Typing industriously away in my upstairs office, I heard the key in the door, the door open and shut and the sound, faint but recognisable, of clothes being removed. I looked at my watch; she was late. Having, for once, been on my own since breakfast, Jim Junior began to rise. I finished the sentence I was working on and saved my work then, as almost an afterthought, closed the computer down. I rather thought I would not be needing it for the rest of the evening. I removed the shorts which were all I was wearing and padded downstairs to the kitchen. My slave, quite naked herself, was already working on a pile of vegetables at the table. As I entered, she looked at me, seeing my arousal, stood and bent over the table presenting her clearly wet pussy to my gaze.

"You're late," I said, allowing more than a hint of displeasure to colour my voice.

"Yes, Master. Your slave begs your forgiveness."

"Why are you late, Slave?" I would never have thought, a few months previously, that I would enjoy a situation like this (if enjoy is quite the right word). I knew what I wanted and intended and I was hard with that knowing.

"I'm sorry, Master," she sounded genuinely penitent; part of my mind thought she was getting good at sounding penitent, "I called in at the convenience store for some garlic and oregano."

"Were you told to do that, Slave?"

"No, Master."

"Did you say we needed more garlic and oregano before you left this morning?"

"No, Master." By this point there was a definite hint of tears in her voice.

"Did you make any effort to let Sam or me know what you were doing?"

"No, Master," with a sob at the end.

"Well ... I am not pleased. What do you think Sam would want me to do?"

"She would punish me, Master. A stroke for every minute late."

"Yes. That would be ten strokes, would it not?"

"Yes, Master. As you say. I was not sure of the time, but I knew I was late."

"Well ... I do not enjoy punishing you. Perhaps I ought to leave that to Sam when she gets home."

She shivered, knowing our daughter would be much harder on her than I.

"Please, Master..."

"Very well, Slave. As your transgression was actually for our benefit, thoughtless, rather than deliberate disobedience, I award you five strokes."

"Thank you, Master. You are kind."

I reached behind the door for the paddle left there for the purpose. I suspected Sam would have reached for a cane ... and awarded a full ten strokes.

She counted, as she'd been taught to do, thanking me for each stroke. As I finished, she said, "Thank you, Master, for reminding me of my place."

I reached round and cupped her tit. Not large, it filled my hand nicely. Her nipple was rock hard. Her pussy was positively dripping as I stepped behind and thrust into her. Fully embedded, I just enjoyed the sensation of being enfolded and cupped a tit in each hand. Her nipples almost bored into my palms. I shook my head, knowing she couldn't see. How could she take pleasure in what we were doing to her? I began to thrust, but slowly, wanting to extend the pleasure. I didn't think she warranted an injection of sperm, either, but she was working her Kegel muscles trying to get one.

I was getting near to the point where I would have to decide what to do with my impending ejaculation, when I heard the front door again, which solved my quandary.

Samantha, my daughter, walked into the kitchen, quite as naked as we. "Hey! Save some for me!"

I pulled out with an audible slurp.

"She's just keeping it warm for you," I said.

Our slave fell to her knees. "You'd better get on with supper," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she moved immediately back to the table and her preparation of the vegetables.

"I see our Slave has been naughty," Sam commented, noticing the red backside.

"She was a little late," I said, "and neglected to say we needed a couple of items for our evening meal. She has been punished."

"Knowing you, not enough," she grumped, "and won't that be getting cold?" she nodded at my erection, which had subsided slightly.

I pulled a chair round and sat down. Sam, facing me, straddled me, my erection returning full force, and impaled herself on me. This time, it was Sam who sighed with satisfaction and didn't move for a few minutes, except to wriggle a little as I fondled her breasts.

I watched our slave, Janine. Her expression was odd. I might in other circumstances have described it as satisfied. Why would that be? I was sure she hadn't come while I was in her.

Sam began to move, rocking gently on me, her eyes closed, and expression of pure pleasure on her pretty face. She shivered with her first small climax. I held on, but couldn't hold out for long and happily she enjoyed another as I gave up the struggle. She leaned against me, holding me as I slowly shrank inside her. She, too, worked her pelvic floor muscles and helped to sustain my erection long after it ought to have gone completely. Indeed, by the time we heard the door again, I was almost ready to go again.

A third naked woman entered the kitchen, a contrast to the the other two. Daughter and Slave were slim, medium height, with dark straight hair, blue eyes and tanned skin. Slave had stretch-marks on her belly and slightly sagging breasts, but otherwise the two were much alike. The newcomer, Lydia, was shorter, almost plump, with larger breasts, bright red hair and very pale skin apart from a sprinkling of freckles, and green eyes.

