Grandmother's Bed Ch. 05

Grandmother's Bed -- Chapter5 -- And Then There Were Four -- Or Five

It's been more than six years since I wrote Chapter 4 of Grandmother's Bed. I certainly never anticipated writing more. But recently I re-read the kind remarks left by readers and, having time on my hands due to Lockdown, I thought that as the characters are mostly in place, and at least partially developed, why not explore how much further I can go with them.

Again, my thanks and appreciation to all those readers who voted and made comments on Chapters 1 to 4. I think that this will be a two-chapter extension, but we will see.

Sylviafan

In the epilogue to Chapter 4, I described how my mother sold her house and moved in with Sylvia and me on a permanent basis. There began some of the happiest years any of us had ever experienced. Our interpersonal relationships were near perfect, and if there was just a hint of a competitive edge between my mother, Valerie, and her mother, then that just sharpened the edge of the sexual relationship between the three of us. Sylvia was arguably the driving force behind this: she seemed insatiable and was inevitably the one who would propose new games and new erotica. She was also the most likely of us to propose a threesome. Something we did rarely at first but more and more often as those first months went by. My mother blossomed and gave herself wholeheartedly to the pursuit of incest-fuelled sexual gratification. She embraced bondage and light chastisement; she delighted in kneeling between her mother's legs and performing cunnilingus on her until she shrieked to an orgasm, preferably with me fucking her from behind and with one or two of her fingers up to the second knuckle in her mother's anus. She eventually even allowed me to penetrate her anally and she was so surprised that she enjoyed it that for about a week afterwards she insisted on it every day.

It was also my mother who re-built the bridges with Sylvia's friend Nina. She felt bad that Nina was living on her own and effectively banished from her best friend's house for committing a much lesser crime than Sylvia; a crime which in any case was over and forgiven. And that was good because as it turned out mum and Nina really hit it off. They were both big readers and would go for long walks in the countryside surrounding the house, talking about the classics and more recent stuff. Eventually mum seduced Nina, a measure of how far she'd come down the path of joyous debauchery! Not, I think, that Nina took much seducing.

After University, I got a job with a law firm in a town not very far away and started climbing the corporate ladder. I never really went out of my way to date girls -- why would I with a house full of willing and unashamedly erotic mature ladies? But every now and then I'd hook up with someone, if only for appearances' sake. I even invited one or two home for dinner and was hugely amused at the reaction of my mother and grandmother. Sometimes the relationship developed to the point where we'd sleep together, whereupon the girlfriends often expressed surprise at my skill in bed -- if only they knew! On my part I found them generally anodyne and unexciting and wasn't bothered when we parted.

So the first pandemic lockdown, when it came, was just pretty damned good for our household. I was twenty-six, fit and healthy. I worked out in Sylvia's home gym every day and swam in the pool. Sylvia herself was approaching sixty-eight and still slim and sexy. Ok, there were a few more wrinkles and a bit of sagginess here and there but to my eyes it just added to her desirability. Mum hadn't changed much in those intervening years; if anything she was fitter and slimmer and with another year to go to her half-century. And there was Nina, too. Because one of the first things we did when the lockdown was announced was to invite her to come and stay for the duration. Well, the house was big enough. A nineteen-twenties villa on the edge of the village, with three floors and a lot of rooms. There were four big bedrooms on the first floor (second floor if you're reading this on the other side of the Atlantic) and on the second floor a maze of rooms that would have been servants' quarters and box rooms and made an ideal and remote office space for me to work at home in. The wraparound gardens were large and secluded and, at the back, gave out on to farmland. There was plenty of room for the four of us to enjoy our privacy and our intimacy. And there was plenty of intimacy during that first period of isolation. We didn't have anything as crude as a roster, but we swapped partners on a nightly basis and I never tired of the thrill of anticipating who I would be slipping between the sheets with. We didn't go in for group sex all that much as four seemed a bit cumbersome and we didn't want to miss anybody out. But we tried it often enough to keep our hands in!

