Through a glass darkly

* * * * *

"That was a good night, wasn't it Francis?" Helen hugged his arm as he stared with distaste at the glass dildo on its golden harness, surrounded by gallery visitors. It was clear to Helen that Francis didn't recall that night as fondly as he did.

"I hate you. You do know that, don't you?" His voice was quiet and cold, like a mausoleum. There wasn't a trace of emotion in it.

"I know." Helen knew exactly how Francis felt. Because of her likeness to his daughter, tits not withstanding, Francis desired her with a passion he couldn't speak of to anyone else. But because Helen knew his weakness, his forbidden lust for his own daughter, he hated her power over him.

"I would just let you do your worst... but Christabelle..."

"Christabelle would never forgive you for wanting her." Helen had heard this speech before. "And she never needs to know. Francis, how much worse could it be? A fifty-five year old multi-millionaire gets blackmailed by a prostitute and what does it cost him? Dinner occasionally, the odd charitable donation that's tax deductible anyway and a few ounces of semen which, I'm guessing, you don't really object to giving me?"

Francis said nothing, very loudly.

"As for my crystal friend there, I just wanted you to know how it feels when someone jams a hard cock up your ass. You've done it to me often enough. Ooh, look at this one, Francis."

On a velvet pillow on the next pedestal, lay the real star of Eric's collection. Inspired by those skeleton clocks that live under glass domes on mantelpieces everywhere, the sex toy on the pillow looked like an oversized test tube. Inside the thick glass, nearly two inches in diameter and all of a foot long, was an exquisitely crafted clockwork mechanism. The cogs and wheels were all intricately engraved, showing silver through their gold plating. At its base, the tube flared to accommodate two gilded balls that spun backward and forward in place of a pendulum. The unique and almost certainly impractical clockwork vibrator had been hand crafted by one of the few independent Swiss horologists left. Eric had paid the old man one million dollars to persuade him to make it and to create a legend: It was and was likely to remain, the world's most valuable sex toy.

Officially, it was B's toy, but all the ladies in Eric's household had tried the clockwork cock. It wasn't really that good as a vibrator. The spring would only keep it going for about five minutes but that wasn't the point. B had wanted the most famous vagina in the world and the million-dollar toy was a part of that fame. The wall sized image of it sliding into her, stretching her smooth coral pink labia, was the iconic image of the exhibition and was replicated on the front of every catalogue.

"Hello Francis!" B spotted Helen and her date and came over to them, kissing Francis on both cheeks.

"B." He was barely civil. His mood this evening was not improving.

"Do you like it?" She gestured at the clockwork cock.

"It's everything I expected." Francis didn't even try to sound nice. He still, after all these years, had failed to realize that being unkind to B just didn't work. What is more, Helen would punish him for it later.

"If you're a good boy, I'll let you fuck 'Christabelle' with it sometime." B reached forward and stroked Helen's crotch through her dress, ignoring the several pairs of eyes privy to this intimacy. She gave Francis her sweetest smile as she made the offer, incidentally reminding him that she too knew his shameful secret.

"Francis? Would you like that?" Helen asked him.

"No." Defiance was his only remaining defence against these women.

"Excuse us a moment, will you, B?" Helen pulled Francis away from the pedestal, into the most secluded corner she could find. "Francis. You're embarrassing me in front of my friends." Helen blatantly lied. "You will apologize to Honey B at once and thank her or her kind offer because - and you know I mean this – either 'Christabelle' gets fucked with that toy or you do." Without another word, Helen led Francis back to where B was chatting animatedly with a group of women who were gingerly handling the clockwork cock.

"Honey B? Sorry to interrupt but Francis has something to say to you. Francis?" Helen's arm through his urged him forward a step.

"I'm sorry." He bit down on the words.

"That's alright, Francis." B flowed up against him and kissed him firmly. Francis, despite his antipathy, couldn't help reacting to the pressure of her lips on his. B pulled back an inch and looked beatific. "It's much nicer when we're all friends. Yes?"

"Yes." Francis couldn't deny, even to his sullen inner self, that B was distractingly gorgeous.

"Francis?" Helen jogged his memory.

"Thank you for your offer." Francis remembered Helen's threat and had no wish to be violated that way again.

"Anytime." B buzzed him briefly again. "But not now. Excuse me." She went back to the clique of female admirers who were still oohing and ahhing over the clockwork cock.

