Chapter 3: Back to the Clinic

Hi readers, Kate Muggleton again. I hope you’ve been enjoying my adventures so far. Let me remind you how my last adventure ended.

Pretending to discipline my husband for having forbidden incestuous fantasies about our daughter Krissy I tied him to our bed. Unknown to him, I’d invited the object of his fantasies to sneak into our room and watch as I ‘punished’ her father. Krissy, after slipping into our room, sat on the floor before our bed masturbating as she watched me ride her father’s face as he licked my dripping pussy.

Despite being highly aroused by John’s furious licking, I couldn’t quite get over the edge and climax. Seeing my need and knowing my trigger, Krissy mouthed ‘slut’, and I wailed through an intensely satisfying orgasm.

Part of John’s punishment for having his forbidden fantasies was to wait until I permitted him to before climaxing. However, I had plans, and they involved John allowing some incestuous behaviour between us and our children. Therefore, I’d knelt beside his head and whispered salacious descriptions of our daughter’s sexy young body and vividly described his (my) fantasies of what he wanted to do to her.

Unable to control his carnal desires, my husband orgasmed, spitting (he thought) his seed onto the bed below him. I’d encouraged Krissy to lean over her father, however. So three of the first four spurts hit our daughter’s face or landed in her open mouth.

After chasing Krissy out of the room, I released my husband, then knelt, expecting him to tan my ass for forcing those images into his imagination. Instead, John carried me to the bed and made maddeningly slow love to me. Then, as we neared our peak, he growled that he wanted to continue our incestuous roleplay, and we simultaneously experienced tremendous orgasms.

Readers, now we’re caught up with my adventures so far. Let me tell you about my subsequent ones.

The next morning, John and I made slow, languorous love again. Over the years of our marriage, our passion for each other, or more specifically, his for me, has waned, and we rarely make love these days. However, it seemed that fantasising about our daughter and knowing that not only did I approve of his fantasies, I encouraged him to enjoy them had my husband’s motors revving again.

I’m a very sensual woman with a powerful sex drive. Therefore, I often felt frustrated and edgy due to my husband’s waning enthusiasm to make love. I needed to masturbate to orgasm regularly to relieve my aching desires and throbbing clitoris. However, masturbating didn’t alleviate my ache the way making love did.

Unfortunately, that meant I was vulnerable to the likes of Edgar Fontaine and Frank Pritchard. Sexily dominant men that know my weakness —command me in a deep baritone voice, and I’ll submissively allow you to do as you wish. I can’t help it because it’s been ingrained into me by many years of physical punishment leading to sexual pleasure.

Growl deeply at me, and I’ll become wet. Tower over me as I sit, then demand I touch my breasts or nipples, and I’ll bite my bottom lip and wait longingly for you to tell me what else you want me to do. Growl that you want me to kneel before you, and I’ll instantly slide off my seat onto my knees and plead with my eyes for you to offer your cock. Snarl for me to touch myself, and one hand will slip inside my typically short skirt as the other slides onto my nipple. Grab my nipple and twist it as you growl what you want, and I’ll moan that I will do anything you ask. Then bend me over as you tweak my nipples and smack my ass, and I’ll likely orgasm unless told not to. Of course, at that stage, if you want me to fuck or suck you, I willingly will.

Fortunately for me, I gave my virginity to my now husband John on the night of my eighteenth birthday, got pregnant from that first experience, and then married him. I never dated much during my school years, and being with John means I haven’t been exposed to many situations where someone could exploit my submissive nature. If I attended an event or party with my husband and felt someone was trying to command me or was coming on too strongly, I’d immediately find my husband and point them out. He’d take care of the rest.

However, I am a perpetual flirt and love receiving appropriate appreciation for my beautiful face and divine assets. I dress provocatively when and where possible, and even my maxi dresses have long slits or several panels. If I’m standing still when wearing these dresses, they hang gorgeously to the ground from my slim waist and flared hips and reveal little. But, when I walk or sit, they part and expose vast expanses of my shapely calves and thighs. My husband regularly uses my sensual assets to dazzle potential clients and has made many favourable deals after I’ve bamboozled their tiny minds with my overt charms.

