Beware Scheming Women
Copyright© 2026 by Kenn Ghannon
Chapter 4
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 4 - Molly Doyle and her boyfriend are vacationing in a tropical paradise with married couple Virginia 'Ginny' Brent and Brad Brent when she notices how unhappy and frustrated Ginny is. Molly's plan to cheer Ginny up and help her find fulfillment is to both seduce Ginny and set her up with Molly's humongous dicked boyfriend - the problem is Molly's boyfriend is Ginny's son, Gerald 'Jerry' Brent!
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Cheating Cuckold Wimp Husband Incest Mother Son Analingus Cream Pie Petting Squirting
The surf curled around Ginny’s ankles, the cool water a stark contrast to the sun burning her shoulders. She stared at the horizon where the sky melted into the sea—no line, no boundary, just an endless blur. Like her life now.
Behind her, footsteps crunched on wet sand. She didn’t turn.
Jerry hesitated, his shadow stretching toward her before he veered left, toward Molly lounging under a palm tree. Ginny’s chest tightened. Even now, he won’t—
Molly sat up as Jerry approached, her expression unreadable. He crouched beside her, voice low. “What happened?”
Molly’s fingers twitched toward his knee. “Your dad left.”
Jerry froze. “Left-left?”
“Divorce.”
His jaw clenched. Eyes closed. Like he’d braced for this punch for years. “Why?”
Molly hesitated. The truth was a blade, but she twisted it gently. “He said ... he never loved her.”
Jerry exhaled sharply, as if the words had weight, had shape. Molly wrapped her arms around him, her small frame dwarfed by his. He didn’t hug back—just leaned into her, his breath uneven against her hair.
After a moment, he pulled away. “Mom okay?”
Molly glanced at Ginny’s silhouette against the waves. “I don’t know.”
Silence.
Then—Jerry stood. Decision made.
Molly grabbed his wrist. “Wait.”
He frowned down at her.
“Not yet,” she murmured, nodding toward Ginny. “Let her ... let her breathe first.”
Jerry’s gaze flicked between them, torn.
Molly squeezed his hand. “Trust me.”
The ocean roared. Ginny’s shoulders trembled—once—before going still.
Jerry swallowed hard.
Molly watched Ginny’s shoulders hitch—once, twice—before the dam broke. She nudged Jerry with her knee. “Go,” she murmured. “Now.”
Jerry hesitated, his fingers twitching toward Molly’s wrist. “You coming?”
Molly shook her head, eyes soft. “Family time.”
Jerry’s brow furrowed. He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing the fragile skin beneath her eye. “You’re my family.” The words landed like a blow to Molly’s ribs—precise, devastating. Her pulse thundered in her throat, sudden tears blurring her vision.
She batted his hand away with a watery laugh. “Go, you idiot.”
Jerry nodded, striding toward Ginny with that easy, long-legged grace. Ginny didn’t turn until his shadow fell over her—then she crumbled. Jerry folded her into his arms, her face pressing into the warm hollow between his pecs. The damp heat of her tears soaked his skin. Ginny’s fingers dug into his back, nails leaving half-moons even through his tension.
Her abdomen brushed against him—soft flannel against bare skin—and the unmistakable weight of him, still thick even relaxed, pressed into her belly. Ginny didn’t flinch. Didn’t acknowledge it. Just clung tighter.
“What—” Ginny’s voice cracked like thin ice. “What happens now?”
Jerry rested his chin on her hair. “We go home. Handle—”
“No.” Ginny pulled back sharply, her tear-streaked face fierce. “This is your graduation trip.” Her thumb brushed his cheekbone, smearing saltwater. “Eighteen years I put him first.” Her laugh was jagged. “He can wait two weeks.”
Jerry blinked. “Mom—”
Ginny wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Poolside margaritas at noon,” she declared, voice raw but steady.
“And after the margarita?” Jerry asked.
“We play it by ear,” Ginny said, tears still streaming down her cheeks. “One moment at a time.”