"Thank you, Francis." Helen took his arm and led him through the gallery. "These are two of my favourites."

They approached a small, lacquered stand, similar to those used to display Japanese swords. This one held two cranberry glass replica penises. One was about twice the size of the other.

Carrying on the Japanese theme, the large image behind the pedestal showed both of the toys in use by Helen, 'wearing' a matching silk kimono and geisha makeup, lying on a tatame mat strewn with cherry blossom.

"That's the picture I'd like you to buy." Helen told Francis.

"And I'm sure it's the most expensive one here. Yes?"

"Of course." Helen said, as if it was obvious. "But I'll make it up to you, later."

"How much is it?"

"Does that matter?" She knew it didn't.

"Does that mean you're coming home with me tonight?" Francis often told himself how much he hated Helen but that didn't stop him wanting to fuck her whenever he got the chance.

"Of course, Pappy." Helen put on her little girlie voice and dropped into character for just a moment. "And Pappy? Can we have chocolates?" She was inclined to indulge Francis' most perverse vice tonight.

"Dear God! No!" Francis went shrill as they reached the next pedestal.

"Isn't it a good likeness? We call it the Crystal Bell." Helen watched Francis reactions with undisguised amusement as he stared, horrified, at a large glass butt plug that had inside it, made of tiny bubbles in the material, a three dimensional representation of a woman's head. He, of course, recognised the likeness of Christabelle: He had the same image of her in a paperweight on his office desk.

"I have a confession to make. I got some friends to fake the competition that Christabelle 'won', to have that made." Helen made no attempt to look contrite. She was, in truth, rather proud of the subterfuge.

"You are a monster!" Francis found his voice, denounced her loudly, turned on his heel and left, not quite breaking into a run.

Helen shrugged off the stares his outburst had caused and followed him at a more sedate pace. He was weeping on the corner of the street when she caught up with him.

* * * * *

Tonight she'd found Francis Deerborne's breaking point and she wasn't proud of herself for that. He'd called her a monster and perhaps she was. Helen had spent so much time pushing boundaries that she didn't know how to behave when she wasn't on the edge. That was something she realized she needed to address.

First though, there was her relationship with Francis to mend: and it was a relationship, even if it had started as a purely commercial one. Helen hadn't kept him as a client... ok, forced him into it ... anyway, she hadn't done that just to torment him. She wasn't a naturally malicious person. Francis was actually an interesting person, both in and out of bed. He could, when he tried, be quite charming. He was fit for his age and immaculately well groomed. Helen liked alpha males and Francis Deerborne was definitely an alpha male. His kinkiness was just a bonus for Helen, who liked all things kinky, but it wasn't the main reason for her continued interest in him.

Christabelle? She was just an excuse to tease him. Helen didn't care what Christabelle Deerborne thought of her, any more than she cared what anyone else outside her family circle thought of her.

Anyway, tonight she'd pushed Francis too far and she'd wanted to make amends so she'd dragged him off the street and into a cab, riding in silence all the way back to his apartment. By the time they got here, she knew what she had to do and, to her own surprise, it was what she wanted to do. She physically forced Francis into a chair and poured a couple of glasses of brandy. Then she sat opposite him and told him...

* * * * *

"Francis, you've always fantasized that I was your Christabelle and I've used that secret to bind you to me, but what I'm about to tell you will... not set you free... lets say it will bind me to you as well."

"Whatever torment you have planned, I'm not interested..." Francis practically spat the words at her. "Get out... Just get out and leave me alone... I... I don't care anymore." His tears started again. He could, perhaps, be forgiven for thinking that Helen was only seeking another way to wind him up.

"When I've said what I came to say. Then I'll go... If you still want me to." Helen was feeling a little moist in the eyes too. She'd been very bad, and not in a fun way.

"Say your piece and get out." Francis was sullen through his sobs.

"Parry and I are lovers." There! It was out at last.

"Parry? Your father?" Despite his mood, Francis was curious what she meant.

"Yes, Parry, my father. He's been my lover since the end of my freshman year. He's the reason I enjoy being with you, Francis. I like being his little whore as well as his daughter and I like being your little whore and pretend daughter."

"Why?... Why are you telling me this?" He believed her - It was easy to believe Helen was into any form of depravity – but he struggled to understand her motives: Him and the rest of the world.

