Part 3

How are you supposed to slip back into your usual life when something extraordinary happens to you?

It's a simple enough question. When your world changes, how are you supposed to change it back? How, for example, do you fuck your beautiful wife while she is wearing your teenage daughter's underwear, sharing your darkest fantasies about savouring the tastes and sensations of her virginal body, and then shower and change and go on with your normal, mundane existence?

How Becky and I got through the next few days, I have no idea. At first, we were almost delirious with lust and guilt - slightly more lust on Becky's part, slightly more guilt on mine. The most innocent remark, the most casual contact with Lucy, would be enough to get our hearts pounding. To this day, I can't remember how many times we screwed each other over the next week or so, but it was enough to make Becky walk like a cowboy by the time we'd finished.

Gradually, though, the memory of our incestuous fantasy began to fade. I had no idea what Becky's comment about "big plans" had meant, but a part of me was glad that we had descended no further into that dark, forbidden world. Instead, we satisfied ourselves with spying through the peephole, usually with Becky on her knees, her lips massaging my tumescent prick as I watched Lucy change her clothes. Okay, it's not exactly The Waltons, but at least we were limiting ourselves to a little harmless voyeurism.

On a bright, cloudless Saturday, a little more than two weeks after the incident with Lucy's underwear, Becky took our daughter to the mall to buy some clothes, a strange females-only practice involving something called a "summer wardrobe". I spent the day around the house, taking care of a handful of maintenance jobs I'd been putting off since Christmas, and setting up a special little treat for my beautiful wife. I had barely finished putting my tools away when Becky's car pulled up in the driveway and the two women in my life skipped up the path carrying a half-dozen bags each.

I greeted them at the door, and listened patiently to Lucy's excited description of every article of clothing she'd seen in the entire mall. Becky busied herself in the kitchen, preparing her speciality, Mamma Armstrong's Unauthentic Lasagne which, despite Becky's mother's resolutely non-Italian origins, was wonderful. We chatted as she cooked, and I poured her a glass of her favourite Californian merlot. We ate in the dining room, swapping jokes and telling stories, enjoying each others' company.

After dinner, we settled in the lounge, chatting amiably about work and school, and generally catching up after a typically busy week.

"Well," I asked at length. "What would you two ladies like to do this evening?"

"I might just go hang out in my room, study a bit," said Lucy, but Becky frowned.

"We see little enough of you as it is, young lady. C'mon, your studies can wait til tomorrow, why don't you relax tonight? It is Saturday, after all. What would you like to do?" she asked.

"It's okay, mommy -" Lucy began, but her mother had clearly made her mind up.

"Spending time with your elderly parents isn't so bad, is it?" she asked, and Lucy shook her head.

"Not so bad," she conceded with a cheeky smile.

"Well, then. Let's do something together. Something fun. What do you do when you stay over at Bethany's house? Or Clare's?"

"Well, uh..." replied Lucy thoughtfully, nibbling her lower lip. "We do make-up and stuff. Sometimes we give each other facials."

"Oh," said Becky with a wicked grin, "I'm sure your daddy would love to give you a facial, sweetie." I spluttered into my wine glass, my cheeks colouring. Becky looked at me with an expression of artful innocence.

"I don't think so," I managed to croak, trying to banish the image of Lucy's pretty face streaked with splashes of her daddy's incestuous seed. "I wouldn't know where to start." Lucy frowned in thought once more, while Becky shot me a sultry look and licked her lips. I grinned sheepishly, and she giggled.

"What?" demanded Lucy. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing, sweetie," Becky replied. "I'm just teasing your daddy. I don't think his big clumsy fingers could cope with a facial. What else do you do?"

"My friends and I play truth or dare, sometimes. That's pretty fun."

"Truth or dare?" I said. "I haven't played that since high school. I'm game."

"That's decided, then," said Becky. "Mike, would you pour me another glass? Oh, and I guess Lucy can have one too." I glanced at her, but she smiled winningly, and held out her glass. "If you want one, sweetie?"

"Okay, mommy," said Lucy eagerly, and I moved to the kitchen, filling three glasses with the plum-coloured merlot. I hesitated for a moment, then swallowed half of mine and drained the remains of the bottle into the glass. I had no idea what Becky was planning, but I was certain I would face it better if I'd had a glass or two. By the time I returned, the two women in my life had made themselves comfortable on the couch. I handed them each a glass, and we all took a sip.

"Do you like it, sweetie?" Becky asked Lucy as the teenage girl licked a stray droplet from her lip.

"Yeah," came the reply. "It takes like berries. And vanilla?"

"We've got a naturally refined palate here," I joked to Becky, and Lucy quirked a curious eyebrow at me. "I just mean you've got a very developed sense of taste, honey," I said.