And that's how we spent that first lockdown. And it was blissful. I for one was sorry to see it end and have to go into the office again, if only for one or two days a week. The second lockdown was a different matter. For one thing, it all happened quite suddenly and looked like going on for longer than the first. For another thing, just before it kicked in, my sister phoned up and said that she'd walked out on her husband, had nowhere else to go and could she come and stay with grandma as she had a big house.

Grace, my only sibling, was five years older than me. A big enough age-gap that we hadn't really got to know each other very well when we were growing up. Which is to say that she'd dismissed me as small and boring and generally ignored me thereafter until she got married at nineteen and left home to go and live in the north of the country. We'd maintained some contact after that, but mainly through the offices of our mother; we didn't really have a great deal in common. And I thought her husband was a dickhead; Grace, it would seem, had belatedly come to the same conclusion.

Of course there was no question of refusing her request, but clearly the status quo in the house would have to change. The four of us had a meeting the day before Grace was due to arrive; Sylvia opened the proceedings with her usual frankness.

'Right, I think we'll all agree that our sexual activities have to be toned down a few notches whilst Grace is living here.'

'Toned down?' said mum. 'You don't seriously think we can keep— well, you know, while Grace is living under the same roof?'

'I chose my words carefully,' Sylvia smiled at her daughter. 'Grace will have the big bedroom on the top floor, the one that looks out over the back garden. It's got a dressing room and an en-suite, so it's practically a self-contained flat. Plus this is a big and solid house; the floorboards up there are two-inch oak, with carpets on top. And there's six inches of insulation under that. What I'm saying is that if we are very careful, and very discreet I don't see why we shouldn't enjoy a little fun while she's staying here. Obviously not during the daytime, it would have to be after everybody has gone to bed, and probably only couples.'

Mum looked unconvinced. 'Surely she'd hear something, especially with the noises you make.'

'Well I'll just have to stuff a rag in my mouth or something,' retorted Sylvia. 'And besides, my room's the furthest from hers. In fact there's a thought: maybe it's just one couple per night and they use my room.'

'Shouldn't they go back to their own rooms. Afterwards...' suggested Nina.

'Yes,' agreed Sylvia. 'Probably a good idea.'

I listened with growing disbelief. The whole thing was starting to sound like a stage farce with people in nightdresses and pyjamas flitting about the house after lights out. And I don't know if mum or Nina had noticed, but my grandmother seemed to be turned on by the whole secrecy concept. Well, bring it on, I thought. No way did I want to endure three months of lockdown with no sex. After further discussion the idea of just using Sylvia's bed was discarded, but couples only was agreed, and nothing to happen until at least an hour after Grace had retired. Noise would be kept to a minimum... If this sounds a little prescriptive, then yes, it was. But it was better than nothing. And I knew that at least one of us was excited at the idea of continuing illicit sex while Grace slept upstairs. Nobody, I noted, had made any suggestion that Grace could potentially be included in the activities.

She arrived the next day and I helped her move into the top floor rooms. I hadn't seen her for a couple of years but she hadn't changed: almost as tall as me, though more slightly built, she had good legs, rather narrow hips and shallow breasts. Facially, she was like her grandmother: a bit long faced with high cheekbones and full lips; not particularly pretty but an interesting face. And, like Sylvia, she wore her black hair in a shoulder-length bob.

By common consent, we had agreed that there would be no sex for the first week or two, giving Grace a chance to settle in and also giving us the chance to look out for any undesirable habits -- like sleepwalking for instance. A fortnight may not sound like very long, but when you've been having top quality sex with your mother and grandmother most nights for five years, it seems like an eternity. And was it my imagination or were mum and Sylvia shorter tempered than usual. Only Nina, it seemed, remained as placid as usual. Grace certainly wasn't. After a few days of sweetness and light she became increasingly irascible; odd behaviour for a guest, I thought. Mum and Sylvia clearly thought so too and I saw glances being exchanged. Mum even went so far as to ask Grace if there was a problem, but if there was she wouldn't talk about it. Worst of all she seemed to have become nocturnal, walking around the top floor in the small hours and even venturing down to the kitchen; a disaster for our plan to resume limited sexual relations.

