Our Own Pastoral

"But..."

"But, nothing. He hates violence. More than most people."

"I hate violence."

"It's not a contest Meg. His reasons are different than most."

"Different?"

"Yes. His adult life has been one of death seemingly everywhere he turned. The war, your mother, our parents, and now he's killed a man..."

"Defending both me and himself."

"True, but it's still one more death in his world, whether he caused it or not. And let's not forget, he counsels people who've got nothing but death and stress on their minds day in and day out. He needs a break."

"What can I do?"

"I can't tell you much. But, and here's what I'd like you to think about. I think, no matter how frightened you are..."

"I'm not frightened."

"You might not feel frightened, but you've been brutalized. It may not have even sunk in yet, but you've regressed into a shell where you need your daddy. I'm not criticizing you. I understand. Believe me I understand. However, I'm going to ask you to go easy on your father. He's healing also. We all need to help each other."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Stop and think about it. You almost lost your brother and your niece on the same day."

"I did, didn't I?"

"You mean you haven't thought about it before now?"

"Oh no, sweet Meg. I've thought about it every single minute since the police called me. I think I've aged ten years in the last ten weeks."

"You never age."

"Believe me. I may not show it, but I felt fear, like I've never known it before."

There wasn't much more to talk about. I reached over and clasped Andrea's hand in my own. For some reason, her admission of fear, made me stronger. It was the start of our family's healing process.

Our time in Europe was subdued. We went from country to country in a somewhat ambling fashion. We had no agenda, so we spent our time going to concerts, the ballet, visiting museums, and going to vineyards in Spain, Portugal, Italy, and France, where Dad and Andrea tasted and in many cases bought wines to have shipped back to the states. It was in Italy where we reached a decision to change our lives and get out of the city and into the country. When we returned home, my father and Andrea closed out all their businesses on the east coast and bought a vineyard in California.

ACT III -- The Hedonists

Over the past nine years, the three of us have built our wine business into a respectable enterprise. Raising grapes, picking them at just the right moment, pressing them, storing the juice of the grapes in wood barrels, and finally pouring it into a glass bottle, are all processes that have been refined over the centuries.. We've studied the experts in the industry to refine our own processes that produce a product we're all very proud of, and one that has been well received in the market place.

Our home sits atop the highest hill on the property, looking out over the vineyards. In the distance are the mountains and to the south are the major cities of California. But here, it's like being in a different world entirely.

Our family's a very quiet, non-social threesome. We have all we need out of life on our twenty-five acres of rolling hills. And we have each other. To be precise, we're a ménage a trois. It happened during my first year of college when I discovered Andrea and Dad were lovers.

I'd come home a day early for Spring break. I knew that in a couple weeks we'd start to get busy with the vines, so I wanted to see if Dad and Andrea needed any help. In truth, I really hated being away from them.

When I pulled into the property, I entered from the rear, off the highway. The frontage road to the highway is where we have the tasting rooms and café. The house is at the back of the property.

I stopped just past the entrance and parked so I could walk the rest of the way up to the house. It's my way of re-acclimating myself to the idyllic sounds and smells of the country.

When I finally got up to the house, the door was locked. Now that was unusual for that time of day as we almost never lock the door in the daytime. I wondered if Dad and Andrea had gone into town.

I let myself in and went upstairs to clean up and relax. As I passed Dad's master suite, I happened to glance in and saw my father and Andrea lying in bed, sound asleep. And nude.

It didn't shock me. For some reason, I immediately knew why neither one ever dated. It seemed as if I sort of expected it at some subliminal level. And here's the odd thing; I was glad. This meant, they would never leave me for another person, nor would they bring a stranger into our family. An instant later I also realized, I would never leave them either, nor would I bring someone into our little world. I never even considered the word incest as those thoughts ran through my mind. The only thought I had, the only thing left to work out, was would they accept me into their bed.