"Because I want you to share my secret the way I share yours. The only difference between you and Parry is that he's getting to indulge his fantasy for real."

"And... does he know what you do?"

"The whoring? Oh yes! He's been handling my money for me since that first summer. He gets so horny about it too. He calls me 'Daddy's little whore'." Helen moved closer, kneeling in front of Francis' chair and clasping him around the knees, laying her cheek in his lap. "And that's why I'll never let you go... I like being your Christabelle for you.

It's true that I really don't like Christabelle, but I really do like you, Francis. In fact, I like you so much I'm even willing to be her for you."

"Have you finished?" Francis sounded unmoved by her admission.

"Nearly. I'm sorry, Francis. Sorry for teasing you so much and for upsetting you. I went too far.

Now I'm finished.

I'll go if you still want me to." Helen stood up. There were two tear tracks on her cheeks but she was smiling at him.

"Stay." Francis managed one syllable.

* * * * *

They'd made it to bed without another word. Helen had undressed herself, then him, taken her time folding or hanging his clothes as appropriate, then joined him in his bed... not Christabelle's tonight.

Francis silently accepted the invitation of her spread thighs, moving between them and letting her delicate fingers guide his cock into her body. He moved with purpose inside her, thrusting as deeply as he could, but without haste and without the rage he'd felt until a few minutes ago. His lips parted against hers too, as he kissed her deeply, penetrating her mouth much as he was penetrating her pussy.

Helen sucked at his thrusting tongue and clenched herself around his thrusting cock, enjoying his long smooth strokes and very respectable girth. His wiry, greying chest hair scoured her breasts, stimulating her nipples into full and very sensitive erectness.

Vanilla it may have been, but in Helen's world, vanilla sex was something of a novelty in its own right. It wasn't lost on her that the only man who regularly made love to her this gently and this 'normally', was her father, Parry, and that hardly counted as 'normal'.

Francis bucked and thrust harder in response to Helen's fingertip finding his ass. She knew how much he liked to have his anus massaged and was more than eager to please him tonight. His increased vigour pleased her too.

"Say my name." She urged breathily between kisses.

"Helen..." Francis husked as he thrust into her, goaded by her slowly intrusive fingertip.

"Oh, Francis... Yes... Make me come... Make me come as you come inside me..." Helen offered unnecessary encouragement. Francis had always called her Christabelle during sex: Hearing him use her real name while he fucked her was new and good.

"I... I'm doing my best..." He spoke through gritted teeth, fucking her hard and fast now, his balls slapping against her ass with each thrust of his hips.

"You're making me... Oh God!... I'm going to come... Oh!... That feels so good... Yes... Oh YES!... OHHHHH!... I'm coming!... Come inside me... PLEASE!..." Helen let her orgasm cascade through her, a chain reaction of tingles from nerve cluster to nerve cluster, making her insides twitch and throb around his hot, hard cock as her glands squeezed even more juice into the cauldron of her vagina so that it bubbled around him.

"I'm... Ahhh..." Francis' seed flooded her pussy as he came, slamming to a halt rooted as deeply inside her as humanly possible. His cock twitched as his come pumped out of it, milked by the pulsing velvet of her pussy walls. He was rigid for a few seconds until his seed was all spent, then he relaxed, settling his weight onto Helen, crushing her tits beneath his torso and breathing heavily against her ear.

Helen hugged him tightly, so pleased with the tenderness of his lovemaking... and the slight tenderness of her pussy after his enthusiastic thrusting: A perfect balance.

"Thank you, Francis." Helen kissed his cheek softly. His cock was just starting to soften inside her and she was determined to hold him there as long as she could.

"Thank you?"

"For not being angry with me anymore... Am I forgiven?" Helen asked.

"You know you are." Francis tried to roll off her. She held him tighter, keeping his weight on her bosom, wanting to feel him pressing down on her for a few moments more.

"Can I stay the night?" Helen really wanted to. She wanted to set the tone for this new phase of her liaison with Francis Deerborne: She'd still be Christabelle for him, but she wanted to be Helen too, at least some of the time. In deciding to tell Francis her secret, she'd also decided that she wanted to try being someone's mistress for a change: After all, she'd given up whoring – ok, practically given up whoring – and she needed some kind of hobby.

"Stay..." Francis murmured. He was dozing off and his cock wasn't even out of her yet.

Helen eased him sideways, releasing him from her embrace and feeling his limp, sticky cock finally slip out of her puffy, sopping wet hole.

