Incest Hotel Ch. 01

"My, my, don't you look quite the handsome young man." She said, softly. "I remember when you were my little baby, sat upon my knee, suckling at my...breast. Now, you're all grown up."

"Thank you, Momma." He said to her, a knowing tone in his voice. "These days, you could sit on my knee."

"Yes, I suppose I could."

"You look awful pretty, Momma."

"You're too kind, darling."

He was right. She did look awful pretty. She was wearing a long, dark green ball gown; low cut to reveal a lot of cleavage. She was also wearing a pearl choker and long, opera gloves. Her hands were resting on his broad chest. They just looked at each other, staring intently. Nothing was said. Everything was said. It's as if there was some sort of psychic connection between them, as if they could read each other's minds. He looked down at her heaving chest for a moment, and then looked up at her smiling face. For half a second it seemed like they might kiss. But then she walked away, heading to the door.

"I'll see you downstairs," She said, her voice almost breaking up, with barely suppressed passion. "Don't be late."

"I won't be." He whispered.

She left the room and he stood there alone. His dick was so hard, he wondered if he might be advised to beat himself off in the hand basin before joining the party. Instead, he soon followed his mother downstairs, the noise and clamour already building with every step he took.

The evening was a roaring success. Even with rationing in place, due to the War effort, the hotel's kitchen staff were still able to provide a glorious meal for all in attendance. The band put on quite the show, even the most reluctant of dancers found themselves dragged to their feet. Peter and his mother shared a couple of slow numbers, but they mostly kept to themselves until late in the evening. Nothing needed to be said. Both of them knew what was going to happen.

Well after the stroke of midnight, and the new year was seen in, Peter was sat alone at the top table, his bowtie now loosened and hanging limply round his neck. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Esther took the empty seat next to him and placed her hand on top of his. She leant into his body and spoke softly. Conspiratorially.

"Your father is a little worse for wear. He's going to be out like a light before too long, and when he gets like this, he'll be dead to the world."

"Yes, I understand."

"Wait up for me. Once he's asleep, I'll come to your room. I have a...gift...for you to unwrap. If you want it?"

She raised an inquiring eyebrow. Peter squeezed her hand, gently.

"Yes, I do. Very much so."

"Good."

She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it. Then she stood up and disappeared out of sight.

No more than an hour or so later, Peter was in his room, pacing the floor. He was still wearing his shirt and pants, although his shirttails were now untucked. There was suddenly a soft thud at the door. He answered it and saw his mother waiting outside his room. She quickly entered and, after a brief look up and down the corridor, he locked the door behind her.

Esther was stood next to the bed, wearing a silk robe, tied at the waist. He walked up to her and she looked up at him. Then, up on tiptoes, she kissed him firmly on the mouth.

"What we're about to do, must remain our secret. You understand that, don't you?" She asked him.

"Of course, Momma."

"Your father is a good man, Peter, and I have no wish to hurt him. If he found out about this, it would break his heart."

"I understand, Momma."

"This is sinful, Peter. This is wrong, but I just can't help myself."

With that, she untied the belt of her robe and let it fall to the floor. Underneath she was completely naked. Peter gasped, looking at this incredible sight before him. Her sumptuous curves, her obscene angles. The full weight of her breasts, the impossible beauty of her hips. He saw the dark shadows of her frame.

He wrapped his arms round her and pulled her body tightly against his. She lifted her arms up, clinging to his neck, as they kissed passionately. She opened her mouth, feeling his tongue slither between her lips. She met it with her own. He lifted her up off her feet, holding her up in the air, with her naked form draped against his body.

"My God, my beautiful baby boy, you're so strong, so powerful."

"I love you so much, Momma."

"Make love to me, my darling boy. Momma wants you to fuck her."

He spun her round and threw her on to the bed. Then he tore off his shirt and pants, clambering on top of her, burying his face in her breasts. He wrapped his lips round the tip, suckling on her teat for the first time since he was an infant. He pressed her large breasts together, as if he was moulding clay. He flicked his tongue over one nipple, then the other. Then he just rubbed his face in her cleavage.

Esther toyed with the locks of his hair, still long and lustrous; Peter's call up to the Army was some way off yet. He moved downwards, kissing her belly and her thighs. Then he began to feast on her cunt. She orgasmed almost at the exact moment his tongue first lapped against her clit. For several minutes he devoured her sopping wet gash, as her body writhed on the bed. Esther came again and again and again.

Eventually, Peter rose up, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He stood there, his cock erect in the firm grip of his fist. She spread her legs wide apart and reached forward, desperately urging and pleading for her son to slam his dick inside her. He lined himself up, pushing the head of his prick between her vaginal lips. They seemed to have a life of their own, trying to suck his hardness inside her body.

She looked up at him, as he gave her a questioning look, an eyebrow raised, poised to fuck her for the first time.

