Pierre is my stepbrother; he is two years older than me. My mother and his father married when we were 14 an 16. Claude was in his mid 50's while my mother was mid 30's, it was from the start a marriage of looks only.

Growing up on a vineyard / dairy I was familiar with sex but my first impact of person to person sex was one afternoon when I came home early from school to find Pierre, now just short of his 18th birthday, having sex with my mother.

He had her bent over the padded arm of the settee and I could clearly hear the slap of flesh on flesh as he repeatedly thrust into her. One of her breasts had popped from its bra cup and she twisted and tweaked the nipple as she panted with obvious pleasure at the treatment provided to her by her stepson.

I watched in rapt attention as they rutted like a mare and stallion and from the way they behaved afterwards I was confident that this was not their first time together. My own hand had slipped up under my skirt and I rubbed myself into a passionate frenzy like the couple I secretly observed.

I was not able to catch them again during the next few weeks and when Claude returned from business he loaded us all into the car for a drive to the coast for a holiday to celebrate Pierre's birthday.

The weather changed suddenly and from bright sunshine we were soon engulfed in a storm blowing in from the sea. Mother suggested we pull over until it cleared but Claude decided to push on, as the hotel was very close.

Lightning flashed right outside the car and struck a nearby tree toppling it towards the road. Claude fought to bring the car to a halt but on the wet, slippery road the car skated forward. Pierre and I had slid off the back seat into the space behind mother and father so when the tree crushed the roof of the car and the life out of our parents we were more or less safe.

Days later at the funerals, it seemed as if the whole village had turned out to fare well our parents, and later during the wake I overheard some women discussing a rumour that my mother had been in the early stages of pregnancy when she died. I knew straight away that the baby was Pierre's but I never told anyone about it until many years later.

Money from Claude's estate enabled Pierre and myself to be educated and ten years later I now run the vineyard having finished university. Pierre was restless after his father's death and took to the sea and is a senior officer on a large container vessel, circling the world every few months. He often sent me gifts from exotic ports of call.

Now we are back under the same roof as I prepare for my upcoming wedding. The first night he was back I drifted off to sleep with that image of him and my mother having sex, I felt all warm inside at this happy memory and all hot between my legs changing the picture to me bent over the settee.

The next day I was having a fitting of my wedding dress and another friend was also going to take some photo's to get an idea of hair and make up and the overall look.

I took a long, hot bath with scented oils then after drying off I put on white stockings, suspenders and a white satin thong. My shoes had platform soles and stiletto heels. I didn't need a bra as the dress was strapless and the bodice was of stiffened silk.

Living near a small village had the benefit of both women arriving together and soon we had taken over the whole front parlour, good for incoming sunlight, as one snapped pictures while the other pinned and tucked.

Once I was in my dress the photographer realised that she needed someone standing with me to approximate my husband to be, so we called on Pierre to fill the role. My high heels where the right height as it bought me to eye level with Pierre, who is as tall as the groom.

We took photos of us in a variety of poses and even over the hubbub of talking I could just hear Pierre taking deep breaths, as he smelt me. He was made to stand close with his arms around me and move in different directions to see if the dress would stay up and my breasts maintain their position.

Soon the photos were done and the photographer was going home to run them through her computer and bring back in maybe an hour. The dressmaker decided to go as well and collect some additional fabric.

They were happy for me to stay in the dress till they got back and at this moment it was comfortable so I agreed. No sooner had they left and I got an itch on my lower back. Pierre was still hanging around so I asked him to unzip me and scratch the offending spot.

I felt an involuntary shiver as his hand slid down my back and scratched and I thought maybe I should take the dress off in case I needed another scratch. Without thinking I tried to wiggle my hips through the opening so I could step out of the dress.

Pierre was still behind me and offered to pull it slowly down until it fell free. My hands were holding the bodice away from my breast so I didn't get a pin in them. His hands gently moved the fabric in short movements, left and right, until it cleared my hips and behind.

I released the fabric and was reaching for my wrap preparing to step clear of the dress and cover up. Then Pierre did something totally unexpected; he buried his nose in my arse and licked the fabric between my legs.