The margarita glass was slick with condensation in Ginny’s grip, the salt clinging to her fingertips as she tilted it toward the sun, watching the light refract through the pale green liquid. The one-piece bikini—modest by resort standards—still felt scandalous against her skin after years of high-waisted mom suits. Beside her, Jerry’s bronzed body sprawled across the chaise, the slow rise and fall of his chest drawing Ginny’s gaze despite herself. She took a deliberate sip, the tequila burning a path down her throat—enough to blur the edges but not enough to drown the flutter low in her belly.
To Jerry’s right, Molly stretched like a satisfied cat, her margarita already half-gone. Her toes wiggled against Jerry’s thigh, nudging him toward the couple entwined across the pool—a man’s hips rolling lazily against his partner’s, her legs hooked over his shoulders, both of them glossy with sunscreen and unabashed pleasure. Molly grinned, leaning over to murmur in Jerry’s ear, “Bet we could do it better.”
Jerry’s drink sloshed as he jerked upright. “Molly,” he hissed, eyes darting toward Ginny—who, instead of recoiling, let out a low, throaty chuckle.
“Don’t scold her,” Ginny teased, swirling her drink. Her gaze flicked to the couple, then back to Jerry—bold, unflinching. “She’s right. It does look fun.”
Jerry’s breath hitched. The blush crawled from his chest to his hairline. “Mom—”
Molly cackled, tossing back the rest of her margarita. Ginny merely smirked, arching one eyebrow as she licked salt from her lip. Jerry’s groan was half-despair, half-something else entirely—something warm and thick that pooled in Molly’s chest like honey.
“Swim,” Jerry muttered, shoving himself upright. “Need to cool off.” His dive sliced through the water with barely a splash, his powerful body cutting through the turquoise depths.
Molly slid into Jerry’s vacated seat, the chaise still warm from his body. She studied Ginny’s profile—the way the sunlight caught the freckles dusting her nose, the faint tremble of her lower lip. “So,” Molly murmured. “How’s the newly-freed Mrs. Brent?”
Ginny’s chuckle was brittle. “Existing.” She swirled her drink, watching the ice cubes clink. “Mostly cycling between wanting to scream, wanting to cry, and...” Her voice dropped. “Feeling like I can finally breathe.”
“You sure you wanna stay?” Molly asked softly. “We could—”
“No.” Ginny’s grip tightened on her glass. “Home smells like him. Like ... failure.” She exhaled sharply. “Here, I can just... be.”
Molly nodded. “My aunt left her husband after twenty years. Said it was like waking up from a coma.” She hesitated before adding, “She’s happy now. Like, stupidly happy.”
A tear slid down Ginny’s cheek. She didn’t wipe it. “Brad’s all I’ve ever known.” Her voice cracked. “Fifteen years old at some dumb college party, lying about my age. He was drunk. I was...” She trailed off, watching Jerry surface in the pool, water sluicing off his shoulders. “I thought I loved him. Now I think ... maybe I just loved being wanted.”
Molly’s hand found Ginny’s wrist—gentle, but firm. “You deserve that,” she said. “To be loved and wanted. Not just ... tolerated.” Ginny turned to her, startled by the ferocity in Molly’s emerald eyes. “It might take time,” Molly added softly. “But you’ll find someone. A man—or a woman—who sees you.”
Ginny’s lips quirked. “A woman, huh?” Her gaze flicked pointedly to Molly’s fingers still wrapped around her wrist.
Molly flushed scarlet, but she didn’t pull away. “Why limit yourself to half the population?” she muttered, lifting her chin defiantly.
Ginny laughed—a real, throaty sound that startled them both. “Is that why you like women? Because dick wasn’t enough?”
Molly snorted. “No.” Her thumb traced idle circles on Ginny’s pulse point. “I prefer men. Love ‘em, actually. Well, one man in particular.” She grinned, wicked. “But a little pussy spices up the dick diet nicely.”
