky, because we’d found people like you to laugh and work and fuck our way through it. Together.”
He clicked to a new slide showing the compound itself — aerial photos, infrastructure diagrams, resource inventories.
“This place can sustain 500 people indefinitely. Solar power, well water, extensive gardens, livestock, medical facilities, workshops, school buildings. Everything needed for a functioning community. We’ve been preparing for this since the beginning. I guess you could say I got a little carried away.” He chuckled a bit.
He gestured to the helicopter pad. “The solar array was sensible. The underground cistern, sure. The artisanal cheesemaking operation ... that might have been me at 2am after the last Presidential primary.”
People chuckled, but Richard stopped and took a deep breath. He took some time to gather his thoughts. Emma leaned forward, wondering what was coming next. I saw my parents grip each other’s hands.
“Now here’s where things get a little revolutionary,” Richard continued, his tone becoming more intense. “We’re not advertising what we’ve been up to, but we’re not hiding it, either. The doomsday stuff, the open sexuality ... the accusations of being some sort of freaky sex cult have been getting louder and louder, especially with last week’s exposé. I’m sure some of you have been feeling some static in your own lives over it. And we’ve lost some members to that stigmatization, too. And that’s fine.”
“Is this a cult? Look — I’ve read the definition. There’s some overlap. I’m not going to pretend there isn’t some overlap.” He took a beat. “But we have an exit door and craft beer, so we feel good about the distinction.”
“I don’t want to be a cult. I don’t want to isolate ourselves, or force people to stay, I don’t want to pressure people or manipulate them. I want to have fun, work together, and have a lot of sex. What we’ve built here isn’t just practical preparation. It’s philosophical revolution. Our sexual openness isn’t indulgence — it’s foundation.”
He let that statement hang.
“Here’s what I’ve learned in the last fifteen years: you cannot build oppressive hierarchies when everyone is sexually vulnerable with each other. You cannot maintain rigid power structures when fathers are lovers with daughters, when siblings share intimacy, when family bonds are chosen rather than enforced. Incest specifically matters because it dissolves a traditional patriarchy. When a man can be both father and lover to his daughter, treating her as equal partner rather than subordinate child, patriarchal authority crumbles.”
“And you’ve got a great cock, Dad!” Sakura yelled from the front row. Heads were nodding now. People getting it.
Richard chuckled, and I think he may have even blushed a bit. “Thanks, sweetie,” he said. “I’m awfully fond of your tight little ass too.” He spoke back to the rest of us. “As you can see, my daughter Sakura and I understand each other as equals. Not despite our intimacy — because of it. You can’t really maintain illusions with someone who knows how you like your balls gripped to get you to cum a fourth time in a row.”
“But, uh, we’re getting ahead of ourselves.” He looked around, trying to figure out where he left off.
“At this point, I’ve stopped worrying about societal collapse. I feel like we’re making our own tribal society anyway, a community that can weather almost any upheaval that happens in the greater world. Governance based on consensus rather than hierarchy. Economy based on cooperation rather than competition. Family based on choice rather than obligation. Sexuality based on honesty rather than repression.”
Another click. A slide titled “Community Structure” with organizational charts showing consensus decision-making, rotating leadership, resource sharing.
“Some of you are planning to leave tomorrow. You’re welcome to. No judgment, no pressure. This life isn’t for everyone.” He smiled slightly. “But I’m officially inviting committed members to stay permanently. To transition from retreat participants to permanent residents. To help build something that can outlast whatever’s coming — or anything, frankly.”
The energy shifted — this was the moment everyone had been waiting for.
“For those who stay: this becomes home. We have work assignments based on skills. Education systems for children and teenagers. Medical care. Conflict resolution processes. Governance councils where everyone has voice. This isn’t a cult — it’s a cooperative. Decisions made collectively, leadership rotated, dissent welcomed.”
He clicked to a detailed timeline slide.
“Here’s how this works practically. Tonight, continue celebrating. Tomorrow morning, buses leave at 10 AM for those returning to the city. Those staying begin transition planning tomorrow afternoon. We’ll spend the week organizing — permanent housing assignments, work schedules, resource management, external communication protocols.”
Another slide: “Legal Structures.”
“This compound is legally structured as a religious cooperative. I don’t like that as a characterisation, but that’s the easiest way for us self-manage and the tax benefits are too good to ignore. If people want to call us a cult, well, perhaps that will help us continue to vet participants. As long as everyone here is a consenting adult or a guardian of good standing — which they are — there’s limited legal recourse against us. We have lawyers, public relations teams, security contingencies. You’ll be as safe here as anywhere.”
He paused, his expression becoming more serious.
“But I won’t lie to you. There will be challenges. Legal pressure, media attention, family estrangement, societal judgment. Some of you will be called brainwashed, crazy, dangerous. Some will lose contact with family members outside who can’t accept this choice. It won’t be easy.”
The crowd was completely rapt now.
“But for those ready to commit — we’re building a new society here. Not a perfect society. Not a utopia. We’ll have conflicts, mistakes, growing pains. But we’ll have honesty. We’ll have chosen family. We’ll have freedom to be fully ourselves without shame.”
He looked directly at our section, making eye contact with me, with Emma, with my parents.
“I’ve watched families transform this weekend. I’ve seen people shed decades of repression and step into their truth. I’ve watched teenagers claim their sexuality without shame. I’ve seen elders rediscover joy. That’s what this place offers — permission to be human in all its messy, sexual, honest complexity.”
Final slide: “Welcome Home.”
“So here’s my invitation. Stay. Build this with us. Be part of something unprecedented. Or leave with our blessing and gratitude for sharing this weekend. Both choices are valid. Both are honored.”
He stepped back from the podium.
“Tonight, we celebrate. Tomorrow, some of you leave and some of you stay. And those who stay — we begin the real work of building a community that can survive whatever comes next. Questions?”
Hands shot up immediately. Richard pointed to his other daughter Hana in the front row.
“How do we handle medical emergencies?” she asked, clearly a planted question to address practical concerns.
“We have two doctors and five nurses as permanent residents. Fully equipped clinic. Helicopter pad for critical emergencies. Telemedicine for specialist consultations. We’re better equipped than many rural towns.”
Another hand. Richard pointed.
“What about education for children?” A mother with two teenagers asked.
“Blackwood Academy opens next week. Curriculum focuses on practical skills, critical thinking, and honest sex education. College prep for those wanting it. Trade skills for those preferring hands-on work. Socialization with dozens of kids across age ranges.”
“What if we stay and then change our minds?” someone called out.
“You can leave anytime. This isn’t prison. Some people will try this for a month and realize it’s not right. That’s fine. We’ll help you transition back if needed.”
“What about money? Jobs?”
“Cooperative economy. Everyone contributes work — gardens, construction, teaching, medical care, cooking, cleaning. Basic needs met communally. Some members maintain remote work to bring in external income for supplies we can’t produce. No one goes hungry or unhoused.”
“Are pets allowed?”
Richard started to answer, but someone yelled “That’s my kink!” and he stopped, chuckling. “Dogs yes, cats yes, livestock is communal property.”
The questions continued for twenty minutes — practical, emotional, logistical. Richard answered everything patiently, transparently. The message was clear: this was real, this was planned, this was happening.
Finally, Richard held up his hand for silence.
“Last thing. I know many of you have already decided — staying or leaving. Some are still uncertain. Take tonight to process. Talk with your families. Sit with this. Tomorrow morning, choose freely. And whatever you choose, know that you’ve been part of something beautiful this weekend.”
He looked out over the crowd one more time.
“Welcome home. For those who want it.”
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