Ingrid (Act 1 of 2)

"There was a place between her legs, she explained, a secret place that drove people crazy, and if she ever opened her legs and let them visit the place, why it would be like telling them the greatest secret in the world. The girl asked the mommy why letting people know the secret was bad. Well, that's the secret, isn't it, the mommy answered. The dancer still didn't understand. She asked the mommy why she couldn't just visit the place between her legs herself, so they could figure out the secret. The mommy didn't want to, but--"

"Whoawhoawhoa, Inge. I'm a little worried that I see where this is going, and if you're about to tell me that Mom touched you or something--"

"Will!" his sister breaks, slapping him harder this time. "FINE." She sort of holds her hand there in the tingly place she just slapped. "Yeah."

"Yeah--?!"

"Yes. She touched me. I was eighteen. I wanted it."

"And this is real? This is true?"

"But I asked her to touch me! She is the one who acted like she didn't want to, but. Well."

"Inge..."

"I told you I have an effect on people!"

"Wait, Inge. That's rape. You're telling me Mom raped you."

"What? No! I was eighteen, I knew what I wanted, and I wanted her! And what do you know, she was good at touching me. Great even!"

"Inge!" Will tries sitting up but she wraps her legs around him and locks him down.

"NO," she insists.

"Let me up!" he roars.

"DON'T YOU JUDGE!" she screams, actually screams, at the top of her lungs.

Disoriented, in a new dimension altogether, Will is briefly worried about perturbing the neighbors. Then he realizes his sister is sobbing into the back of his head. He is sucked back into the rotten place.

"Sis, I'm not--I'm--sorry. I'm sorry."

"I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me! I attract everyone. Men, women, cats, dogs, it doesn't matter! My own family! Everywhere I go I feel like I have a sign on my back that says "FUCK ME." I can fart directly in my brother's face and what does he do? He sniffs it!"

"Oh God and Dad, what about him, did he ever--?"

"Try? Of course," she sobs. "And Mom whooped his fucking ass."

"That--that fucking--I can't fucking--" Will starts to shake. "MONSTER. Piece of SHIT. OH my God. I need you to let me go Inge. I need you to get a safe distance away from me. I need to hurt something now. I have to go fucking kill something."

"You're telling me, asshole?" His sister doesn't budge. She keeps him locked up against her. Her crotch on his back is warm but dry. "I'm the one who has had to deal with Dad my whole life."

"Oh my God, wait. So the divorce?!"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah."

"But ... the finances--?"

"Oh. Dance school bankrupted us. But it was Mom who insisted that I go away in the first place, whatever the cost, until she could get Dad out of our lives. The academy never actually recruited me or anything, and I didn't really want to go."

"They ... didn't? You didn't?" But the monolithic grace he had always seen in her...

"Listen Will. I love Mom. Okay? I love her. C'est la plus fabuleuse, belle, intelligente--"

"Ingrid, but she--"

"Fucked me? What of it? You get used to it, you know. Remember yesterday? Remember when you didn't know how my pussy tasted?"

"But ... Mom?"

"I've always wanted to tell you," Ingrid says, a cruel anger furrowing her features. "Remember that one time I came home from France, right after her and Dad separated? That month you and I talked on the phone every night? Well. That's when it first happened."

Will is speechless.

Will is still speechless.

Ingrid sister relaxes her hold on him. He slumps.

"Sis," he says, and the word is strange to him.

"Sometimes while you and I were talking," Ingrid recalls, "Mom would be there, secretly--"

There's a sharp knock at the door.

"Oops. Time's up," Ingrid says.

She pats Will on the shoulder. He sits forward. He feels stuck in a sort of eternal loop, powerless, doomed never to return to the dimension he was born in. He doesn't know where he is, or when, or how. His little sister slips out from behind him and goes to answer the door, unalterably nude.

He doesn't question it. He feels her naked butt do it's thing on his brain as if it's happening to a different Will in some other timeline. He watches that other Will's cock re-enlarge in his lap. He thinks: that Will's cock looks fucking tasty.

Oh God.

Chapter Eleven

"Mom, Will," Ingrid announces, leading Mom by the hand into the bedroom. She gestures toward Mom. "Will, Mom."

"Hi honey," Mom smiles. "You look ... relaxed?"

Isn't he naked? He looks. Yes he is. And Mom is just smiling at him naked? Why is his sister introducing them as if they've never met? Her son's dick is half-hard in his lap and tacky with her daughter's dried spit. Can't they both see that?

