Incest Hotel Ch. 01

This was the night Rose and Little Vern had chosen for their getaway. They would take Big Vern's grandest car and hightail it out of there, hoping for a new life a long way away. Everything would have gone according to plan too, if Rose hadn't indulged in an unusually spiteful, self indulgent act.

As they were preparing to leave, a dark impulse suddenly formed inside her. She took hold of Little Vern's hand and led him to the master bedroom, the room she had only occasionally shared with her husband. She smiled darkly, and began to unbutton her dress. Little Vern looked at her, confused but excited.

"I want you to fuck me on this bed." She said to him, her voice husky with desire. "I want you to fuck me on his bed. You've stolen his woman away from him, completely and utterly and forever, right from under his nose. Now you can have her on his bed."

Even then, they should have been okay. Her plan was for them to have sex, then get dressed and leave. They wouldn't even have bothered to clean up after themselves. Let him find their sweat and their sexual fluids on his sheets. Let him work out what they had been up to.

But Big Vern had suddenly taken ill and ended up returning to the house. As soon as he entered the building, he heard Rose's screams of desire and satisfaction. Screams that were completely alien to him, since she had never shown such vocal enthusiasm when he had sex with her.

Big Vern opened the bedroom door, and found his wife, stark naked, bouncing up and down on a young man's cock. It took him a few seconds to realise that the young man in question was his son. Their son. She was fucking their son!

Rose saw him standing in the doorway. She didn't miss a beat, continuing to ride Little Vern like a bucking bronco. She simply smiled at her husband, enjoying the intense sensation of her little boy's not so little prick sliding in and out of her. She licked her lips provocatively and blew her husband a kiss. And with that act she sealed the fate of both her and her son.

Big Vern promptly turned round and quickly made his way to his study. He went to his desk and unlocked a drawer, from which he pulled out a revolver. He checked it was loaded, returned to his bedroom and shot both his wife and son in the head. They died in bed together, his cock still inside her. The pair of them were both cumming, the very second Big Vern pulled the trigger.

It was only after Rose had collapsed on top of her son, their blood, bone and brain matter splattered all over the mattress and wall, that Big Vern noticed her swollen belly and breasts. She was pregnant, he thought to himself. The dirty little whore was pregnant. He didn't know if his son was the father – maybe she was fucking her way round the county, for all he knew – but he suspected he was. Big Vern had just murdered his wife, son and, in all probability, his grandchild too.

He felt no grief, no sadness; just bitterness and anger. How could they have betrayed him like this? How long had they been carrying on this tawdry, incestuous affair? But, perhaps of more urgent import was the reality of what he had just done. This was not the first time Big Vern had committed an act of murder, he had been involved in a number of lynchings down the years, but this was a mess that most definitely needed cleaning up.

Fortunately, depending on your point of view, he was a man who knew people in high places, and he was a man who had favours that could be called in. After making a couple of phone calls, he wrapped the two bodies up in a sheet and waited for some of his friends to arrive.

Only a few miles away from the Copeland family estate was the latest addition to Big Vern's ever expanding empire. Or at least it would be when it was finished. Much of his business was now focussed on hotels and hostelries. His latest property was a huge complex of buildings that he hoped would very soon be known as The Copeland Grand Hotel.

There was an existing building, a large mansion house that he'd bought cheap when it's elderly owner died without an heir. Two new wings were being added, that would dramatically expand the size and capacity of the intended enterprise. It was in the foundations of one of these wings that Big Vern, along with the help of a couple of close associates, dumped the bodies of his wife and son.

There was a section near the far end of the South wing that was still in the early stages of construction. A fairly large area of concrete had yet to set. They dug it up and placed the human remains, still wrapped in one of Big Vern's bedsheets, in the ditch they had created. Then they covered it up with a fresh layer of cement. By dawn, their work was complete.