After our eventful Saturday night, John and I spent Sunday together. John even asked me to accompany him when he went into his office for an hour to work on his latest proposal. He ended up spending two hours there because I, well, shall I say, distracted him. Because he was taking me to lunch when he finished, I’d worn a sexy black cut-out crew neck and sleeveless bodycon tank dress with lace-up sides.

This dress clung to my every curve and exposed vast amounts of my shoulders and side boobs. It ended barely below my sexily rounded ass and swayed with it as I walked. It rode up if I wasn’t careful, so I covered my slit with a tiny thong. Of course, I hadn’t bothered with a bra because the dress clung seductively to my swelling breasts.

I took advantage of the dress’ shortness and flashed my husband my barely covered vagina at every opportunity. As he drove, I ran my fingertips over and around his cock’s throbbing glans. When he opened my door, I spread my knees to show him I had pulled my thong aside to reveal my wet pussy. In the elevator up to his eighty-third-floor office, I knelt and took his cock out. I sucked it until we reached his floor, then released it with a loud slurp and tucked it away as the doors opened. My tease culminated when I sat in the guest chair before his oak-panelled desk, lifted my knees and placed my heels on the desk. Then, sliding my thong aside, I began playing with myself.

Looking up when I moaned, John was overcome with lust, and he growled, strode swiftly around his desk, pulled me onto my hands and knees, smacked my ass and jammed his cock into my dripping vagina. Reaching around, he forced his hands inside my dress and mauled my breasts as I squealed my orgasm and thrashed my sexy ass back at him.

Teasing me in return, John refused to cum. So after he’d made me orgasm, he smacked my bottom again and demanded that I sit. Then John grabbed the back of my head and, taking his thick cock in his hand, presented it to my sexily pouting, lipstick-covered lips. He growled, “Kate, I’m jamming this down your throat as far as possible. I swear, if you even think of choking, I’ll remove my belt and wallop your curvy ass until it’s black and blue.”

The reality is that my husband has never hit me other than on my bottom with anything more than his hand to correct me ever. Because I enjoy it, as part of our sex play, he occasionally uses a thick, padded leather paddle to light up my rear. But that is as far as he has ever gone. Therefore, his threat to ‘wallop my curvy ass’ with his belt was an empty one. Nevertheless, I nodded my agreement, circled my lips into an ‘O’, and opened wide, ready for him to shove his cock in.

Holding my head and jaw tightly, John shoved forwards hard. When he rammed his cock in, his abdomen hit my lips and mashed them against my teeth. Almost climaxing from the dominant way he took ownership of my mouth, I moaned around his pumping cock as I slurped, sucked and swirled until he groaned and ejaculated down my throat.

Not finished there, my husband demanded that I work him until he stiffened again. Repeating his earlier effort, he rammed his cock back into my mouth. This time, however, when he climaxed, he pulled out and came on my face. John loomed over me after climaxing, sternly looking down until he sensed my urgent need. Then even with his cum sliding slowly down my face, he bent over and kissed my lips lightly as he slid his hand between my parted thighs. Placing his thumb on my enlarged clit, he dipped two fingers into my pussy and curled them back. Finding my G-spot, he tickled it with his manicured nail before growling, “Cum for me, my little Kate slut.” Howling, I bounced and shuddered as the orgasm he ignited blasted me apart.

Aeons later, when I finally came down, John sat at his computer, intently watching the screen as his fingers flew over his keyboard. Knowing any further attempts to ‘distract’ him would anger him instead, I got up quietly and used his executive bathroom to clean up in. Looking at myself in the mirror, I cleaned his semen from my face, then carefully inspected my chin, neck and décolletage to ensure I hadn’t left any evidence of John’s orgasm.

After reapplying my makeup and brushing my hair (cleaning a splodge I’d missed first), I walked to the reception area and sat on one of the couches and idly played games on my phone until my husband was ready to eat. “Ready?” John asked almost an hour later. “For you, baby?” I teasingly answered as I spread my thighs and showed my wet slit. “Always!”

John helped me to my feet, linked his elbow with mine and escorted me to the elevator. On the way down, I teased, “Want me to go down as we go down?”

“Kate,” my husband grinned. “I swear you’re hornier now than you were when we were teenagers and first met.”

Unable to tell him why, I answered, “It’s the whole body clock thing, John. My innards are telling me that if I’m going to have more babies, I need to get on with it.”