We were well into the second week of her stay and it was a bitter January morning, the ground frozen solid, trees and grass coated with ice. I had announced at breakfast that I was going for a long walk as I was feeling a bit cooped up. Nobody volunteered to accompany me, but as I was putting walking boots on in the utility room at the back of the house Grace appeared in an anorak and woollen hat and asked if she could come.

We walked through the back garden and into a network of frozen pasture and fallow fields, the spire of a distant church visible in the icy-clear air. For the first half-hour we said little. I was waiting for Grace to make some announcement; it was obvious there was something on her mind. At length she began to talk.

'I guess you've all been wondering why I'm behaving like such a spoilt bitch.' It wasn't a question and she continued. 'It's a pretty poor return for taking me in in such a lovely place after my fucked-up marriage finally fell apart.'

'I think we all put it down to the break-up with Tony and the stress of the pandemic and lockdown and everything,' I began. 'We're all feeling pretty stressed.'

'Yeah, well that's part of it.' Grace was looking firmly at the ground ahead of her as she spoke. 'But there's something else.' She stopped and turned to me. John, can I be really open with you?'

'Sure,' I said, wondering what was coming. There wasn't really any other response.

She hesitated and started walking on. 'Tony was my first lover -- my only lover, actually.'

I waited for her to go on, surprised and intrigued.

'Before Tony I'd never had an orgasm.' She glanced over at me. 'Well I did say I wanted to be really open. Now's the time to say if you're not comfortable.'

I suppose my jaw must have dropped a bit. 'No, it's fine. Go on. It's...'

'Fascinating? Excruciating? Weird?'

'Bit of each,' I stammered.

'Ok,' she said, grimly, 'this is actually really difficult for me.' She paused, appearing to muster her resolve. 'As I said, Tony was my first lover. I'd never had an orgasm before I met him. I knew what one was of course. I'd read plenty of lurid stories and watched a bit of internet porn, and I'd tried a million times, but I couldn't come by myself. I just ended up making myself sore. And frustrated.

'Tony gave me my first climax. It was the only thing he was any good at. And now,' she smiled sadly, I'm isolated in a house with my closest relations and I can't make myself come. And so I can't sleep and I'm irritable and dog-tired and it's horrible.'

She began to sob and I put my arm around her. 'So I really, really need your help, John.'

I took a couple of paces back. 'Help? You mean as in help you to have an orgasm?' I said, incredulously.

'I know that sounds dreadful,' she said, wiping her nose with a handkerchief and looking, at that moment, rather unattractive. 'But I don't know who else to turn to.'

'Couldn't you talk to mum?'

'No way!' She'd be totally freaked out!'

I think I probably knew our mother somewhat better than Grace, and I doubted if she would be much fazed at all, although I understood why Grace might think so, though I could hardly voice such an opinion.

'What do you want me to do?' As I said it, the first tendrils of sexual arousal stole through my stomach and loins. I'd never thought about Grace in a sexual sense -- she was my sister. But then I'd never thought about my grandmother and mother in those terms either...

Grace covered her embarrassment with the handkerchief for a few seconds. Then she looked me in the eye. 'I want you to masturbate me until I come. It's fine if you'd rather not,' she added hurriedly, 'though obviously please don't mention to anyone that I asked... I can show you how if—'

'Thanks, I know what to do.'

'Sorry.'

There was a silence and we walked on down the track, ice crunching under our boots.

'Well say something,' said Grace, at last.

'Ok, how does this work?'

'I thought you could come up to my bedroom during the night. When everyone else is asleep,' she added unnecessarily. 'It would just be masturbation, obviously. No incest or anything...'

'Obviously,' I said, drily.

'It wouldn't take long. It never does when someone else touches me.' She wasn't begging, but there was a clear note of appeal in her voice.

I was a bit of an authority when it came to definitions of incest and I agreed that this wouldn't really count. Still, I couldn't resist teasing her.

'What about asking Nina? That certainly wouldn't be incest.'

'I don't know her! And she's a woman...'

'So she'd know how to make you climax,' I suggested, slyly.

'It's out of the question. It's you or nothing.' She looked straight at me again as she said this.

'Ok, when?'

'You'll do it?' She flung her arms around me then sprang back, breathing heavily. 'God, I'm all butterflies at the thought. Will you come tonight?'