"Humph! Anything left for me?"

"Just keeping it warm for you," Sam said, standing ... a white trickle down her leg showing that her statement was not entirely true.

Lydia looked at me. "I see there's something left," she said, "I'll let you off this time." She cocked her head at me and I followed her out of the kitchen and upstairs toward the main bedroom. As we reached the landing, she took my semi-erect cock in her hand and used it to pull me into the bedroom. I smiled a little ruefully, not for the first time, about being 'led around by my cock'.

We reached the bed and she turned and pulled me to her to kiss, her breasts pressing against my chest ... it was ... very enjoyable.

"Well?" She spoke as we broke apart; I was panting somewhat, "Have you got anything left for me?"

"Always," I smiled, "though it might take a few minutes. In the meantime..." I pushed her backwards onto the bed. She didn't resist as I parted her legs and began to lick her. I've always enjoyed cunnilingus and made the most of her taste. It didn't take long before she was shuddering in the throes of a pretty good orgasm and by that time I was ready to go again. I lifted her fully onto the bed and entered her before lowering my lips to her nipples. I soon had her groaning and writhing again. When I came, I rolled off her and she snuggled against me, reaching down to hold my cock as I fondled her breast.

"You know," she said quietly, "I think this is what I miss most. I mean, apart from the orgasms, and I've had more with you over the last months than in all the time Ben and I were married. I miss having a warm, loving body to snuggle with."

"Have you spoken to Sam about it?" I paused, then, "It's a big bed. I don't see why we can't fit three in. I'm not sure how that would work as I've only got one cock, but..."

"Ah, but as I know very well, you've got a great tongue," she giggled. "Okay, I'll talk it over with Sam, but I don't want to tread on her territory. I'm grateful enough for what I'm getting at the moment."

We dozed happily for an hour or so until Sam called us to say dinner was ready. From time to time, and this was one of them, I would have a sort of dizzy sensation, wondering how I'd arrived at the place I was in. Just imagine, sitting naked at the dinner-table to eat, two very attractive woman, also nude, sitting there with me, 'Slave' kneeling by my chair on a small cushion (at my insistence, Sam wanted her kneeling on the tiled floor) to be fed from a dish next to me, her hands behind her back. I said grace, a habit of mine and a bone of contention almost from the moment of marriage, and we began to eat. I was a little slow; I alternated my own mouthfuls with a forkful for Slave and also I was distracted even after several months of the same routine, by three very attractive pairs of breasts.

"Really!" My daughter said haughtily, "don't you get tired of staring at tits?"

"No," I said honestly, "not when they're as nice as the ones at this table, anyway, and I hope I never will."

"So do I," she smiled. "Only kidding, as you know very well."

"Indeed. And I know you like being looked at as much as I like looking." I put the fork down and cupped Slave's breast, "not to mention touching." I pinched the nipple and a quiver ran through her body before I picked up the fork again and went back to feeding myself and her.

"Sam," Lydia said, "could we go for a bit of a chat? Jim's going to be a while longer and I've something to ask..."

"Sure thing," Sam rose, followed by Lydia, and they left the room.

I looked down at Slave, whose eyes were properly down. She was very lovely, I thought. I finished feeding us and as I sat there, sipping tea, I reached down again to cup her breast. She sighed and pushed against my hand.

"Master, I..." she trailed off.

"Speak, Slave."

"Master ... I..." she paused again, then, apparently making up her mind, "Master, thank you." She shuffled forward and took my limp cock in her mouth; she suckled on it like a baby at the breast. She wasn't able to produce a full erection, though I did stir. I detected a sigh of disappointment when I gently pushed her head away so I could stand, but said nothing. Sam would have heard it as a complaint and judged it worthy of punishment.

I went to the lounge and Sam pointed to the space between her and Lydia. I squeezed in and had both of them wriggle under my arms and press their breasts against me ... pleasure...

"Lydia and I have been talking," Sam said, "and I'm really sorry I didn't suggest this before. Would you mind having both of us in bed with you?"

"You're kidding again, aren't you? Don't be silly. As long as you're both happy and sort out who gets what and when, there's nothing I'd like better."

"Good! Lydia gets first whack tonight..."

"If there's anything left after earlier."

"If there isn't, I'll be happy just to snuggle," Lydia put in.

