Inheritance - Reclamation

The women, a mass of shining flesh that had remelded into one after eighteen years apart, bobbed up and down, up and down, like they were lost in the sea behind them and riding the waves without an ounce of control.

"Love you mommy... love you so much..." Claudia murmured sweet nothings, and Cleo could only grunt in response; so utterly out of her head she'd become. Her fingers did enough talking though, when they dug deep into her daughter's waist, forceful and needy enough to elicit a surprised gasp from Claudia. "Shit! Oh... that... that hurts... but, damn... don't stop." Claudia beamed down at her mother's dark head that was still, still latched onto her tit. "Mmm. I like it. Mark me, mom. Cleopatra..." that sent a shiver up the teen's spine, "fucking claim me too. Take my body!"

That did it. With those words, that plea, Cleo lost all control. At seeing his wife quickly, eagerly, become the fucking avatar of lust, and ravage their daughter mercilessly, Nate couldn't take any more. The last thing he saw before he mustered the strength to end his torture was Cleo bending Claudia over on her elbows and knees and lining up the double-ended dildo she'd obviously kept in special reserve to claim the girl's virginity. The final scene to assault him, the coda to the movement, was Claudia screeching in pained bliss as her mother took her second virginity too.

"Over. It's... it's all gone." The phone shook in Nate's trembling fingers, already forgotten as the cacophony of anguish in his head shut out the world around him, and he buried his face in his hands.

Which was why he never heard the door open, and why he didn't see them until it was too late to escape.

The evidence of his life's end that Aisha had sent him was only a few minutes old, but the event itself happened hours ago; more than enough time for the... party to make its way back home. It took a soft hand on his shoulder for him to snap out of the morass he was drowning in, and even then he could only raise his head slowly, by inches, as if he were digging himself from his own grave.

"Cloud..." The name rattled out raggedly, and that was all he had in him.

For whatever it was worth, his daughter looked on him with just as much boundless love as she ever had, but her face was a storm of conflicting emotions; affection and fear, satisfaction and timidity. But the one that Nate couldn't help but latch onto was the naked anticipation, and it made him afraid.

"Daddy... I didn't know. I swear." The teen shot an accusatory look at Aisha, wannabe Orson Welles that she was, and huffed indignantly. "I was only, a couple damned minutes ago, told that... that you probably saw..." She blushed an astonishingly deep crimson then, which was something that Nate would never have thought she'd be able to do ever again. Her look to Cleo, who watched them both wordlessly and completely void of expression, told him that any ire on Claudia's part was a fleeting thing, though.

When he didn't make a peep in response, the girl dropped to her knees in front of her father and took his big blonde head in her hands. "Dad, my perfect daddy, please, please, please! Oh God, what you saw... you... you can't understand without... I haven't..."

Claudia gulped and sniffled a bit, then got back to her feet. She looked down at her father, took a deep breath, and smiled widely. Innocently. Just as she always had. "I'm still daddy's little girl. I always will be." She reached down to him, gesturing with one hand. "Come with me. We'll go upstairs and... talk about it." She gave a hiccupping little laugh. "Remember what I said; you will always have a place with me." She glanced to the side. "With all of us. Just... trust us."

Nate stared at that hand, the one that had gripped his thumb so tightly the first time he'd ever touched it that he thought it wouldn't let go--and hoped never would--and put his own into it. He let his daughter lead him up the stairs of their home, trying to shut out the sight, the acknowledgement, that she was flushed, dirty, and clad in a bikini that was torn apart more than enough to make a mockery of any notion of modesty. He went, one foot in front of the other, because he had to see.

He had to know.