Ginny’s margarita nearly slipped from her fingers. “Christ, Molly.”
“What?” Molly’s grin widened. “You asked.” She leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Besides ... variety keeps things interesting.” Her breath ghosted over Ginny’s earlobe—warm, teasing. “Ever think about it?”
Ginny swallowed hard, her pulse fluttering under Molly’s touch. “I—no.” The lie tasted sour.
Molly hummed knowingly. “Liar.”
Jerry’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. “You two plotting my demise?” He hauled himself out of the pool, rivulets streaming down his torso.
Ginny’s breath hitched. Molly smirked. “Just discussing options,” she purred, eyes locked on Ginny’s face as she deliberately licked salt from her margarita glass.
Jerry groaned, tossing his wet hair like a dog. “Do I wanna know?”
“Probably not,” Ginny muttered, draining her drink.
Molly’s laughter rang out, bright and unrepentant. The sun burned overhead. The tide rolled in. And Ginny—for the first time in years—felt alive.
The cobbled path to the resort’s beachfront restaurant glowed under amber lanterns, the scent of grilled seafood and hibiscus thick in the humid air. Molly walked half a step behind Jerry and Ginny, watching the way Ginny’s sundress swayed with her hips—just unsteady enough to blame on the sand, not the tequila. Jerry’s hand hovered near the small of Ginny’s back, ready to catch her if she stumbled. The gesture was instinctual, protective. Too protective.
Molly’s stomach twisted. She’d spent years memorizing Jerry’s tells—the way his nostrils flared when he was turned on, the hitch in his breathing when he was holding back. Right now? He wasn’t holding back shit. Every glance at Ginny was loaded, charged. And Ginny? Ginny was responding, her laughter a touch too high, her fingers brushing Jerry’s arm a beat too long.
Stop it, Molly told herself. You’re imagining things.
Except she wasn’t.
The thought slithered back, venomous and unavoidable: Seduce Ginny first.
It was the only way. If Molly were the one to bridge that gap, to coax Ginny into crossing the line, then Jerry wouldn’t recoil. He’d follow. He always followed Molly’s lead in bed—even when she’d suggested things that made his ears burn. But this? This wasn’t just kink. This was nuclear.
Ginny stumbled—actually stumbled this time—and Jerry’s arm slid around her waist, pulling her flush against his side. Ginny’s breath caught. Molly’s did too.
No.
Yes.
Molly’s pulse roared in her ears. She could do it. A lingering touch here, a whispered suggestion there. Ginny was starved for affection, for attention. And Jerry? Jerry would never deny his mom comfort. Not if Molly paved the way.
Her fingers twitched at her sides.
Obscene.
Brilliant.
Across the patio, a couple kissed deeply, their table hidden by swaying palms. Ginny’s gaze snagged on them for a fraction too long before she looked away, her throat working.
Molly’s sandaled foot slid forward beneath the table, her toes brushing Ginny’s ankle—light, fleeting. Ginny startled, her knee bumping the table, but didn’t pull away. Molly pretended not to notice, turning to accept the dessert menu from the waiter. Her fingers lingered on the laminated card just long enough for Ginny’s knuckles to graze hers when reaching for her own. Ginny exhaled sharply, as if she’d been holding her breath.
Jerry, oblivious, hooked his arm around Molly’s waist, pulling her flush against his side. His thumb traced idle circles on her hipbone through her sundress—a familiar rhythm, comforting in its thoughtlessness. Molly leaned into him, her shoulder pressing against his ribs as she murmured something about tiramisu. He chuckled, warm and low, his lips brushing her temple. Ginny watched them with a softness in her eyes that made Molly’s pulse stutter.
The waiter returned with coffee, and Molly’s hand accidentally bumped Ginny’s wrist as she reached for creamer. Ginny’s fingers twitched. Molly didn’t apologize—just nudged the sugar bowl toward her with a conspiratorial tilt of her head.