Raising an eyebrow, John asked, “You don’t want any more, though, Kate. Do you?”

A few years ago, before our children were teenagers, I would have said yes. But now I thought I was too old for children. Women who become first-time mothers in their mid to late thirties have my utmost awe and admiration. However, I wonder how these women will cope when they’re over fifty and their children become teenagers. Don’t get me wrong. Tommy and Krissy are model teenage kids, causing little to no real angst, but teenagers are exhausting. Always on the go, they eat you out of hearth and home. As they reach puberty and their hormones begin rushing through their changing bodies, their mood swings can be violent and extreme.

In her early teens, our daughter Krissy would be laughing and bouncing off the ceiling, filled with pure joy one minute. Then seconds later, she’d be weeping into her pillow because of some imagined slight someone had given her. Tommy was marginally better but was often moody and irritable. Unfortunately for our family, John’s career took off when the kids were that age. And as he accepted promotions and more senior positions, he was often absent for extended periods, leaving me to raise our kids through that time virtually alone.

As I said in an earlier episode, that’s the price you pay to be married to a rich, successful man, so it never occurred to me to complain or object. My mother was my saviour for a lot of that time as she’d often turn up unannounced and do my laundry, clean the house, or any of the other mundane tasks that I struggled to keep up with as my kids ran me ragged. Of course, she’d always want to make love when she’d finished her task, and that kept my sometimes raging sexual needs from getting me into trouble.

The above thoughts took less than seconds to waft through my mind before I giggled and answered, “Heck no!”

When we hit the lobby, John briefly cupped my ass before sliding his hand around my hips and hugging me to him. Then, with our hips glued together, we walked around the corner to Daniel’s Steak House and had lunch.

Monday passed without incident, and Tuesday saw me bidding my husband goodbye as he caught a plane to London. He’d be gone close to a month (His schedule had altered from earlier because his associate had come down sick, and John needed to do everything himself.) this time, and I worried about what he’d return to. I hadn’t heard anything from Frank, but the thought of what he might do with the compromising pictures he’d taken, played heavily on my mind. Of course, that I was no longer faithful to my husband played even more heavily than the thought of Frank posting my pictures.

Although I felt guilty about letting Tommy have me twice, that seemed insignificant to allowing Frank to take me. I believed that now our children had reached their maturity that, as my family of origin was, our family would be a loving one. Therefore, although I still feared breaking the incest taboo, I feared having broken my marriage vows more.

The house phone was blaring its insistent ring when I got home. Picking it up, I said, “Muggleton residence, Kate speaking.”

“Hello, Kate,” Frank’s oily voice came. “I’ve been masturbating thinking about fucking your pretty cunt, Kate. Have you been thinking about me?”

“Of course,” I wanted to scream, “I’ve been thinking about you and wanting to puke!” But my jaw wouldn’t release, so I remained silent.

Ignoring my silent response, Frank continued, “You know, Kate? I’ve wondered what to do with these salacious, disgusting photos of you I have, but I can’t quite figure it out. Do I take advantage of PornHub’s offer to buy pornographic, amateur photos, or do I take pity on my friend’s slutty mother and delete them?

Struggling to contain an orgasm, I bit my lip and kept quiet.

“I’ll tell you what, Kate,” Frank sneered. “Keep Friday night clear. If you meet me and do precisely as I want, I’ll delete these photos and promise never to take similar ones.”

Finally breaking the paroxysm in my chest, I gasped for breath, then asked, “What will you want me to do?” However, I knew Frank was probably lying and trying to manoeuvre me into a position where he could add compromising pictures, not delete them.

“Nuh-ahh, Kate,” Frank chuckled. “First, you agree to meet me on Friday so I don’t release your pictures now. Then, on Friday evening, I text you with instructions on when and where we’re to meet me, and you go there.”

Not thinking I had any other choice, I agreed to meet Frank where and when he wanted to on Friday.

“Good slut,” Frank crooned. “But don’t worry, Kate, come Friday, I’ll ensure your slutty ass has lots and lots of fun and give you ample opportunity to show your slutty side.”

Thankfully, Frank ended the call, and I could slide down the wall and finger myself to a satisfying orgasm.