Big Vern waited a day or two before reporting his wife and son missing. A cursory investigation was opened, but the police officers involved didn't exactly exert themselves. There were rumours that Vernon Copeland was not the most even-tempered of husbands, and everyone just assumed his wife had simply got up and left him. There were even some who speculated about the true nature of her relationship with her son. Anyone who had seen Rose and Little Vern together, might have raised a questioning eyebrow.

Eventually, things died down, and the two missing members of the Copeland family were mostly forgotten about. Big Vern opened his new hotel a few months later, and there was a grand party that was reported on in the local press. Many of the great and the good came to celebrate, one or two of whom knew the truth about Big Vern and his marital difficulties.

And at the far end of the South wing of the Copeland Grand Hotel, buried under brick and concrete and soil, lay the decaying bodies of Rose and Little Vern. Never to to be disturbed, never to be discovered. They were to spend eternity in each other's arms...which seems sadly fitting in its own way.

Although their human remains would never be found, their legacy would certainly be felt down the years. Strange things would happen in that hotel. Strange connections would be made. People who probably shouldn't, would find comfort and love in the same way Rose and her son did. No one would ever research the matter, or ever come close to knowing the truth, but this hotel would have a perverse power and influence over many of its guests and even some of its staff.

For the name of this place, the name they put on the brochures and the signs and the big glossy advertisements, may well have been the Copeland Grand Hotel; but its real name, its true name, was the Incest Hotel. Incest was going to be a common pastime for so many of the people who would stay here. No one knew that yet, not on the day it opened its doors, but that was its fate.

The Incest Hotel would have so many stories to tell, so many lives to explore. For reasons they would never understand, family members would be drawn to this place, just as they would be drawn to one another.

So, where do we begin? Which story do we recount first? Well, why not start with another member of the Copeland family? The forgotten child. The neglected daughter and sister. What happened to Esther when her mother and brother disappeared? Did she share in the strange appetites that had afflicted other members of her family?

Yes, she did. Eventually.

2

20 years later

She stood alone in the shower, her heart racing in excitement and anticipation. The scalding hot water rained down on her, cleansing her body but not her soul. She luxuriated in the powerful feelings washing over her. She revelled in them. She felt sinful. She felt sexy. She felt alive.

He would be here soon.

Esther Stratton – formerly known as Esther Copeland – got out of the shower and began drying herself down. She had inherited her father's colouring, with her dark brown hair and almost olive skin, but she very much had her mother's body. Like Rose, she had been slim but shapely as a youth; voluptuous and buxom as an older woman. Not that she was especially old. She was in her early 40s, but looked considerably more youthful than that.

She admired herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door; her big meaty tits, her succulent hips, the soft curve of her belly. She turned slightly to examine the prominent shape of her sumptuous derrière. As she moved the large, soft towel around her frame, she saw the way her flesh jiggled and rippled.

Like on so many occasions in recent months, this routine excited and aroused her beyond measure. Before too long, she was kneeling on the tiled floor, masturbating furiously. Her legs spread apart, her hand a blur as it rubbed away at her clitoris. She looked at herself in the mirror, watching as she sucked on her own nipple and fingered her own twat.

For the longest time possible, Esther had considered herself to be ugly. Fat. She had been ashamed of her body, ashamed of her curves. But in recent months she had come to reconsider that opinion. She saw herself with fresh eyes. She saw herself through his eyes, and he believed she was just about perfect.

So, there was no shame now. No embarrassment. She revelled in her appearance. She dressed to accentuate her body, not hide it away. Many of her employees had noticed this change in their boss. There were whispers. There were rumours. Although none of those rumours were as shocking or outrageous as the truth of what was really happening. Some were scandalised by her behaviour. Some were aroused.

After cumming on the bathroom floor, she dragged herself up on to her feet and walked into the bedroom. There, she put on a pair of expensive, high cut, silk panties and black stockings. Nylon was being rationed – there was a war on, of course – but Esther had enough money and contacts to maintain a steady supply. She wore a corset, all the better to showcase her hourglass figure, and a tightly tailored dress. She applied some makeup, including a particularly vivid shade of shiny red lipstick, and then put on a pair of high-heeled shoes. After one last admiring look at herself in the mirror, she strolled out the door with a confident swagger.