Do you want this? His face said. Do you want your baby boy's cock inside you?

She did, more than anything else. She nodded her head frantically, and Peter thrust his hips forward, penetrating her for the first time. He roared with passionate intensity as he began to fuck his mother. A few doors down, his father was still fast asleep, but he was now dreaming of a large lion chasing him through the jungle.

Peter was no virgin, as we have ascertained, some of the hotel's more obliging staff had taken care of that particular issue, but he was not hugely experienced; so he wasn't going to last all that long, sliding his cock through the velvet vise of his mother's hot gash. He was leaning forward, grabbing big handfuls of maternal boob. His butt cheeks pistoning back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, as he fucked her remorselessly and without mercy.

Soon enough, he erupted inside her, shooting hot gobs of cream into her womb. Her body exploded beneath him, rocking with sexual pleasure. She felt every drop of her son's seed splash against the walls of her twat. She reached up to him, wrapping her hands round his neck and pulling him down on top of her. They kissed deeply, his sweat dripping off his face and on to hers.

"I love you so much, baby." She whispered in his ear.

"I love you too, Momma."

"I belong to you now. You're my man, now. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Momma."

"I'm yours, whenever you want. You can fuck me whenever you want. I'll make sure to come to your room each night and we can make love. You and me, my baby."

They rolled around on the bed together, making out like newlyweds. First, he was on top of her, then she was on top of him. Pretty soon, he got hard again and he began fucking her once more. So, was the pattern of the night, as mother and son made passionate love again and again and again.

The spirit of Esther's mother and brother had taken full possession of their souls and their bodies.

4

Once their forbidden love had been consummated, there was no stopping them. The affair was unrelenting and intense. Exactly as she had promised, Esther would come to his room each night and they would make love. There was a fire that burned inside them that neither of them could explain or contain. She had discovered an appetite for carnal excess she had never known existed. She had been born again, her rejuvenation inspired by the thrusting power of her son's cock.

That first year, the first year they were incestuous lovers, was an unending cavalcade of debauchery and indulgence. Peter was pretty much living the dream of any young man. He had carte blanche to fuck his mother any time he liked. Sex on tap with a voluptuous older woman who let him have any hole he wanted. And they had more than four-hundred bedrooms available to them, where they could get down to it.

She would come to his room each morning, with breakfast on a tray. Then she'd either suck him off or jerk him off as he ate his bacon and eggs. Perhaps they might take a shower together, before she began her day's work. Usually, some time in the afternoon, Esther would send a porter to go find him, and the two of them would meet up in one of the hotel bedrooms and fuck for an hour or two. They would be naked, their bodies intertwined as they made love, her large breasts heaving and rippling as he slid in and out of her cunt.

For Esther, in exactly the same fashion as her mother had experienced twenty years earlier, these would be the happiest days of her life. She felt a sense of joy, satisfaction and liberation she had never known before, and would never know again. The maternal bond she shared with her son had now intensified and deepened. Their familial connection had been sexualised in the most profound way possible. Sometimes, as she lay there on the bed, her son on top of her, his weight pressing down onto her body, his cock ploughing its way inside her, she would almost be overwhelmed by her feelings of lust and adoration for him. She didn't just love him, she worshipped him.

Esther now completely understood her mother's obsession with Little Vern.

Then, the impact of the global conflict that had set the world on fire, but sometimes seemed so far away, finally came home to roost for Esther and Peter. He got his call up papers and was ordered to attend basic training. After that, he was promptly shipped to Europe and told to kill for his country.

What a trauma, what a nightmare for Esther. She, like millions of mothers around the world, had to contend with the terror and fear of letting her son go to war. But she wasn't just her son's mother; she was his lover too. His sweetheart. Every night, she wept into her pillow, dreading a telegram from the military, dreading the worst possible news.

So, her relief and joy was palpable when he came back on leave. She fucked him with extra gusto and intensity that afternoon, so happy was she to have him in her arms – and between her legs – once more.

She was sat at the top of the bed, reclining against the headboard, wearing nothing but his peaked Army cap, and smoking a cigarette. Peter was walking around the room, unpacking his duffle bag. He too was naked, his semi-erect cock bouncing rhythmically between his legs as he moved. She admired his physique, staring lustfully at his muscular frame.

Is this how my mother looked at my brother? She thought to herself. She wondered about Rose and Little Vern so often these days, ever since the relationship between her and Peter had become sexual. How strange that incest should prove to be hereditary. How lucky that she should discover the same kind of connection that her mother had unearthed twenty years earlier.

"Shall we eat in the restaurant tonight, my darling, or in my apartment?" She asked him.