My kids were home Tuesday afternoon, so we had an enjoyable interlude joking and teasing and generally cutting up as we spent time together. As the day ended, I tray-baked lamb chops in lemon and thyme before adding a garden salad and mashed potatoes. After I poured some Bordeaux wine into three glasses, we sat around our kitchen table, chatting and laughing as we ate dinner.

When dinner ended, Tommy said he needed to head into his club to do a weights and stretching session, and Krissy announced she had a project that needed work. That left me alone, with only my thoughts for company. Feeling agitated and apprehensive about returning to the clinic, I opened the chamomile tea box and took out the cigarette I’d partially smoked.

Lighting it up, I dragged heavily on it. Holding the warm smoke in my lungs, I waited until I had to breathe or cough it out. Then, after blowing the smoke into the air, I drew on the cigarette until it burned to the filter. The effect was the same as last time. After two drags, the tension that I constantly felt ebbed, and I could relax. Feeling tired, I opened the window, sprayed air freshener, then went to my room.

Stripping, I dumped my clothes into the hamper and showered. Finished, I wrapped a towel around my head and vigorously dried my hair. Unfortunately, my hair is long and thick, and I would need to spend time blow-drying it so it didn’t become a knotted, frizzy mess by morning. Satisfied that my hair was as dry as towelling it could make it, I stepped back inside the en suite and hung the towel on the rails.

Only then, did I realise that Krissy sat cross-legged in the middle of my bed. Seeing that I’d finally noticed her, she grinned and said, “Nice view, Mom. Boy, do your breasts bounce sexily when you dry your hair.”

Leaning over to kiss her cheek, I asked, “What are you doing in here, Missy?”

Wrinkling her nose at my cigarette breath, Krissy replied. “Watching your titties bounce as I wait for you, of course.

Pretending to growl, I said, “You’re not so old that I can’t spank you, you know?” Then tried to kiss her cheek again.

“Eww, seriously, Mom,” Krissy whinged, pushing my face away. “You have ashtray breath. I thought you’d quit smoking after seeing that hypnotist?”

“Hypnotherapist,” I absently replied as I staved off another flicker: image episode.

Regaining control, I walked into the en suite, brushed my teeth, and gargled with mouthwash before returning to the bed. Climbing up, I mimicked my daughter by sitting cross-legged facing her and then asked what she wanted.

Frowning, Krissy muttered, “Hang on,” then stepped off my bed and stripped before climbing back on. “That’s better,” she stated. “Now we’re the same.”

Wondering what she wanted, I still took the time to admire her sensual, curvy body and longed to touch her breasts and play with her nipples. Forcing myself to keep my eyes on Krissy’s face, I waited to see why she’d come to see me.

False starting twice, Krissy eventually said, “About the other night?

“The night when you tasted your father’s semen?” I teased.

“Yeah. What was with that?”

“Inviting you to watch as I played with your father?” Krissy nodded. “Were you objecting?” She shook her head. “Did his semen hitting your face upset you?” Shake. “Was it that his semen entered your mouth?” Shake. “Did you like it and want more?” Nod. “Do you want your father to be your first lover?” Embarrassed nod. “You’re afraid you’ll get pregnant despite being on the pill, right?” Nod. “Wouldn’t being made pregnant by your father be worse?” Embarrassed nod. “What do you want, then?”

Blushing, Krissy raised her head and said, “I want your permission and then help to seduce Dad.”

Thrilled because I wanted to continue being intimate with my son but unwilling to admit that yet, I replied, “You’re asking for too much, Krissy.” Her face fell. “I didn’t say no,” I reassured her. Beaming smile. Suppressing a grin, I added, “I didn’t say yes, either.” Fading smile. “I’m making no promises now, but I’ll think about it, okay?” Unsure, partial smile.

After the exchange described above, I stared at my gorgeous daughter and wondered how she’d react if I kissed her passionately. Then thinking, ‘Fuck it!’ I leaned forward and cupped her sexily mounded, bare breasts before locking my lips to hers and kissing her.

Krissy started with surprise as my hands found her breasts, but she willingly locked lips with me, so I sent my tongue out and brushed it against her lush lips, asking for entry. With a soft moan into my mouth, Krissy’s lips parted, and our tongues met in that age-old dance of desire and passion.