“You two,” Ginny sighed, stirring her coffee with a small smile. “Still disgusting after all these years.” Her voice held no bite—only a wistfulness that curled around Molly’s ribs like ivy.
Jerry grinned, squeezing Molly tighter. “You love it.”
Ginny’s eyes met Molly’s over the rim of her cup. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I do.”
Molly’s toes found Ginny’s ankle again—barely there, just enough to say: I see you.
This time, Ginny didn’t flinch.
The lanterns cast golden pools of light along the winding path, their glow softening the edges of the night. Ginny swayed slightly between them, fingertips tingling where Molly’s thumb traced slow, absent circles against her skin. It should have felt strange—being flanked by her son and his girlfriend, their hands warm against hers—but instead, Ginny felt ... anchored. Safe. Cherished. The tequila hummed pleasantly in her veins, loosening her limbs but sharpening the sensation of every brush of contact—Molly’s delicate fingers, Jerry’s calloused grip.
They stopped at her cabin door, the wood cool under her shoulder as she leaned against it. Jerry pressed a kiss to her cheek, his stubble rough and familiar. Then Molly—bold, unpredictable Molly—stepped closer. Ginny expected another peck on the cheek, but Molly’s lips landed squarely on hers, soft and deliberate. Ginny froze, her breath stuttering. Molly’s tongue flicked out, a teasing swipe along the seam of her lips—just enough to send a jolt straight to Ginny’s toes. She didn’t open her mouth. Didn’t pull away. The heat pooling low in her belly was dizzying, intoxicating in a way no margarita could match.
Molly drew back, her emerald eyes glittering with mischief—and something fiercer, hungrier. She gripped Ginny’s shoulders, her thumbs rubbing slow circles into the thin fabric of Ginny’s sundress. “Jerry and I are going skinny-dipping,” she murmured, her voice a velvet challenge. “Join us.”
Ginny’s pulse stuttered. “No one wants to see my—”
“Stop.” Molly’s fingers tightened. “It’s just skin. Just water. Just us.”
Ginny’s throat worked. The protest died on her tongue. She should say no. Should retreat into her room, into the safety of solitude. But the way Molly was looking at her—like she was something precious—made the word crumble. “Okay,” she breathed, surprising herself.
Molly’s grin was blinding. Jerry’s exhale was sharp—shocked, but not displeased.
The ocean murmured its approval as Ginny followed them into the dark.
Moonlight draped over Molly’s bare shoulders like liquid silver as she turned, seawater clinging to her lashes. Behind her, Jerry emerged from a wave, his body gleaming—powerful, unselfconscious, free in a way Ginny had never allowed herself to be. The water lapped at Ginny’s knees, her sundress still clinging damply to her thighs, the hem floating like a guilty secret.
“I can’t,” Ginny whispered, her fingers trembling where they clutched the fabric. It wasn’t just the nudity—it was the wanting. The way Molly’s gaze burned hotter than the tequila ever could. The way Jerry’s laughter wrapped around her like the tide, pulling her deeper.
Molly’s grin was a slash of white in the dark. “Too late, gorgeous.” Her hands were already at Ginny’s waist, nimble fingers loosening the tie. Ginny gasped—not in protest, but at the thrill of being claimed by those hands. Jerry’s chuckle rumbled against her back as he reached for her bra clasp, his touch deliberate, unhurried. “Easy, Mom,” he murmured, his breath warm on her nape. The mom should’ve shattered the moment. Instead, it anchored her—this man who’d once fit in the crook of her arm, now peeling away her armor with such tenderness.
The dress slid into the water with a sigh. Molly knelt, lifting Ginny’s foot with reverence, her thumbs stroking the arch. “You’re perfect,” she breathed—not flattery, but awed fact. Then, with a mischievous wobble, Molly fell forward, her nose brushing Ginny’s curls as she inhaled sharply. Ginny’s thighs clenched. Molly’s lashes fluttered. The moment stretched—thin, fragile—before Molly lurched upright, her pupils blown wide. “Oops,” she lied, voice rough.
