The Naughty Nolans
Copyright© 2025 by Kenn Ghannon
Chapter 1: Crisis
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 1: Crisis - The Nolan family was a complete wreck. In a last ditch effort to save it, the matriarch takes the family to a psychiatrist for family counseling. The psychiatrist, though, has an agenda of her own. [NOTE: Partially A.I. generated by an original idea (if there are original ideas in prose anymore) I had]
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft mt/Fa Fa/Fa ft/ft Teenagers Mind Control Reluctant Romantic Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Science Fiction Cheating Cuckold Incest Mother Son Brother Sister Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Analingus Cream Pie First Facial Oral Sex Pregnancy Sex Toys Squirting Hairy Size Small Breasts Teacher/Student Slow AI Generated
The leather couch groaned under the shifting weight of too many bodies. Dr. Renworth’s pen hovered over her notepad, her dark eyes flickering between the Nolans with clinical precision.
Sean sat rigidly on the edge of the cushion, his broad shoulders tense. Diane’s fingers tapped a silent rhythm against her thigh, her gaze fixed on the abstract painting behind the doctor’s head. Neither looked at each other.
Hailey crossed her legs, the fabric of her shorts stretching tight over her thighs. She chewed her lip, darting glances at her siblings—Bree’s arms folded, Dev’s knee bouncing, Sam picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. The silence thickened like syrup.
Dr. Renworth set down her pen. “So,” she said, voice smooth as poured honey. “Who wants to tell me why we’re here?”
Silence. The hum of the air conditioning filled the room. Dev cracked his knuckles—a sharp pop—and Bree elbowed him in the ribs. He scowled.
The psychiatrist tapped her notepad. “This is a safe space,” she said. “No shouting. No accusations. Just truth.” Her gaze lingered on Diane’s white-knuckled grip on her purse strap, the way Sean’s jaw flexed when Hailey sighed. Interesting—the daughter’s frustration provoked a physical response in the father. She scribbled shorthand: defensive posture, paternal protectiveness?
Sam sniffled.
Dr. Renworth leaned forward slightly—just enough to convey warmth without intrusion. “Samantha? Would you like to start?”
The girl’s breath hitched. “It’s—” She swallowed. “Everything’s so loud all the time.” Her fingers twisted the thread into a knot. “Like ... like plates smashing. Every night.”
Bree stiffened. Hailey’s knee stopped jiggling.
Diane’s lips parted—but Sean spoke first. “That’s not—” He cut himself off, exhaling through his nose. His hand hovered near Sam’s back before retreating to his own lap.
Dr. Renworth noted the aborted gesture. Restrained physicality. Guilt? She turned to Diane. “And you? What does ‘plates smashing’ mean to you?”
The blonde’s throat worked. Her eyes glittered—too wet, too bright. “It means,” she whispered, “that we’ve forgotten how to be gentle.”
Across the room, Dev’s knee started bouncing again. Faster now. His gaze darted to his mother’s trembling mouth, then away. Dr. Renworth’s pen flew across the page: erectile response to maternal distress? She hid a smile beneath a neutral mask.
“Interesting,” she murmured. “Let’s explore that.”
Sean’s fingers dug into his thighs. “Explore what?” he snapped. “Her martyr act?” His nostrils flared as he turned on Diane. “You think you’re the victim here? You think I don’t know about the way you look at Hailey’s friends when they come over?”
Diane’s breath caught—sharp as a slap. “How dare you,” she hissed. “At least I’m not surrounded by half-naked teenagers begging me to fuck them every damn day!” Her voice cracked on the last word, cheeks flushing scarlet.
The air turned electric. Hailey’s head jerked up. “Wait—what?”
Devin let out a strangled noise halfway between a laugh and a groan. Bree’s fingers clamped around his wrist, nails digging in.
Dr. Renworth’s pen moved silently across her notes: Seismic revelations. Fault lines exposed. She watched—calm, detached—as Sam curled into herself, knees pulled tight against her chest.
“You’re unbelievable,” Sean snarled, surging to his feet. The couch shuddered. “Those girls are clients. But you—Christ, Diane, I’ve seen the way you—”
“I’M THEIR TEACHER!” Diane shrieked, matching his stance. A tear streaked down her cheek. “I would never—!”
“You want to.” His grin was ugly. “Admit it.”
Hailey stood abruptly. “Stop it!” Her hands shook. “Both of you!”
Bree rounded on her father. “You’re such a hypocrite! Like you don’t stare at Hales in her swimsuit—”
Sean recoiled. “What the fuck did you just—?”
Dev’s chair screeched as he bolted upright. “Oh come on—!”
The room erupted—voices overlapping, accusations flying—until Dr. Renworth calmly uncrossed her legs.