Feeling her nipples harden in my hands, I circled them with my thumbs as I gently squeezed and kneaded her luscious mounds. Leaning forward to kiss her while sitting cross-legged was uncomfortable, so I shifted onto my knees. Then cupping the back of Krissy’s head, I pushed my shoulders against hers and lowered her onto her back.

My daughter left her legs spread as I lay her back, and I slid between them until our bodies touched from lips to pussies. As our kiss intensified, I slowly undulated my hips and ground my pussy against hers. Although it felt good to press against my daughter like that, there wasn’t enough of the delicious friction on our clits we’d both need to get off.

So, swinging my thigh over hers, I pushed it firmly against Krissy’s clitoris and gently moved my thigh up and down.

Krissy’s fingers were entwined in my gorgeous locks as she held me lovingly. But when she felt my thigh rub on her clit, she broke our long, sensual kiss to tilt her head back and moan. Then feeling my hot, wet slit pressed against her thigh, she convulsively lifted her leg and pressed it firmly against my thick clitoris before moving her leg up and down.

It was my turn to moan into my daughter’s mouth, and shuddering, I felt my climax swiftly approaching. I wanted Krissy to orgasm before me, though. So I slid my hand between us and fingered her hard, chunky button. Then moving my fingers lower, I spun my finger around Krissy’s entrance as I’d seen her do and thumbed her clitoris.

“Oh, Mom,” My daughter sighed. Then she arched back and pushed her sweet little pussy hard against my hand as her muscles spasmed holding her stiff, and she groaned gutturally through a tremendous orgasm.

Shuddering as her muscles relaxed, Krissy sank onto the bed and opened her eyes. Staring at me languorously with subdued passion, she smiled and said, “Wow, Mom! That was so intense! What can I do to make you good?”

“The same as the other day,” I pleaded. What I really wanted, however, was to take her head in my hands and guide her mouth onto my wanting pussy.

Smiling gently, Krissy rolled me off her onto my back, then knelt between my sexily spread, shapely thighs. Krissy pressed her rounded breasts on mine, then kissed my lips softly before shifting to kneeling. Then, using her left hand’s thumb, she pulled my clit hood back. I moaned, anticipating Krissy would lower her mouth onto it. However, she circled it with her other hand’s index finger instead. I wasn’t disappointed, though, because her finger felt fantastic on my engorged clit.

Slowly, maddeningly, Krissy circled my button as she held my thick clit exposed. Fascinatedly watching her, I felt my hips rise to push against her maddening finger. “Please, Krissy,” I groaned, although what I pleaded for was unclear. Feeling her power over me, Krissy grinned and continued to slowly circle my clit. The feeling was intense and overpowering and too much for my submissive nature. Only aware of the sublimely delicious friction on my button, my head rocked back, and my body lifted off the bed as I arched my pussy up at my daughter’s finger, I opened my mouth and pleaded, “Please, Mistress, may I cum?”

My daughter’s eyes widened when she heard me plead, ‘Mistress’, but she swiftly chose to play the game. “Tell me what you are first.” Your submissive slut, Mistress. It was all I could do to hold my climax in abeyance at that stage. “Then cum for me, my little Mommie slut,” Krissy demanded, and I howled my orgasm to the heavens.

I woke some hours later feeling relaxed and in control of my mind. My need to pee had woken me up, so I slid out of bed and took care of it. After washing my hands, I returned to bed. Looking down at my beautiful sleeping daughter, who had rolled onto her back with her legs and arms wide apart, I smiled happily, snuggled into her side and fell asleep, cupping her breast as I did.

Krissy’s soft snores woke me, so I tickled her ribs and kissed her lips. “Wake up, honey. You need to get ready for uni.”

Stretching and yawning, Krissy playfully flicked my nipple, then said, “Spoilsport! I was having such a nice dream, too.”

“Oh?” I teased back. “It was about a boy, then?”

Blushing guiltily, she admitted it was but wouldn’t say who, so it was more than likely her father. Of course, given my activities with her brother, I was in no place to criticise or judge, so I smiled and left it there.

I wanted to remain in bed admiring my daughter’s gorgeous young body as she longingly returned my gaze until we could stand looking only no more and made love again. But unfortunately, we both had places to be. Her to uni, and me to my feared appointment with Edgar Fontaine and his wicked receptionist.