Jerry, oblivious, scooped Ginny into his arms, carrying her deeper into the surf. Molly followed, her fingers trailing up Ginny’s spine like a promise. The water swallowed them whole—and with it, Ginny’s last shred of doubt.
She was seen.
And she was wanted.
The realization was more intoxicating than the tequila, more terrifying than the ocean’s endless dark.
And Ginny?
Ginny let it drown her.
They swam for a half hour, sometimes just stopping to talk about inane, boring things. Other times, they’d splash each other playfully, or swim around one another. There was no intent for touches but it happened anyway, Jerry careful to touch his mom innnocently while Molly, being Molly, pushed the envelope with reckless abandon.
Eventually, Jerry said he had to pee and then offered to get them a few margaritas in plastic cups. Molly watched him go, knowing it would be at least 30 minutes before he returned. Molly turned to Ginny thoughtfully but Ginny piped up that she thinks she’s had enough alcohol. Molly laughed gaily and chided Ginny for being a spoilsport.
“I’m not a party pooper,” Ginny laughed.
“That isn’t what I meant,” Molly replied, her voice husky with wanton desire. “But it’s good to know.
Molly’s kiss was soft at first—questioning, almost hesitant—but the moment Ginny parted her lips, Molly surged forward with a hunger that sent sparks skittering down Ginny’s spine. The ocean lapped against their waists, the saltwater mingling with the taste of tequila and something uniquely Molly—bright and sharp, like citrus peel. Ginny’s hands found Molly’s hips, fingers splaying across the slick skin there, anchoring herself as Molly’s tongue traced the roof of her mouth with teasing precision. Every nerve in Ginny’s body lit up, a wildfire of sensation she hadn’t felt since—
Brad.
The name flickered through her mind like a dying ember, instantly smothered by the heat of Molly’s mouth. Ginny whimpered, her nails digging into Molly’s flesh as if she could climb inside her, escape herself entirely. Molly responded with a low, approving hum, her hands sliding up Ginny’s ribs to frame her face, thumbs brushing the high arches of her cheekbones.
When they finally broke apart, Ginny was panting, her lips swollen and tingling. Molly’s pupils were blown wide, her breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. “Wow,” she breathed, grinning like she’d just won the lottery.
Ginny shook her head, still dazed. “I—we shouldn’t—”
“Probably not,” Molly agreed cheerfully, her fingers trailing down Ginny’s collarbone. “But you wanted to.”
Ginny opened her mouth to protest, but the words dissolved as Molly leaned in again, this time pressing a featherlight kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Tell me to stop,” Molly murmured against her skin. “Right now.”
Ginny’s throat worked. She couldn’t.
Molly’s smile turned triumphant. “Didn’t think so.”
Somewhere down the beach, Jerry’s laughter echoed—warm, familiar, far away. The sound should have jolted Ginny back to reality, but instead, it only deepened the ache between her thighs. Molly’s fingers traced idle patterns on her stomach, dipping just below the waterline. “He’ll be a while,” she whispered. “We’ve got time.”
Ginny exhaled, her resolve crumbling like sand beneath the tide.
And then she kissed Molly back—harder this time, with none of the hesitation. The ocean swallowed their gasps whole.
Molly pulled away slowly, her breath ragged, lips wet and parted. Ginny fought the urge to chase her mouth—until Molly’s fingers curled around her wrists, guiding them to tangle in her dripping red hair. “More?” Molly whispered against Ginny’s collarbone.
Ginny’s nod was barely perceptible, but Molly felt it—her answering grin was wolfish. She pressed forward again, teeth scraping Ginny’s lower lip as she walked them backward through the shallows, her hands sliding down to grip Ginny’s hips. Water sluiced off Ginny’s thighs as Molly guided her onto the sandbar, the sudden friction of wet skin on wet sand wringing a moan from Ginny’s throat.