Esther had been the sole proprietor of the Copeland Grand Hotel for a good fifteen years now. Her father's business interests took a dramatic turn for the worse when the Wall Street crash pretty much wiped him out. He lost almost everything and one morning, after a desperately sobering conversation with his lawyers, he came home, went straight to his study and blew his brains out. In an irony that only he would've understood, he used the very same revolver to kill himself that he had used to murder his wife and son.

Since Rose and Little Vern were nowhere to be found, long since missing and presumed dead, Esther was the sole heir to his estate. Not that his estate consisted of all that much, bar some eye-watering debts. After a lengthy legal process, the only remaining asset was the Copeland Grand Hotel. So, a few months after her father's death, Esther moved in, taking up residence in the main building. Joining her was her husband, and her only child, a young boy called Peter.

Rose and Little Vern escaped the tyrannical clutches of Big Vern by taking refuge in each other's arms. Esther had done so in a far more conventional way. Marriage. At the age of eighteen, she was wed to a young man called Maxwell Stratton. Maxwell – known by everyone as Max – was the son of a business associate of her father. She had known him since she was a child, and he was a decent, kind boy who would grow up to become a decent, kind man. Esther never really loved him with any great intensity, but the sheer relief of living in a home where she no longer had to contend with the unending, relentless sensation of terror brought about by her father's mercurial moods, meant she was hugely fond of him. He was gentle and sensitive. He was her salvation.

Much like her mother, she would fall pregnant early in her marriage; and, much like her mother, she would give birth to twins. A boy and a girl. Continuing family tradition, both were named in honour of a parent or grandparent. The little girl was christened Rose, and the little boy was called Maxwell Junior. But, his middle name was Pierre, after Esther's maternal grandfather. Having lived in a home with two men sharing a name, she decided it was far more straightforward to use the Anglicised version of her son's middle name. Max acquiesced quite easily, and from then on Little Max was known as Peter.

These were happy times for Esther, a state of affairs that seemed rather strange and foreign to her. But these happy times would be relatively short lived. When she was eighteen months old, baby Rose caught pneumonia. For later generations a course of antibiotics would have cured this affliction quite quickly; but this was the 1920s, and over a matter of a few days, the child weakened, faltered and then died.

Both parents were devastated, consumed with overwhelming grief. Their marriage would never entirely recover, nothing would be the same from then on. Max devoted his attentions to work; Esther became obsessed with her son.

The very same son she was waiting for, as she prowled the corridors and hallways of the Copeland Grand Hotel. Esther was a very hands on boss, and spent much of her time dealing with the practicalities of running a large establishment like this one. She happened to be waiting in the main lobby, talking to a porter, when a tall, young man, dressed in military attire, walked through the front door. The moment she saw him, the conversation with her staff member stopped abruptly.

"Peter!" She cried out. "My darling, Peter! Is that you?"

"It sure is, Momma." He said, dropping his large duffle bag to the floor, and spreading his arms out wide.

She practically sprinted across the shiny varnished floor of the lobby, before throwing herself into his arms. He whooped with joy and spun her round in a circle. Then she showered his face in kisses, so excited and exuberant was she to be reunited with her son.

"Oh God, I have missed you so much, my beautiful, darling boy. Momma has missed you so much."

"I've missed you too, Momma. I can't tell you how much I've looked forward to seeing you again."

"I'm sure you have, you naughty boy." She whispered, as she felt his hard cock press against her body. She shivered momentarily in excitement.

For all the other people stood in that lobby, this almost certainly looked like a perfectly normal, perfectly tender reunion between mother and son. Events like this took place every day, all across the country; boys coming home from war, back on leave, returning to the bosom of their family. The fact that Esther was acting more like his sweetheart than his mother, was something you would only really notice if you were paying very close attention.