“Enough.”
The word cut through the chaos like a scalpel. She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t need to. They froze mid-breath, caught in the gravity of her stillness.
She let the silence stretch—letting the shame settle—before speaking again. “Sit. Please.”
Slowly, they obeyed. Sean’s fists clenched. Diane wiped her face with trembling fingers.
Dr. Renworth’s gaze traveled over each flushed face, each heaving chest. Behind her professional mask, her pulse quickened. Perfect. The cracks were widening. All she had to do was guide the flood.
She steepled her fingers. “Now. Let’s discuss boundaries.”
The key dug into her thigh through her skirt pocket. She resisted the urge to palm its cool weight—too soon, much too soon. First sessions were for observation, for mapping the fault lines beneath their blistering accusations. The atomizer would wait, locked away until she’d threaded enough subconscious hooks into their psyches.
“Diane,” she said, turning to the trembling woman. “This is a safe space for truth. No judgment.” She let her gaze soften. “Do you look at Hailey’s friends?”
Diane’s lower lip quivered. A bead of sweat slid down Sean’s temple.
“Window shopping,” Dr. Renworth continued, voice soothing, “isn’t a crime. Even if...” She paused, just long enough for Diane’s breath to hitch. “ ... you have no intention of buying.”
“I—” Diane’s fingers twisted in her lap. “They’re just—so alive. The way they laugh, the way their bodies move—”
“Not just Hailey’s friends,” Sean cut in, voice jagged. “The boys too, I’ve seen—”
“Sean.” Dr. Renworth didn’t raise her voice. The steel beneath the silk stopped him cold. “It’s not your turn.” She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed his fury. Good. Let him simmer. Let Diane taste the freedom of confession.
Diane exhaled shakily. “Sometimes ... at meets. Gymnastics, swimming. The way their muscles flex...” Her blush deepened. “God, I’m disgusting.”
Dr. Renworth’s pen danced across her notepad. Erotic fixation on youthful physiques. Shame/arousal feedback loop. Aloud, she murmured, “Desire isn’t moral or immoral. It simply is.” She shifted slightly—just enough to catch Dev’s dilated pupils, the way his thick thighs tensed as his mother spoke.
Bree’s knuckles whitened around her brother’s wrist.
The doctor smiled inwardly. Oh yes. The cracks were perfect.
She turned to Sean with calculated gentleness. “And you, Mr. Nolan? Your wife mentioned the models. Do they...” She let the question linger, tilting her head slightly. “Proposition you?”
Sean’s jaw worked. The vein in his temple pulsed visibly. He glanced at Diane—her lips pressed into a bloodless line—then exhaled sharply through his nose. “Yeah,” he muttered. “All the goddamn time.”
Hailey stiffened. Dev’s breathing hitched audibly.
Dr. Renworth nodded, pen poised. “And have you ever ... succumbed?” Her voice was neutral, clinical—just another question in a sea of uncomfortable truths.
Sean’s laugh was bitter. “Every night,” he said under his breath, “in my fucking dreams.”
Diane shot up like a sprung trap. “You bastard—!”
“Diane.” Dr. Renworth’s voice cut like a scalpel. “Sit. Down.” The command brooked no argument. When Diane hesitated, trembling, the psychiatrist softened her tone. “Breathe. This is exactly why we’re here—to say these things where they can be heard, not weaponized.”
Diane collapsed back onto the couch with a choked sob. Sean stared at his hands, shoulders hunched.
Dr. Renworth noted Dev’s flushed cheeks, the way his thick thighs pressed together. Oh, she’d have fun with that later. She tapped her pen lightly against her notepad. “Fantasy isn’t infidelity, Diane. It’s pressure release.” A pause. “Unless...” She let her gaze drift meaningfully toward Sean. “ ... you’d prefer he acted on those dreams?”
Diane’s breath stuttered. Sean’s head snapped up.
The room held its breath.
Dr. Renworth smiled—small, knowing. She’d struck gold. The atomizer wouldn’t even be necessary yet. They were already unraveling beautifully on their own.
Diane’s lips curled into something between a sneer and a sob. “I’d love for him to act on those dreams—” Her voice cracked. “With me. Not some fucking barely-legal model.”
Sean snorted, rolling his eyes like she’d told a bad joke—but Diane wasn’t done. Her nails dug into her thighs through her skirt. “Ask him,” she hissed, glaring at the therapist. “Go ahead, ask him how long it’s been since he’s touched me romantically. Not just sex—a fucking hug.”
The room froze. Hailey’s breath hitched. Bree’s grip on Dev’s wrist tightened—his pulse hammered against her fingers.
Dr. Renworth let the silence stretch—three heartbeats, four—before tilting her head. “Sean?”