The repairs to the pipework in the Stratton family residence had long since been repaired. She and Max had moved back in a few weeks after first moving out. But, for reasons no one had ever really understood, Peter had continued living in one of the hotel rooms in the south wing. That way, they could fuck discreetly, some distance away from Max. Although that wasn't an issue today, what with him being away on business.

"I don't know Momma. Have you got a preference?"

"I think I'd like to show you off. You can wear your uniform and I'll get dressed up. I have some rather lovely French lingerie I want to try on. You can escort me down to dinner and I will parade you round the room. Then we will eat a fine repast, before retiring to my bed, the bed I usually share with your father, and where you will fuck my living brains out."

"Well, that sounds like a plan, doesn't it?" He said, smiling. "How long have we got until we should get ready for dinner?"

"Oh we've got plenty of time, yet." She said, before spreading her legs apart and gently rubbing her clit.

Peter clambered on to the bed and made love to her again. By the time they were up and dressed, heading downstairs to the hotel's restaurant, a miracle of nature was taking place inside Esther's body. Neither of them would ever know it, but as they were consuming their appetisers, in Esther's case a bowl of vichyssoise soup, conception took place. She was pregnant and would soon be carrying her son's baby.

A baby Peter would never meet.

After a week on leave, and as much fucking and sucking as the pair of them could manage, he returned to his base, waiting for his next deployment. Esther had cried her eyes out as she waved him goodbye. His creamy spunk was dripping out of her cunt, as his car disappeared into the distance. They had fucked one last time in his room before he left.

He had until then been serving in the European theatre of war, but now he was heading to the Pacific. The US military had long begun an operation of island-hopping, slowly gaining territory before a planned attack on the Japanese mainland. One of those islands was called Peleliu. In what proved to be one of the most costly operations of the Pacific campaign, Peter Stratton was one of more than two-thousand American fatalities.

He was shot in the gut by a Japanese sniper and bled out in the middle of the battlefield. In the hour or so it took for him to die, Peter continued to call out for his mother. When his body was eventually recovered, they found a picture of her clutched in his hand, covered in his blood.

Let us not dwell on Esther's grief. Suffice it to say, she was devastated. Utterly destroyed by her loss. As was her husband. For the second time in their marriage, a child had been taken from them, suddenly and with little warning. But Esther hadn't just lost her son; she had lost her lover. Her soulmate.

In truth, it might well have proven to be too much for her. Her mother, her brother and now both of her children had been taken from her. Perhaps she might have followed her father's example, and committed suicide. But by the time she received the fateful news regarding her son, she had already received news telling her she was carrying his baby.

Max knew – or at the very least, strongly suspected – that the child wasn't his. He had no idea who the father was – the very notion it could have been Peter was so outlandish, it would never even have occurred to him – but he thought it likely his wife might have been fooling around. Max was nothing if not a decent man, however, and he accepted the unusual news with his customary good grace and equanimity.

Esther gave birth to a healthy little boy, that they named Robert. After the war ended, they sold the hotel and moved West. She wanted to live by the Pacific, just that little bit closer to the island where her son had been killed.

In many ways, Esther and Max lived a relatively happy life together. Becoming parents again in their 40s was certainly a challenge, but one they both embraced. Robert was a sweet little boy and they adored him. Esther's relationship with her youngest son was never anything other than entirely appropriate. The influence of the Incest Hotel could only travel so far.

So, for the first time since it had opened it doors, the Copeland Grand Hotel was no longer owned by a member of the Copeland family. There would be several owners down the years, and Esther would not be the last proprietor who felt an unnatural draw to a member of his or her own family.

There was Randall Hartley, the local businessman who would own the place for most of the 50s and 60s. For much of that time he was regularly fucking his sister. And her daughter. Quite often, the two of them together.

Then there was the period when the hotel came under the ownership of a larger chain. The managing director brought in to run the place was a man called Ernest Becker. He was a fey little guy, a widower, with two strapping adult sons. At the end of each work day, he would return to his private apartment, the same rooms Esther and Max had used when they owned the hotel, and invariably proceed to blow one of his sons while being sodomised by the other.

So it went on. Not just the owners. But the staff too. And the guests. It's not as if the entire place was chockablock with incest. Family orgies were not exactly de rigueur. There were many, many individuals who stayed at the hotel who would never notice anything amiss. In fact, the vast majority of people who ever came near the place would be completely unaffected.

And yet for some people – some very particular people – things could be a little bit different. If someone might have had an inclination, a sympathy, a curiosity for incest, the hotel seemed to notice. Then it might encourage or magnify that interest. Maybe it was the ghosts of Rose Copeland and her son. Maybe it was all just a coincidence.

Whatever the answer, this was a place where strange things would happen. Strange currents would flow through the building and through the people who stayed there. This was just one story. One of many. There would be more stories to tell. For at the Copeland Grand Hotel – the Incest Hotel – the doors were always open.

End of Chapter One