"Will, honey, I'm sorry," Mom frowns. "I hope I'm not scaring you."

"... M-Mom?"

"Yes sweetheart." Then she gives her daughter a concerned look. "Is he still high?"

"Not really, he's just--taking in a lot of information right now."

"Oh," Mom winces, then regards Will gravely. "You told him ...?"

"That we fucked?"

"Ingrid!"

"Sorry," her daughter rolls her eyes.

Mom looks at her son's pale, tormented face. His sweat-damp frame. His grown-up cock.

"Gosh, this must be a lot all at once. Here, Inge, let's go into the other room. He needs rest."

Chapter Twelve

Will wakes up in his own bed. It's early light. He is briefly surprised to see himself wearing a t-shirt and underwear. He hazily remembers leaving Ignrid's room naked.

He recalls, now, stepping into the hallway and hearing Mom laughing in the kitchen as he retreated to the mundanity of his own room. He recalls grabbing a t-shirt and underwear in the dark. He recalls falling asleep to the muffled sounds of his mother and sister chatting, and then having the strangest dreams.

They had all three been on TV. They had been naked before a live studio audience. A pretty Japanese hostess in a red tartan skirt and sexy suit-top had explained to a cameraman something he did not understand. Will had been lain inside a dark shallow box with his hard cock poking out. It had gotten very weird very quickly from there.

He traipses groggily into the bathroom. He takes a shit in the dark. He takes a shower. He flicks on the light and shaves and brushes his teeth. He goes back to his room and quietly dresses.

By the time he heads out into the sunny front room of his apartment he is feeling almost himself again. The acid has finally worn off. Everything is just: plain old everything.

Sure, he had glanced into his little sister's bedroom and seen her sleeping butt-ass naked with just a finger or two entangled in the covers. He had half expected to see Mom in there, too. But this morning, fate has deigned to throw him a bone.

Will makes himself coffee. He sets up another pot for his sister. He sits down on the sofa in his living room. He stares at his reflection in the TV. In it, he is silhouetted against a plain blank wall. He just looks like a man on a sofa. He sips his coffee.

It smells so good throughout the apartment, but when he actually sniffs it up close in his mug the hot black liquid doesn't smell all that much like coffee. Very up close, once he gets his nostrils underneath the coffee's velvety fresh roasted vapors, the hot liquid itself smells almost arboreous, vegetal, like something stewed in rainwater. He sips it again. It's lovely. Very thinky.

Then he remembers that Mom and Ingrid had fucked. His heart gurgles. His stomach throbs. Inside his freshly woken skull, he feels the vertiginous upward-sinking sensation of going Down in a very fast elevator.

When he tries to picture what might once have transpired between his mother and sister, the forms that enter his mental stage are brainless mannequins that do not know their stage directions. They waddle toward each other, clickity-clack. One places its hand on the other's thigh. The smaller one pivots at the waist. They do a little dance, each the other's fingerless hand patty-caking their lover's secret place. Will blinks, and the stage resets. The mannequins return to starting positions.

He wonders--almost against his will--what Dad must have tried to do to Ingrid, how he must have worded his approach, what logic he must have manufactured to justify raping his daughter. A sticky cloud of hot anger rises up from inside Will and gathers in his sinuses. His father was already a despicable asshole. Now he was also a dangerous cretin who no longer deserved to live. Will cannot wait to see the man again. He will use his hands and only his hands to sever the man's soul from his body.

And then he remembers himself. He remembers Ingrid's slumbering form on the mattress, loose of all its covers. Had he really said to her the words "wait until you see what else I can suck cum out of"? He remembers Little Inge slurping noodles at the dinner table. He remembers a dress made of falling snow.

His head spins. He takes another sip of thinky black rainwater.

Ingrid steps into the daylit room, squinting and naked and scratching her crotch.

"Coffee?" she asks.

"I made you a pot."

She looks at the coffeemaker. She looks at her brother. She comes scratching over to him, places a hairy knee between his legs, carefully leans over his mug of hot coffee, and kisses him on the forehead. She has terrible morning breath. Then she gets back off of him and goes and gets herself a cup.

It occurs to Will that it sort of feels like he and his sister are dating. But she also fucked his mother, he nods. Dating is an ill-fitting concept to bring anywhere near their predicament. He sips his coffee.