"I'll be right back." Helen buzzed his neck as she carefully got out of his bed. "I need the bathroom." She had a pussy full of mixed juices and a bladder full of recycled champagne to attend to. Normally, she'd have invited Francis along and made a performance of her ablutions, but not tonight.

Francis was fast asleep when she came back with a damp face cloth. He stirred a little when she gently cleaned his penis, but he didn't wake up so Helen turned out the lights and snuggled into bed beside him.

It was hard for Helen to believe that the naked man, curled up asleep beside her was the same man who, only two hours ago, was weeping with rage and perhaps only a heartbeat away from hitting her with those tightly clenched fists. As she joined him in the Land of Nod, she felt she'd redeemed herself for the way she'd treated Francis.

* * * * *

"Whoa!!!..." Francis woke up with his cock twitching in Helen's mouth. He bucked and ejaculated, his thoughts confused and chaotic, his eyes screwed tight shut against the intrusive glare of the sun.

Helen swallowed his semen and gently worked her tongue over his cock, cleaning up every trace of his climax. As her tongue caressed the tip of his penis, the electric shock sensation pulled his hips violently back, dislodging him.

"Ahh!" He gasped. Still not coherent, though he was definitely wide-awake now. Slowly, he cracked his eyelids a fraction, letting his eyes adjust to the brightness of the morning.

"Good morning." Helen's voice was bright as the daylight and musical in a way that made him think of frost: not cold, but because it had a high, tinkling bell-like clarity.

"Good morning." Francis blinked away the last of his sleepiness.

"Did you enjoy that? I learned it in London, when we went over there to find a new gallery space." Helen had thought she knew every trick there was but Sabine had managed to teach her one more.

"It was... different."

"Just different?"

"Different and delightful." He made a small effort to recall last night's events. Had she really...?

"Before you ask, yes, it was all true." Was Helen reading his mind? Or was he being predictable?

"About your father?" He still felt the need to ask.

"About fucking him, yes. He gets to do what you only fantasize about. Not that that's much of a distinction: Its still my ass that gets reamed by both of you." Helen moved back up the bed, resting her head on Francis' shoulder and draping an arm across his chest. The wiry hair there tickled a little against her arm but Helen kind of liked it.

"So he doesn't just fuck you?" Francis had to know it all. His own tastes being so... kinky, he felt he had to hear every detail.

"Not hardly!" Helen chuckled at the absurd idea that Parry would limit himself to straight sex with no twists. "After he saw my secret video collection-"

"He's seen those recordings?" Francis sat bolt upright, spilling Helen off of him.

"Silly. Of course he has. He even tried your praline game with me." Her eyes smouldered as she mentioned Francis' most perverse peccadillo: The praline game.

"He's seen that?" Francis felt suddenly cold.

"He's seeneverything. Daddy and I have no secrets. My whoring turns him on. He'll probably be so excited when I tell him you know about us, he'll fuck me 'til I can't walk." When he gets back from South America, Helen mentally added. "Francis? Your face looks shocked but if I had to guess, I'd say you're excited too."

"If you had to guess?"

"I don't have to, do I?" her hand curled around his second erection of the morning. It was hard to deny her allegations in the face of such hard evidence.

"No. You don't." Francis pushed her hand away, pushed Helen away to give himself manoeuvring space on the rumpled bed and got to his knees.

Helen flipped onto all fours, arching her spine downwards to make her ass stick up just a bit more... just a bit more invitingly. She knew what Francis was about to do, even before his tongue made contact with her ass hole. That was why she'd spent a few industrious minutes in the bathroom before giving him his 'wakeup call'.

"Chocolate?" His voice behind her was the verbal equivalent of wide eyes. She smiled into a pillow, settling her tits down on the heaped duvet and sticking her bottom up even more.

"I thought you'd like a little breakfast." She murmured. "Ooh!" His tongue was probing her tight ring again as Francis tried for more than just the faint hint of chocolate his taste buds had detected on the sensitive puckered skin of her sphincter.

This was the praline game that made Francis such a unique member of Helen's circle of 'friends'. Helen knew that after half an hour, those chocolates would have been melted by the heat in her body, though not completely liquefied: She deliberately bought the finest, most expensive, hand made chocolates for these occasions, with hard nougat centres and about eighty percent cocoa content to stop them melting away entirely.