'Text me when you're ready.'

We got back to the house at lunch time and the rest of the day dragged by, Grace and I trying not to catch each other's eye. Trying not to be in the same room. We all watched a rubbish film and at eleven o'clock mum yawned and went to bed. Grace had clearly been waiting for someone to break cover and she retired immediately afterwards. Sylvia and Nina showed no inclination to move, so I hung around with them and watched something instantly forgettable for an hour. At midnight, they both went upstairs. I was pretty certain they were both heading for Sylvia's room. Apparently a unilateral decision had been made that sexual activities could now resume, subject to the agreed guidelines. That was typical Sylvia. Though what could I say? I was about to go and masturbate my sister to a climax.

I locked up downstairs and switched out the lights then headed to my room where I cleaned my teeth in the little en-suite and then sat on the bed wondering if I should change into pyjamas or something. In the end I just sat in the dark, butterflies in my stomach. Half an hour passed, then an hour. Distantly the church bell could be heard chiming the o'clock. Had she changed her mind? At ten past one my phone vibrated, heralding an incoming text message -- from Grace:

"Do you want to come up? Will totally understand if you've changed your mind."

My breathing became faster and more shallow and the butterflies turned to birds. I stood up and forced myself to calm down. Then I grabbed my laptop and opened the bedroom door as quietly as I could. The laptop was a stroke of genius, I thought. If somebody saw me, I was on my way up to my study to do some work, as I couldn't sleep. But there was nobody around tonight, and no noise either, even from Sylvia's room. The stairs to the top floor were close to my bedroom door and I stole across the gap and ascended slowly, keeping to the edge of each stair as I'd read once that the edges were less likely to creak. I felt a bit safer at the top; nobody but Grace and myself ever came up here. A corridor bisected the floor running front to back. My office was at the front. On my left was a short corridor leading to Grace's rooms. I turned down it in the darkness and felt my way along the wall and so came to her door. Resisting the temptation to knock, I turned the handle. The door opened and I stepped in. As I did so, her bedside light was switched on at its lowest setting and in the ultra-dim light I could just make her out lying on her bed and looking over at me. I closed the door gently, put my laptop down on a sideboard and advanced to the bed. She was wearing a full-length cotton nightdress of the style usually known as "passion-killer".

'Thanks for coming,' she whispered nervously. 'I wasn't sure if you would.'

I remained standing by the bed.

'Come and lie down next to me.'

I complied and she smiled hesitantly at me then brought her knees up. 'Do you want me to switch the light out?'

'Yes.'

She flicked the switch and in the almost total darkness and there was a rustle of material which I interpreted as Grace pulling her nightdress over her knees and bunching it up around her waist.

'Ok, John...'

I reached over and found her nearest knee and used this as a datum point to navigate my hand up her thigh, which was warm and soft. I was uncertain whether I should be doing this in a quick and business-like manner or whether I should be trying to inject some passion into the proceedings. I ended up trying to do both and probably failing. She said nothing as I reached the top of her thigh and slowly brushed my fingertips over her pubic hair, wondering momentarily if it was as black as the stuff on her head. Very gently, I eased my palm down onto her thick, soft bush and started stroking her. She gave a little sigh and I pressed my palm down more firmly then used my first two fingers to find her slit. Her labia were swollen and slightly open, and sopping wet. My first two fingers slid in without resistance and Grace sighed again more loudly, and I sensed her arching her back to give better access to me. Five years of pleasuring three mature ladies had made me something of an expert in female masturbation and I was on very familiar territory now. I slid my fingers out and up, teasing them over her clitoris then sliding them back down and inside her. Long, slow strokes, building up a rhythm. Sometimes sliding in and out of her vagina a few times to build up anticipation before the tip of my longest finger found her clitoris, circling and flicking over it before penetrating her again.

Grace was breathing in ragged, shallow gasps, flexing her pelvis up and down to maximise the contact with my fingers, her hands clenching the bedsheets. It wasn't that comfortable for me; I was lying on my side avoiding any contact with my sister apart from with my right arm and fingers. This meant my arm was at nearly full stretch and was beginning to ache.