He clings to the spinning, screaming centrifuge in his head like one of those circular death traps from the playground of his youth, that noisy rusty spinning stage with the white-knuckle handlebars. He tries to remember how it felt to have fun on one of those. The bliss and/or terror.

He remembers sending his sister around and around on the one at the park near church when they were growing up. It had been her favorite thing to do at the park. How she had cackled like a thing possessed, trying careful dances as her brother flung her world hazardously round and round. Unlike Will, her stomach was somehow indifferent to the sickening physics of the centrifuge.

Will as an older brother had been strange enjoying playtime with his sister. Most boys his age had resented their little siblings. And especially avoided their little sisters. But even when she had had her bad days, and she had had bad days, they had stuck together. She would simply bully him into submission, and he would simply let her. She was a gifted sociopath, he was a gifted stooge, and they readily cohabitated.

But Will as an older brother was also strange in that he sometimes sucked his sister's pussy fingers, gnawed her stinky pebbles, and ate his own cum out of her belly button.

His stomach lurches.

But it was unfair to jump straight to that. One needed to explain how he and his sister had gotten to that level of trust and affection organically. Incest looks horrible, despicable, disfiguring glimpsed in passing from atop a distant high horse. But if one is willing to dismount, approach, and observe, one may find that love between people who already love each other makes deep, simple sense. Very thinky.

Uh oh, here come the spins again.

Ingrid plops down next to him with her coffee and a bowl of cereal and turns on the TV. He can sort of smell her crotch. She looks at him with a mouthful of Mini Wheats.

"I'm going to go hang out with Mom later," she chews. "Whenever she gets done with her work thing. You want to come?"

Will feels a surge of nervous, spinning terror and yet he grips the handlebar tight and tries to be okay with it. Let it beat him into submission, why not? Terror happens. Especially recently. And he has no choice but to figure out how it feels to enjoy it.

"Sure, I'm in," he says.

"Mm," she says approvingly. She finishes chewing. It takes a while (Mini Wheats). "She said to bring our swimsuits."

Chapter Thirteen

It's early evening, just after dinner. Mother, daughter and son all sit against one rumbling wall of an outdoor hot tub sipping hotel-quality piña coladas. No one minds that Ingrid is underage. The older couple sitting across from them are drunk and horny and distracted with each other. The young boy strangely by himself just quietly relaxes against his corner of the tub, plays absently with the foaming surface of the water, and doesn't bother anybody.

The noise of the engine running the jets, and the noise of the water itself, muffles the private conversations taking place on either side of the tub.

"Sooo Mom," Ingrid says, smiling slyly around the straw between her teeth, "Remember how Will was 'doing' yesterday at the chicken place?" She is already tipsy.

"... Yes?"

"You remember what he was ... on?"

"Um, yes. I do, sweetie."

"Would you, you know, maybe want to ... do some? With us?"

Boiling terror fills Will like a hot tub. But he doesn't panic. He breathes in deep, stretches his legs, and lets the discomfort carry him away. Ingrid had always had her groove. More and more, Will was feeling like he had found his, too.

Ingrid gives Mom a salacious grin, but Mom frowns.

"I don't know," she says. "I have an interview tomorrow, hon."

"Hey Will, what do you think of Mom's new bod?"

Will calmly and in complete horror appraises his mother's physique. How about that. She looks ... Uh-oh.

"Mom, sit up and show him what you've got!"

"Honey!" Mom gasps, sinking even further into the water. And then quietly she says, "There are children present."

The little boy in the corner of the tub has just resurfaced after dunking his head under the water. He sits up, flicks his hair back, and rests his head on the cool wet tile behind him. Then he just kind of chills.

"Okay, who is this kid and why is he so cool?" asks Ingrid. She swims over his direction.

"Hey, you," she says to him. She gives the kid a poke in the meat of his shoulder.

He stirs, looks at her.

"Yes?" he says.

"Why are you so cool, kid?"

"Um." He considers this question. "I'm a good drawer," he says plainly.

"Gosh darn it. Here I thought you couldn't get any cooler. What's your name, kid?"

"Georg."

"Ge-org?"

"Georg."

"Well okay then. Alright. As you were, Ge-org."

She swims back over, sidles up to her brother. Georg watches her, curious, then goes back to resting his head against the rim of the tub. Ingrid snickers as she snuggles up to her brother. "The pauvre enfant is named Ge-org."