Mothers loved their sons, that was the way world worked. It's just Esther loved her son a little bit more than most. A truth, her mother would have understood entirely.

"Where's Dad?" He asked, looking around.

"Oh, your father is away on business. He won't be back for a couple of days."

"Just you and me, then?" He said with a wicked smile.

"Yes. Just you and me." She replied, a sultry smile forming on her lips too.

She lifted up her arms, placing them tenderly on his broad shoulders.

"Do you want something to eat, baby? It looks like you've lost weight. I don't think they're feeding you properly in the Army."

"No. I'm not hungry. Well, I'm not hungry for food. You know what I need."

Her body shivered again, and she bit her bottom lip, emitting a small squeak of excitement.

"Of course, my darling boy, of course. Momma knows exactly what you need."

With that, she took his hand and walked him to the reception desk. A middle-aged man stood attentively, waiting for orders.

"Oscar," Esther said, for Oscar was his name. "My son and I have some catching up to do. I do not wish for us to be disturbed. Have one of the porters take his bag to his room."

"Of course, Mrs Stratton. I shall inform all the staff that you are to be left alone for the rest of the day."

"Thank you, Oscar."

Esther and Peter vanished in an instant. They made their way to the elevator, a bellhop asking them what floor they required. He had done so out of habit, he knew exactly which floor the Strattons lived on. She said the fourth and he pressed the button and closed the gate. As the elevator rose slowly, mother and son stood there, hand in hand, sharing furtive little glances at one another. Both of them were smiling, full of excitement and anticipation. The bellhop was totally oblivious to it all, unaware of the sexual tension the two of them were generating. To be fair, he was very young.

After what seemed like the longest elevator ride in the world, they reached the fourth floor and made their way down the corridor. They were practically running now, so urgent was the task in hand. Esther frantically pulled out a key and unlocked the door to her private apartments. By the time they were inside, and the door was closed behind them, he had her pushed up against the wall, his hands roaming over her chest, and he was kissing her neck.

"Oh God, Momma, you have no idea how much I've missed you."

"I think I do know, my little prince. I know exactly how much you've missed me, because I know how much I've missed you."

She grabbed hold of his face, clamping his cheeks between her hands and she kissed him forcefully. Their lips parted and her tongue entered his mouth. He met it with her own. Both of them moaned and groaned as they made out together, their bodies wriggling and rubbing and undulating up against the wall. He was grinding his hard cock against her pubic mound, as she ran her hands through his shortly cut, military issue hair. That was another thing she hated about him being in the army. Before he'd joined up, he had long, blonde curls, that she used to play with as he went down on her. But now his hair was in a crew cut.

After a few minutes of intense kissing, where it felt like the two of them were trying to squeeze themselves together into one body and one soul, Peter pulled back for a moment. The two of them stared at each other, both were panting and gasping, a look of overwhelming mutual lust in their eyes. He lifted his hand and brought it to her mouth. With his thumb, he wiped her lipstick, smearing it onto her cheek.

"I like the colour." He said.

"I know, it's your favourite. You like to watch these lips when I wrap them round your cock. Do you want me to put it in my mouth? Do you want me to suck on it, and then drink all your lovely cream?"

"Later. I need to be inside you. Lose the dress and get on the bed."

Esther had learnt by now to do what she was told. Peter always seemed like such a kind, sweet natured boy, just like his father, but there was still a bit of the Copeland family in him. There could be a sternness about him. A forcefulness. He liked to be in charge. But Esther didn't mind. She welcomed it.

Over the course of the last few years, as their sexual relationship had grown and deepened, she had increasingly ceded control to her son. She had seen him become more confident, more assertive in bed. She submitted to him, in every way. Willingly. Her husband was a much more placid, laidback character and their sex had been similarly subdued. It could be pleasant and enjoyable, but Esther now realised she had always wanted more. She had wanted dynamism, excitement. She had wanted fireworks, and that was exactly what her son could give her. Again and again and again.