Chapter 1

Cathy was waiting for me when they at last opened the door and let me walk to freedom. She'd visited me several times while I was "inside", and I'd seen her youthful beauty begin to fade. I was more mature after my spell of incarceration and unconcerned: it's a perfectly predictable consequence of marrying a woman twenty-four years older than oneself. Cathy's real beauty was within, and that was as bright as ever.

The young man by her side I hadn't seen for the last five years, while I'd been shut away. He was looking very serious.

I embraced Cathy and kissed her hard, then stood back and embraced Gavin, our son. I noticed he barely responded. No matter, I thought, he probably just needs time to adjust to my being home.

'Are you all right?' was the first thing I asked Cathy. She'd had a rough time, managing a house full of growing children, even though their mothers had helped when they were not at work.

She kissed me again. 'Of course. Women cope with children, you know. We can multi-task – so much more useful than men!' She laughed. 'Let's get home and I'll see if I can find you something to do.'

Gavin sat in the back of the car, still saying nothing and barely acknowledging my presence. I supposed he was used to being "man of the house", and now I was home to usurp him from that role.

'Uh, how's business?' I asked as Cathy drove us home.

She glanced at me through the mirror. 'Thriving, ' she said. Neither of us, clearly, wanted to go into details with our son in the back, though no doubt one day he would need to know where the family wealth came from.

'How are the girls? Beth? Jordan?'

I suddenly found myself misty-eyed. We'd decided that none of the children would be asked to visit me in prison, though all knew that was where I was being kept. Jordan, the baby my sister and I had made, was a real sweetheart. she'd been nine last time I saw her.

'They're all fine, ' Cathy replied. 'It's Devon we have to worry about.'

Devon Somersby was our lead cameraman and video editor. He had also been a schoolteacher.

'I thought he'd be retired by now, ' I said.

'He should be, but he's been suspended, and they won't award his pension until all the proceedings are finished.'

'Proceedings?' I said, my insides tensing at the word. I never wanted there to be more "proceedings" in our family. Those I'd faced had been enough. And now Devon?

'What's he accused of?'

'Sexual assault on a girl aged thirteen to fifteen. Actually, she was fourteen.'

In the back, Gavin snorted. I ignored it for now, but made a note to talk to him about it later. An accusation of what amounted to rape against one of the family members drew attention to us. My release from prison was bad enough – there had been a photographer, I recalled, who snapped me the minute I walked off prison property to get in the car.

'So it's true?'

'It's true, ' Cathy said, with sadness in her voice.

'And... ?'

'You'd better let him tell you himself. Honestly, the man is stupid. It would make a good storyline for one of our films.' She shut her mouth with a snap, aware she had just strongly hinted at our activities, no doubt picked up by Gavin's sharp ears.

We said little, the rest of the way home, to the convered barn.

Devon had been in his class room marking exercise books. The quality of the handwriting varied, but most was almost illegible scrawl. When he'd been at school, teachers had painstakingly shown the class how to form letters, and as the children worked through school, they were encouraged to develop a style of neat handwriting. Now, they mainly used computers to print stuff out, and their writing hands got little practice.

There had been a gentle knock at the door and Megan Saunders came in. Devon was immediately alert. Megan had been – he was sure – pursuing him for months now, and he'd had to take great care never to be alone with her. With any luck, the Head would be along soon to talk about a new video project for the school, after Devon retired. In the meantime, he waited for Megan to state her business.

At fourteen, Megan was four foot eleven, but like a lot of girls these days, apparently overweight for her height. Most of that weight was carried in her breasts, which threatened to overbalance her. She had an almost perfect, heart-shaped face, which lit up when she smiled, and her legs were slender and accounted for around half her height. And they went all the way to her snatch. Devon knew, because she sometimes sat in the front row in class, minus panties, and with her legs tantalisingly apart. She never failed to give him a hard-on which ached like crazy and wouldn't go away. He'd spent hours in the staff toilet wanking, with images of Megan – some real recollections, some imaginary – in his head.

Today, she was wearing an unapproved vest instead of the uniform blouse she should have been. Her breasts thrust out, either side of a cavernous cleavage, moulding the stretchy fabric and leaving no one in any doubt that she wasn't wearing a bra. And there was the obscenely short miniskirt, also not complying with the school uniform regs.

'W-what can I do for you, Megan?' he asked. Just the sight of the damned girl had given him a hard-on and made him feel hot.

She came right up to him, where he sat behind his desk, one hand covering the unmistakable bulge in his trousers.

She rested one hand on the desk, leaning on it. With her other hand, she rubbed her thigh, just below the hem of the skirt. Worse, she twisted her body so those large – mammaries was the only word for them – were pointed right at him, and he could see the nipples harden as he looked.

'Well, sir, rumour has it that you live in a house with a whole load of girls who all have had babies.'

Where it came from, Devon didn't know, but he suddenly had this mental image of little Megan with a bump even bigger than her breasts, growing his baby inside. He had realised that Cathy had not been pregnant with his child, as he'd thought for years, so in fact he had no children to leave his worldly goods to – a depressing thought he occasionally entertained as retirement approached, along with a growing acceptance of his mortality.

'Well, yes. Obviously it's not something we advertise, but I do live in a place which, um, gives refuge to unmarried mothers.'

The hand on Megan's leg moved higher, taking the skirt with it. Devon's eyed flicked down.