"Slave!" Sam's voice rang through the house.

Moments later the woman appeared. "Yes, Mistress? How may I serve you?"

"Wine for Lydia and myself, whisky for the Master. But first, a film in the player. 'Pretty Woman', I think ... Dad?"

"That'll do," I agreed, watching Slave as she crossed the room to the T/V.

Once the film was running, the remote in Sam's hand, Slave left us to fetch our drinks.

"You still love her, don't you?" Sam's voice was quiet in my ear; her breath tickled it.

"It shows?"

"It does to me. Let's talk about it tomorrow."

We sipped our drinks as the story unfolded. Slave washed up and tidied the kitchen, then quietly knelt in the corner of the lounge, half watching the film, but mostly watching us. Or, rather, mostly watching me. I thought about what Sam said. At some point, my eyes met Slave's and locked together for a moment before hers dropped.

They sent me off to bed first. Once there, Slave set to – clearly under orders – to try to raise an erection in me. Perhaps I ought to say the day wasn't exactly normal, even for us; I'd expect one climax, usually, occasionally two. But the regularity of it, contrasting starkly with the situation only a year previous, meant I was able to perform pretty well. Anyway, she succeeded in her efforts and by the time Lydia and Sam finished their preparations for bed, I was ready to please Lydia, who smiled in anticipation when she saw the fruit of Slave's labours.

Lydia mounted me and proceeded to grind on me until she'd reached her climax. Meanwhile, Slave was working on pleasing Sam and, from the sound of it, succeeding even better than she had with me. After her second orgasm, Lydia dismounted and lay down with her back to me; I spooned up and she inserted me into her and wriggled her backside into my lap, taking my right hand and clasping it to her left breast, my left arm being under her neck. I found I could reach her right breast with my left hand as we began to move together. Suddenly, she twisted in my arms enough to kiss me, then said, "Perfect! You're in me, holding both tits ... and I can kiss you too!" However, it was rather a contortion for her and we settled down with her back to me. When I came, she sighed and we drifted off to sleep like that. I don't know when Sam got to sleep, but the next thing I knew, it was getting light, we were covered by our light duvet and I was still spooned up behind Lydia, a soft breast in each hand. Mind you, I couldn't feel my left hand as my arm had 'gone to sleep'. I gingerly stretched it, becoming aware we were in a damp spot.

Lydia turned over to face me and gave me a swift kiss. "Thank you, Jim. Thank you. I can't tell you how good it was just lying in your arms. I'm going to get a shower and get ready for work. Give Sam some attention."

As it turned out, Sam let me off another performance, just wanting to cuddle, which was almost as satisfying, and about all I could have managed anyway.

I suppose I need to explain how the situation came about. Approximately a year before, I'd begun to suspect something amiss with my marriage. I worked out that as far as I could remember (not having kept a diary or a record of our sexual activities) my wife and I had not had intercourse for about three months, and it had got pretty irregular for months before that. I'd done my best to ignore all the signs (including the frequent sales trips and conferences my wife seemed to need to be going on) until one day my daughter, Samantha, cornered me for a serious talk.

"Dad ... Mum's messing around on you."

I just looked at her grimly. She held up a DVD. I waved resignedly at the player and she put it on to play. I recognised the male lead in the porn drama; Ben Phillips, a work colleague of Janine's. The woman was certainly Janine, but I didn't recognise the wanton, slutty, foul-mouthed, person who was inhabiting her body. Not the prim and proper, prudish woman I married, that was for sure.

"Is your P.I. still on the job?" I don't understand why my voice was so steady.

"He's waiting for your reaction."

"Right ... we'll have him keep an eye on her this week-end. She's supposedly off to Manchester for another conference. Saturday ... we need to go see Lydia Phillips to find out her response. I want to make sure I have all my ducks in a row before I challenge your mother, so I'll see Rick Taylor," (the local manager of the firm she worked for) "next week. I've got some contacts at the gym, too, so I'll see what I can do there. It'll be several weeks ... oh, yes, Simone Burnes at Jenkinson and Burnes. She'll begin preparing divorce papers..."

"Oh, Daddy ... are you really going to divorce her?" There was distress in Sam's voice. "I'm angry with her, and sorry for you, but do you really want to divorce her?"

"No, love, I don't. But in the end it'll be up to her. Things can't continue as they are. There'll only be two possible outcomes and one of them is divorce. The alternative is ... I suggest..." I laid out the outline of what I had in mind.

