Mother of Necessity Ch. 03

After finishing, she toweled off, shrugged on a ragged half-tee, and padded to the living room. She turned on the TV and cued the Roku to whatever was next in her Hulu queue. She had little intention of actually watching it.

As the show started - some much-ballyhooed original indie comedy - she fetched a bottle of wine and a chocolate chip muffin from the fridge. She intended to devour the muffin and drink the wine straight from the bottle, as a single woman of her age had earned the right to do.

It took a full episode for her to relax. A half-hour later, the annihilated remains of the muffin lay in the crumb-strewn graveyard of the wrapper. She uncorked the bottle and fulfilled her promise to herself, taking a healthy swig as she started the next episode. A scene of lively suburban dysfunction unfolded on the screen, well-to-do family members working themselves into multitudinous froths over misunderstandings that could have been solved with the briefest conversation.

Amateurs, Beth thought. She could show them what family hijinks really looked like.

The youngest son in the show looked a little bit like her nephew Dylan. The same short hair, semi-athletic build, lackadaisical demeanor. Now she remembered why she'd picked this show. She'd liked the look of him and his dad; she'd used them as inspiration for characters in the Tertiary Existence game she'd played with Melinda. Players could send characters to each other to visit neighborhoods and houses. With the mod they had both installed, elaborate romances and trysts could (and did) often ensue.

These two particular characters of Beth's had never gone over to visit Melinda's part of the world. Beth and Melinda had both created virtual versions of themselves as the central characters in their imaginary lives; Beth thought it might come off a bit strange to reveal she played around with an imaginary avatar of her own nephew.

Now, of course, that didn't seem like such a transgression. Beth already knew Melinda had a penchant for fictional incest. Melinda's Tertiary Existence game was full of incestuous trysts: fathers with daughters, mothers with sons, brothers with sisters, messy and no doubt difficult-to-orchestrate family orgies taking place during birthday parties and high school graduations. Beth had no idea how Melinda managed it - Beth could barely pull off a decent score on a run-of-the-mill dinner party in the game , much less one that involved gang-banging the guest of honor.

And now she'd learned Melinda's lusts went beyond the virtual. She'd crossed a line into doing things with her own flesh and blood. Beth felt a keen twist of frustration at Cliff's refusal to show her those photos. She knew it was the right thing to do, and she respected his sense of ethics, twisted and uneven as it was, but still.

She wanted to see. She wanted to know.

What had it been like? It couldn't have gone perfectly. They must have been nervous. Dylan would be stoic, of course, as he always was, but Melinda - she would fidget and fret, play with her hair, laugh that tremulous laugh of hers.

Beth slid down on the couch, drawing one foot up to the cushions. She began to play an imaginary slideshow in her head, imagining how the scene would play out:

In vivid color, filling the living room wall nearly from floor to ceiling. Melinda and Dylan standing together, smiling, arms around each other, looking happy and awkward and anxious at the same time. Like a family photo.

Might as well be a Christmas tree behind them, Beth though, and introduced one - it was her fantasy, after all.

She began to play through a sequence in her head, imagining still photos, interposed with scenes of live action: an assortment of cliched familial poses, each a little more familiar than the last, until the first sequence came to an end with a decidedly un-familial kiss. Beth imagined the hesitation before, the touch of lips, the more eager follow-up.

Beth's legs parted a little, her fingers drifting up her thighs.

She imagined Melinda's clothes coming off, the imaginary slideshow coming more quickly now (blouse, bra, skirt, underwear, stockings, did she have stockings? Sure, stockings, they're on, now they're off).

The show continued: Melinda unzipping her son's jeans, pulling them down, helping him out of his clothes like a helpful mother should. Beth imagined herself being there as an observer, watching, wondering: how far would Melinda go? Where would it end? What would they do? In her imagination, Beth was pleasuring herself as she watched, voyeurism going in both directions.

"Okay," whispered to no one, going along with this fantasy.

Her hand slipped between her legs, the thumb of her other hand caught between her teeth. The sitcom rolled on, unheeded. Her back and ass were uncomfortably warm, sweat starting to rise as heat gathered between her body and the sofa.

In her imagination, Dylan's cock was magnificent and shapely, his expression constantly changing: eager, terrified, disbelieving. Then came the first naked, awkward embrace; the exchange of bodily kisses, the hesitant caresses punctuated with glances toward the photographer for approval. For Beth, these imaginary moments were the best: mother and son looking right into the lens, vulnerable and open, their bodies in odd positions, their expressions slightly ridiculous.

Beth slid two fingers into herself with a soft sigh, then slipped wet fingers up to massage her clitoris.

The slideshow became a movie now, then lurid reality, as raw as she could imagine it: Melinda dropping to her knees, Dylan's cock disappearing into her mouth, emerging, disappearing again. Beth focused on tiny details: the curve of Melinda's lower lip as the shaft weighed on it; the wrinkle between Dylan's brows during his expression of pleasure.

Her fantasy began to slide apart into frantic components, an unfocused chaos of possibilities. Dylan coming in her mouth; Melinda pushing him to a chair (there's a chair there now) and having her way with him; Dylan bearing her roughly to the floor and entering her; Beth between them, naked, her sister and her nephew caressing her flesh, Melinda holding her shoulders, restraining her, Beth crying out helplessly as Dylan pushed his cock into her-

That did it. Beth came in a long, slow quiver. On an average day, she might keep her orgasms to a soft sigh, but she gave voice to this one, not caring how loud she was.

The chaos of images blew apart into mist. She leaned forward, letting the heat dissipate as she reached for the wine.

Beth wanted to be a part of this. She knew that now. She wanted in on this scheme she'd concocted with Cliff, not as a conspirator or a co-funder or anonymous donor, but to be on film, naked, with her sister. With Dylan, too. To push these boundaries away, to open herself up to an under-earth of secret desires she'd always harbored but never given voice.

"God," she muttered, and took a long drink of wine. How was she going to do this? How could she possibly breach the subject? The whole idea was insane. She couldn't just show up at Melinda's house and start talking about incest.

Unless -

Taking a last drink from the bottle, Beth reached for her laptop.