Putting my house coat on, I went to the kitchen to make Krissy and me breakfast. We sat together eating, and then she kissed my cheek and jumped into her eighteenth birthday present, a brand new Fiat 500 Abarth, and left. Tommy would be at training, so I had to fret about my upcoming appointment alone the whole morning.

Although I often am, I don’t like being alone because I worry. And it seemed like I had a lot to worry about this morning. Edgar Fontaine being one. Frank Pritchard and what he had planned for me on Friday another. Plus, I was juggling two illicit incestuous affairs with my children while hiding them from their father and each other. And I had another plan to bring to fruition, but the characters in that plan were currently unaware of my schemes.

I sat at the table, almost frozen by my fears and worries until my alarm went off, telling me it was time to dress to go to Edgar’s clinic. I struggled against Edgar’s planted instruction to return, but it was fruitless. Almost an automaton, I stood, went upstairs, showered and then sat at the vanity to do my hair and makeup.

The implanted suggestions meant I did my look way more aggressively than usual. Typically, my makeup is understated. With my light brown skin and dark brown eyes, I don’t need much makeup to look good. Today, however, I’d darkened my cheekbone line, added eyeshadow from white in the inner corner to dark brown on the outer, and shaped my eyebrows with the eyebrow pencil until they arched as high as possible without shaving them off and drawing them on my forehead. I’d used mascara on my lashes until they arced close to an inch from my lids and used vibrant red lipstick to paint my lips. I’d also drawn my lip line so wide that they made my already pouty lips look almost comically Pamela Anderson-like plump.

I’d gathered all the hair from the right side of my face and neck and held it over my ear on the right side with clips. That did look good, I’ll admit because it exposed my sexily long neck. Done with my hair and makeup, I opened my robe, took out my red micro-mini and white, see-through button-up blouse, and placed them on the bed. Opening my drawer, I selected my black suspender belt and matching stockings. I put those on first and then pulled on my micro-mini. Sliding my arms inside my blouse’s sleeves, I did up only the middle button before tying the shirt ends in a knot under my breasts. The final addition to my look was a pair of black 7-inch strappy platform shoes with stiletto heels.

I checked in the mirror and was horrified. I looked like a Hollywood movie depiction of a street-walking prostitute. The bottom of my skirt was nowhere near the top of my stockings, and the suspenders and lack of a panty line screamed that I was naked under the skirt. I’d automatically tied the blouse to accentuate my gorgeously firm large breasts, and my nipples showed through the thin material. This was an outfit that I’d wear to tease my husband. I’d put it on just before he was due home from work and let him ‘catch me’ like this as I was bent over vacuuming. Never would I wear it outside the house. My makeup emphasised my ‘whore’ look, and the way I’d done my hair no longer seemed sexy to me. It looked slutty instead.

Although I’ll admit that I dress provocatively, I do not ever dress sluttily. My typical look exudes a dark, brooding sensuality. And although it often appears that I will burst out of my outfit at any moment and display my body’s wares for all to see, I never actually reveal a thing. Everything is suggestion. My outfits appear as if you would see my nipples if you could only stand at the correct angle, or if you got just a little lower, you could peer up my skirt and see my wet slit. But none of that is true. My father would have hammered my sorry ass if he caught me displaying myself for all to see, and my husband would correct me every day for a week if he saw me doing it.

What I had on showed my nipples blatantly. Anyone closer than a couple of hundred metres away would see them sway and bounce as I walked. My skirt was so short that I couldn’t bend over as my ass and pussy would show, and my whole vulva was exposed no matter how I sat.

My phone alarmed again, telling me it was time to get in my car and go to my appointment, so I had no choice but to put aside my dress concerns and leave. I vaguely wondered who had set the alarms as I walked to my car because I couldn’t recall doing it.

I drove to the clinic in a daze, and when I arrived, I couldn’t remember any of the journey. Trembling as I fought to get back in my car and go home, I didn’t move from where I stood for quite some time. But eventually, Edgar’s conditioning took over, and I reluctantly walked into the clinic.

“Welcome back, Ms Muggleton,” Liz said brightly, her eyes gleaming predatorily. “How have you been? Been keeping off those nasty cigarettes?”