His jaw worked. A muscle twitched beneath his eye. “I—” He swallowed, throat bobbing. “Months.” The admission came out raw, stripped bare.
Diane barked a laugh—harsh, hollow. “Nine,” she corrected, voice trembling. “Nine months, two weeks, and—” She choked. “God, what kind of pathetic bitch keeps count like that?”
Sam whimpered, curling tighter into herself. Dev’s breathing went shallow, his cock twitching traitorously in his jeans as his mother’s pain—her need—licked like fire through his veins.
Dr. Renworth’s pen scratched rapidly: Eroticized neglect. Maternal starvation = fetish fuel for son. She glanced up, serene. “Diane, when was the last time you initiated?”
The blonde flinched. Her fingers twitched toward her wedding band—then away. “March,” she whispered. “I—I wore the red lace. The one he—” Her breath stuttered. “Used to love.”
Sean’s fists clenched. A vein throbbed at his temple. “You knew I had that investor call at dawn—”
“Bullshit.” Diane’s laugh was jagged glass. “You didn’t even look at me.”
Dr. Renworth’s eyes flicked to Dev—his pupils blown wide, lips parted. Perfect. She leaned forward, voice dropping to a murmur only the twins could hear: “And you two? Still sharing that midnight snack habit?”
Bree’s grip spasmed. Dev’s breath caught.
The therapist smiled. Checkmate.
Brianna’s cheeks flamed scarlet, her grip slackening on Dev’s wrist as her fingers twitched. Dev stiffened, sinking back into the couch cushions like a guilty dog retreating to its crate. Their shared midnight fridge raids—once innocent—had taken on a charged tension lately, with lingering touches and stolen glances neither dared acknowledge.
Across the room, Hailey pulled Sam into a vice-like embrace, her chin resting protectively atop her little sister’s head. Sam’s muffled sob soaked into Hailey’s shirt. The older girl’s green eyes burned into their father—accusing, hurt.
Dr. Renworth let the moment simmer before shifting her gaze to Sean. Her voice was deceptively soft. “Sean, help me understand. Nine months is ... significant.” She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Is Diane’s affection no longer desirable to you?”
Sean’s jaw flexed. He stared at the floor, at the abstract painting, anywhere but at his wife’s trembling lower lip. “It’s not—” He swallowed hard. “It’s complicated.”
“Uncomplicate it,” Diane hissed, knuckles white around her purse strap.
The doctor’s pen hovered. “Sean, when you imagine those models...” She paused, letting the implication hang. “Do you picture Diane in their place?”
A choked noise escaped Dev’s throat. His thighs tensed, denim straining.
Sean’s laugh was bitter. “What’s the fucking point? She’s not—” He gestured vaguely at Diane’s rigid posture. “That anymore.”
Diane recoiled like she’d been slapped. Hailey’s arms tightened around Sam.
Dr. Renworth leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Not what anymore, Sean? Young? Willing?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Wet?”
The room collectively inhaled.
Brianna’s nails dug into her own thighs now, breath shallow. Dev’s pulse pounded in his throat—his mother’s shattered expression doing things to him he couldn’t name.
Sean’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, you meant,” Diane spat, tears spilling over. “You want some twenty-year-old sucking your cock while I—” Her voice broke. “Rot.”
Dr. Renworth’s fingers twitched toward her drawer. Almost. The cracks were widening beautifully. She scribbled a single word: Leverage.
“Let’s pause here,” she murmured, closing her notebook with deliberate slowness. The sound snapped the family’s attention back to her like marionettes on strings. “What we’re uncovering is ... intimate.” Her gaze flicked meaningfully to Sam’s tear-streaked face pressed into Hailey’s shoulder. “Perhaps better explored in private sessions. Sean, Diane—I’d like to schedule individual follow-ups to address these... specific frustrations.” The slightest emphasis on the word sent Diane’s fingers fluttering to her throat.
Sean exhaled sharply through his nose—relief or resignation? Dr. Renworth noted the way his gaze darted to Devin’s flushed face before he nodded stiffly. Guilt? Or ... anticipation?
She turned to Hailey with calculated gentleness. The swimmer’s knuckles were white where they gripped Sam’s shoulders. “Hailey,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “You’ve been remarkably quiet. What happens here—” She gestured between Sean and Diane. “—doesn’t stay here, does it? It spills over. Into your space. Your... bedroom.”
Hailey’s throat worked. A muscle twitched in her jaw. “I hear them,” she muttered. “Through the walls. Every fucking night.” Her voice cracked—not from sadness, but fury. “Like listening to a car crash in slow motion.”
Brianna inhaled sharply. Dev’s knee resumed its frantic bouncing.
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