'Any of the babies yours, Mr Somersby?' she asked innocently.

He shook his head. 'N-no.'

'That's a shame. I bet you'd be a good father.'

She stood up. Three things happened which sealed Devon's fate. As she stood, Megan pulled the hem of her skirt up to her waist, revealing that, once again, she was wearing no panties. The scent of her arousal filled his nostrils. Secondly, she pitched forwards onto him, and managed to rub her pussy on his cock mound.

'Ooh, sorry, Mr Somersby, ' she cooed, making no effort to lift those enormous tits off his chest against which they were mashed.

And thirdly, the door opened and the Head walked in. 'What the hell!'

Devon's cock, which had always been on a short fuse, so to speak, went off and soaked his trousers.

Megan's hand found the sticky damp patch and she smiled at him.

'Ooh, Mr Somersby, you shouldn't have, ' she said plaintively.

'No he should not!' the Head barked. 'Now get out of here and wait outside my office, Miss Saunders.'

When she had gone from the room, the Head turned his attention to Devon and the inquisition began.

Devon related exactly how the incident developed, and the fact that Megan Saunders had been teasing him for weeks.

Megan, it transpired at the first disciplinary hearing, had done what she needed to do to save herself: she said Devon had come on to her and that his explanation was a pack of lies. The Head, Deputy Head and Chairman of the School Governors believed the girl, and Devon was sent home.

Before I even fucked Cathy, I insisted on hearing the full story from Devon when I found him in his room at the house. He was re-editing some old footage, more to keep his hand in than anything.

'So you never laid a finger on her?' I asked.

He shook his head. 'Despite what we do here – and don't think the sight of you fucking these girls doesn't affect me – I've never done anything outside of this house. After Cathy, I never met another woman I could truly love.' He looked away. 'You know how I deal with my needs.'

Devon's masturbatory sessions were indeed well-known, and until now I had never thought how hard it must be for him, a man with no woman to love, to remain celibate all these years. And after a long and blameless career, his reputation was about to be destroyed by a mendacious young girl who had simply decided to go after him.

'Do you know where Megan Saunders lives?' I asked him.

'I do – but I am absolutely forbidden to go within a hundred yards of her home. I can't talk to her, so I can't persuade her to tell the truth.'

'No, and I think you should stay well away, ' I said. 'Now give me her address.'

With the address on a scrap of paper in my pocket, I left him to find Cathy and reacquaint her with my cock.

It was a wonderful feeling to slot my throbbing prick snugly into her baby-tube, even though we knew no more babies would be forthcoming from her womb. It wasn't a long fuck, just a "I'm-terribly-pleased-to-see-you-again" one. In the midst of it, Daniella stuck her head round the door to see what all the noise was about, and ran over to join us as soon as I'd finished painting the inside of Cathy's fuck-tunnel with my sperm.

Daniella had lost none of her enthusiasm, for all she was now thirty-one, and joyfully licked and sucked my cock clean, then her mother.

An idea had been forming in my mind since my talk with Devon, and now I said I wanted to organise a family conference after dinner, when everyone would be home from work.

The sheer size of the dinner table was a shock. When everyone sat down, I had to stop and count heads.

The original group was along one side of the table: Cathy, Holly, Daniella, Jane and Anne, and my sister, Beth. Apart from Cathy, all were in their early or mid-thirties. Then there were their/my children, ranged opposite them: David and Gavin, Nancy, Julie and Ruth, all fifteen, then Jordan and Carly, who were a year younger, Susan, thirteen, the baby of the family until any new ones arrived.

I was proud of all the youngsters; they had grown, or were growing, into fine young people. The girls, their mothers, were still beautiful and in their prime. How would they feel about providing some fresh material for the website, I wondered.

But first, we had to do what we could to get the accusations against Devon dropped.

After dinner, I asked David and Gavin to go with me to my room. Together we came up with a plan.

My first sight of Megan Saunders confirmed everything Devon had said about her. A well-endowed chest and a precocious manner. I wondered if in fact she was still a virgin. The boys were in the car with me, parked across the street from the Saunders' home. Gavin seemed to have got over his grump with me, probably since I proved I wasn't about to be the heavy-handed parent he thought I might be. And now he knew what I had planned to do with Megan, he was quite certain the future would be interesting – and not just for him and David.

Megan had come out of the house, and we watched her walk down the street. It was a Saturday, so she was headed to town, not school. We followed at a discreet distance, and when she went into a mall, the boys went in there too. I decided to go home. They knew what they should aim to do, and they had between now and when Devon was due in Court to do it.

Gavin phoned a couple of hours later and told me "the party was on".

Wise to the ways of fifteen year old girls, Cathy and their mothers had had Nancy, Ruth and Julie fitted with implants. She and Devon took the other youngsters and Jane and Anne, to the cinema and for a late night supper at a fast food place, where we knew the owner was obsessive about his CCTV system. Devon would have no difficulty proving where he was that evening.

The girls and I set up the studio with a lot of cushions, drapes, a couple of rugs – and four camcorders, hidden on bookshelves and elsewhere. The big round bed we'd bought all those years ago was fitted with a purple silk sheet, and the lights were turned down – though still bright enough for the cameras to capture events. Snacks and drinks – non-alcoholic – were set on low tables, music was selected, and an MP3 player plugged in to the audio system.