Chapter Fourteen

Mom tells her children she needs to go cool down in the pool. Her children watch her rise up out of the tub, one with practiced appreciation, the other with newfound distress.

Will unfortunately has to agree that Mom looks ... different. She has been eating healthy, exercising, and of course, fucking her hot daughter from time to time. As moms go, she strikes him as reasonably in the hot end of the spectrum. Her butt is cute, her legs firm, her back a soft brown hourglass. She a thigh gap, for crying out loud.

Mom tries to look nice, too, which adds a level of cautious okayness to looking her up and down. She enjoys a bit of grooming. She is good at it. She shaves her legs, her armpits, and, apparently, the pubic hair that would otherwise be showing out the sides of her bikini. She does just simple but stylish makeup.

She has on tonight a two-piece bathing suit that is not only tolerable for Will to behold but looks genuinely perfect on her, like it was tailor made for her spritely frame. White with black flowers, it sets off her olive complexion. Flatters her broad hips and slender thighs. Holds up her little boobies in twin soft cups. She is shorter than either of her children, more petite, but no less alluringly contoured. Just a very well-shaped female human, objectively speaking. If will accidentally saw her naked, it might not even scar him all that bad.

Will is reminded as he watches her climb into the chilly pool water a leg at a time, of salon artiste Aimee, and with this memory he now does something funny.

Just to see what happens, Will swaps Mom out for Aimee on his mental stage, dresses the woman who raised him in nothing but powder blue panties, places her in that bean-shaped spot on his music room floor, and gazes at her naked body while she vents about macaroni and hotdogs. Will gazes at her breasts and wonders if Mom had breastfed him and Ingrid. The nipples in his imagination don't know how to look.

He feels something slip inside his swim trunks.

"Sorry for how weird this all might be," Ingrid murmurs, her hand burrowing up the leg of his trunks toward his crotch, but then catching in the stupid mesh liner.

"Don't be," he says, playing it cool like Georg. Georg seems to have fallen asleep. Is someone looking after this kid?

"You aren't freaking out?"

"Oh, no, I am. But I'm getting used to freaking out."

"Do you want a handjob while we wait for Mom to come back?"

"Yep."

"Sweet." Her hand finds what it was looking for. "Hey, doesn't Mom look--" she starts rubbing him, the chlorinated hot tub water like a satin glove on her hand, "good?"

"She's wearing a bikini," he points out, trying not to let this go too far too fast.

"Feels like you like her in that bikini," Ingrid says, biting her lip and glancing down into the bubbling water.

"Mm--maybe" he can't lie with his cock.

"Do you like her cute little boobies in that bikini?"

"I--her--her little boobies?" he mutters.

"Feels like that's a yes to me."

"I guess," he confesses. Ingrid suddenly throttles his dick. "I mean YES. Yes!"

"Aren't they SO cute? Ohmygod, you should see them. Maybe we can ask!"

"I..." he just all of a sudden loves Ingrid so much, "Yeah."

Ingrid's face lights up, and the stroking of his cock levels up in loveliness.

"I bet she'll be down. You like me jerking you off and talking about Mom, huh?"

"Yeah," he pants, only half-present. "Wait, down for what exactly?"

"Showing us her tits!"

"Oh. Nooo, I don't know, Sis--"

His sister's hand immediately stops.

"I mean--yes? Yes, I want to see Mom's tits?"

She picks back up at her original pace, the loveliness back down to level one.

"Tell me what else you want, Bro."

"I want to ... do acid with you. And Mom."

"What else?"

"And then I want us to get naked. And I want to--ughhmm--I want to see Mom naked?"

"That sounds fun. What do you want to do with Mom after she's naked?"

"Come on--S-Sis--it's your turn. What do you want?"

"I want to suck Mom's cute little tits with you."

"Oh, Sis. That's--whoa, woo--that's gross."

"Oh is it?" Ingrid arches an eyebrow. "It doesn't feel like you think it's gross, Bro." She pumps even harder.

"Ah, ah, well--s-sometimes I say 'gross,' and what I mean is 'I want to suck Mom's tits with you.'"

"Yes, trust me, you do. Now what else do you want?"

"I--I--I really want to get back to that place, mm-mentally I mean, where we're all just comfortable, and naked and--and--just--slowdownslowdown--experiencing each other's--you'renotslowingdown--as if we're, like--like how you said yesterday. That big speech."

"Sounds like you liked that speech, Bro."