Sam was nodding. "That could work. There's a couple of refinements I might suggest which will depend on other factors as we go. But yes, I agree. I want to talk about something else, though. It's related, but separate." She paused there and took a deep breath. I looked at her in surprise; I'd thought all the difficult stuff was in the open. "Daddy, am I attractive?"

"Why, yes, love, of course. You're very like your mother at the same age."

"I mean ... do you fancy me?" I looked at her in shock that time, but she went on, "I know it's ... against the rules, but, well, you're really sexy even if you are my Dad and I'm between boyfriends and you're not getting any either and I'm getting a bit desperate and it's not fair on you and I really want to have sex with you..." She'd got faster and faster as she said this until she'd trailed off at the end. My mouth was open and I'm sure my eyes were wide. 'Shock' doesn't begin to cover it. Her expression was a mixture of various emotions, the principal one being fear. I was just frozen ... stunned. A tear trickled down her cheek. But when her face really crumpled and she sobbed and began to cry properly I was jerked out of my paralysis.

"Sam? Come here, sweetheart." I opened my arms; she came to me and curled into my lap, burying her face into the corner between my neck, chin and shoulder, her tears wetting my t-shirt.

When she'd finished her cry, she mumbled into my chest, "You must hate me."

"Never."

"Then you think I'm a slut."

"Not at all."

"Don't you mind?"

"Not ... exactly. I was quite shocked, though. There are reasons for the incest taboo."

"The chance of birth defect is actually low, and I'm on the pill anyway. The only other reason that makes sense is the prevention of parents taking advantage of their privileged, responsible position in order to abuse their children. You wouldn't be doing that. It's what I want to do."

I had no answer. The prohibition of incest is rather deeply embedded in our society (though it happens a lot more than we'd like to think) but I had to admit I was tempted. In fact I was becoming physically uncomfortable with my arousal. She lifted her head and slowly moved towards me until our lips met. It was ... incredible. She pulled a little away, looking into my eyes, then kissed me again, her tongue brushing my lips and tentatively seeking admission. Before long any objections I had were moot, especially when she took my hand and slid it under her t-shirt and onto her pert breast. It was delightful. After some time – how long? I have no idea – she stood, took me by the hand and dragged me upstairs to the bedroom. Not that I needed much dragging, or persuasion to remove my clothes.

She sprawled back on the bed, spread out for me. It was her turn to be shocked when I dived between those slim, toned legs to taste her, something Janine never let me do, but which I'd learned to love doing with previous girlfriends. When she came the first time, she nearly crushed my head with her thighs – I did mention she was fit? Anyway, in no time at all after that I was deep in her enjoying my first pussy for, well, quite a few months. The fact it was my daughter didn't seem particularly important at the time. When I came, too, she wrapped legs and arms round me to keep me there as long as she could.

"There. Wasn't that great?" There's something about a teenager's enthusiasm, isn't there?

I might have said something other than, 'yes, absolutely', but I didn't get a chance as she fastened her mouth on mine. The end result was we spent the entire morning in bed, only leaving it just in time for her to eat something before going to lectures in the afternoon.

Janine only called in long enough to pick up her case for the weekend. Incidentally, the case was locked. I wonder why?

I tried to write, but had no success; I was busy chewing over my daughter's seduction of myself, unable to fully accept or condemn myself and my weakness in giving in. So I spent the afternoon cooking. I got chicken curry cooking slowly in the oven and started a batch of wholemeal bread, which was done shortly before Sam bounced in the front door. Not having decided where I stood, I had nothing to say as she rushed up to me, flung her arms round me and kissed me in such a way that for several minutes I didn't think of anything at all.

We went to bed straight after dinner and she wore me out. One sexy, demanding young woman, my daughter.

Next day, without trying to rationalise my situation, I decided to give in to the inevitable and just accept that I was sleeping with my daughter. We set off together to see Lydia Phillips.

Who ... was not at all surprised at our revelation. After a discussion in which Lydia agreed to participate in our scheme, Sam shooed me out of the room for a private chat. "Go to the kitchen and make some coffee," she said

"It's all out on the counter-top," Lydia put in, "Milk, no sugar. There's a whisk for the milk there too; milk is in the fridge."

That was easy enough to remember, it was how Sam (and Janine for that matter) liked their coffee. I made up a tray and sat sipping my own (black) coffee for a few minutes until Sam came to fetch me back.

"May as well not be coy and beat around the bush," Lydia began, "Sam's told me about your new ... relationship..."