"Drink up, sweetie," Becky encouraged. "Wine is one of the best things about being an adult." Lucy obliging took a larger mouthful. "Good. So, truth or dare. Who goes first?"

The first few rounds of the game passed peacefully enough. Becky eschewed questions and asked for dares without hesitation, including dancing around the room wiggling her butt "like J-Lo", as Lucy demanded, then did a very sexy rendition of Marilyn Monroe's "Happy Birthday Mr. President" routine; Lucy favoured us with an off-key rendition of a pop song I didn't recognise, and admitted she would rather kiss Brad Pitt than Orlando Bloom; and I allowed Lucy to apply a wax strip to my shin, only for her to pull it off savagely, tearing out a handful of my hairs by the root, then was forced to confess that I watched American Idol late at night when everyone else is asleep. We drank more wine, answered more questions, thought up increasingly silly things for each to do, and generally enjoyed ourselves as any other wholesome all-American family might do.

Eventually, it was Becky's turn once again, and she smiled wickedly. "Dare," she decided. Lucy considered for a long moment, theatrically drawing out the moment, then smiled at her.

"I dare you to kiss daddy," she said.

"Such a dire punishment," Becky replied, and leaned over, brushing her lips against mine. "Satisfied?"

"No!" Lucy protested. "Not like that. A movie kiss, with your tongue." I raised my eyebrows at Becky, who merely grinned and nodded eagerly. I leaned in toward her, and if a movie kiss was what Lucy wanted, a movie kiss was what Lucy got: our lips meet in an open, hungry exchange, our tongues darting in and out of each other's mouths. Becky has always been a wonderful kisser, and, over the years, I've picked up more than a few tricks that delight her. At length, I leaned back, and shot a glance at Lucy, who was watching us with shining eyes and an expression of utter fascination. "Was that what you had in mind?" I asked her, and she nodded mutely.

"Good," said Becky, running her hand through her hair then taking a long sip of wine. "Now, whose turn is it? Lucy: truth or dare?"

"Uh..." she frowned in thought, then grinned happily. "Dare."

"Well, I guess it's only fair if I dare you to kiss your daddy," Becky said coolly.

"A movie kiss?" Lucy asked sceptically, and her mother nodded. "Uh, I don't know if -"

"If you don't want to, we can stop playing," I said hastily, blind-sided by Becky's suggestion, but that only seemed to make up Lucy's mind for her. She got to her feet and crossed over to me, then knelt by the side of the armchair. Slowly, she ran the fingers of her right hand through my hair, and leaned in close. Our lips touched, and the contact was electric. I slid my arms around her waist and pulled her deeper into the kiss, thrilled by the illicit touch, carried away by the sweet perfection of her teenage mouth. Damn, but my baby girl tasted of merlot and ripe cherries, and I knew at that moment that I was lost.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Lucy broke the kiss with a final brush of her tongue against my top lip. She leaned back on her heels and smiled happily. "I did it."

"You certainly did," Becky agreed, her face flushed with desire. Knowing her fantasies as I did, I could only imagine how aroused she had become during our kiss. "Was it nice, sweetie?"

"Yes," Lucy said quickly, then giggled. "I mean, it's only the second time I've ever done it, and daddy's a lot nicer than Lewis Abernathy."

"You kissed Lewis Abernathy?" I asked incredulously, then caught myself. "Uh, I mean, that's okay, honey. I'm glad you liked it."

"Am I a good kisser, daddy?" she asked softly, and I swear I heard Becky give a long, low moan of desire.

"Are you kidding? You're the best!" I exclaimed, pulling her close and planting a sloppy, but strictly paternal, kiss on her moist lips.

"Hey, you two, knock that off or I'll get jealous," interrupted Becky playfully, swatting Lucy's butt. "It's daddy's turn now: truth or dare, stud?"

"Truth," I decided, unwilling to surrender myself entirely to the perverted desires of my beautiful wife. As thrilled as I was by the unexpected kiss and the sexual frisson in the room, and as hungry as I was for my daughter's perfect teenage body, there was still a small part of my mind advising caution. If Becky looked irritated at my hesitant choice, it was quickly replaced by an mischievous expression. She got to her feet, and instructed Lucy to do the same. They both stood in front of me, and, without warning, Becky pulled open the front of her dress. Her black bra was trimmed with lace, and her breasts were straining against the fabric. "Whose tits do you like better, Mike, mine or Lucy's?" I shook my head, trying to think of something light-hearted that would get me out of this situation, but Becky anticipated me. "He can't make a fair decision if he can't see yours, sweetie," she said to Lucy. "Why don't you show him?"