It was the fastest I'd ever made an important decision in my life. And, as it turned out, it was the second best decision. The first being my decision at seven years of age, that day when Andrea addressed my mother's grave, when I knew it was okay to go with them.

I went to my room, stripped off my clothes, took a quick shower, put on a robe, grabbed a book, and went back to their room. I sat in one of the two Queen Anne chairs and read while they slept.

I was deep into my book when I heard Andrea clear her throat. I looked up.

She'd sat up and leaned back against the head board, bringing her knees up to her chest. She did not cover herself.

"So now you know."

"Yes. Now I know."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Are you angry?"

"No."

"No?"

I thought for a minute. Then told her what I thought when I first saw them sleeping an hour earlier; the realization and decisions I made.

She arched her eyebrow.

"I know, huh. We're certainly not an average family. You're both the mother who's never birthed as well as the big sister, he's," I said, pointing, indicating my sleeping father, "he's the patriarch, and I'm the orphan. I'm not even sure we qualify as a family."

"True. But he is my brother and the fact we make love is incest."

"And if I have sexual relations with either one or both of you; that too will be incest. Except..."

"Except what?"

"From the moment I met you two, my whole idea of love and family was redefined by our mutual experiences. I'd say we're anything but typical. I want to tell you something Andrea," I said, pausing for effect.

"Go ahead."

"I've never had sex with anyone, and yet I feel as if I could easily lose myself in the various ways men and women enjoy themselves. I'll be twenty years old in a few months, and though many may think I'm chaste, I'm not. At least in my thoughts I'm not. As an example, when I took my shower earlier, the various configurations that ran through my mind, made me think I'm true slut material."

"Meagan, enjoying the human sexual potential does not make a person a slut."

"Maybe not, but I really didn't mean it in a negative context. I meant, I'm game. I've not thought about it before, not consciously. But in this past hour I realized I've always thought about it. Not the acts so much, but more like the connections. I've wanted for a very long time to be connected to the two of you without the fear of seperation. No. Let me restate that. I've wanted to feel I'd never lose the connection between us, that I'd never have to leave your side. Now, I know exactly what I want that connection to be."

"Are you sure?"

"Good lord yes. I'm sitting here having a conversation with the most beautiful woman I've ever known, she's naked, and because I don't have experience, I have no idea if it's okay to even bare my soul. But I'll tell you, I desire you and James so much it hurts: Emotionally, spiritually and of course, physically."

Andrea didn't say anything for a couple of minutes. As the time ticked on, I felt more and more that she was leaving the next move up to me. I stood, shrugged off the robe, showed her that I too was naked and walked to the bed.

As I approached, she swung her legs over the side, stood and stepped up to me. We embraced. Our breasts were mashed against each others breasts, our lips found each others lips, and she reached down and cupped my groin, inserting a finger tip between the folds of my labia.

I gasped.

"Not now," she said. "There's much to discuss before we embark on what could be, and maybe should be, a lifelong journey. Come."

She picked up her own robe, walked over grabbed mine, then took my hand and led me out of the suite.

We went downstairs to the kitchen where we made coffee, strong Cuban coffee.

Andrea made a plate of figs, dates, grapes and cheeses for us to snack on while we talked. She also put a bottle of Riesling into a vat of ice.

While I took my first sip of coffee she smiled, and spoke.

"Which do you like better, the figs, the grapes..."

"I like them all."

"Good. Sex is like that, and more," she said, getting up and going about the kitchen gathering foods. She went to the refrigerator and brought back several items as well.

"Here," she said, handing me a banana. "Peel it."

I did as she instructed.

"Now put your lips over your teeth and slide the banana into your mouth until it hits the back of your throat."

I opened my mouth, put my lips across my teeth and slid the banana all the back until I felt the tip hit the back of my mouth.

"That's what it's like to have a cock in your mouth. Now here," she said, spooning some yogurt and extending it to me. "Put this in your mouth for about twenty seconds and then swallow it slowly."

I did.

"Cum is warmer. But when you swallow it, it has a similar consistency. You'll either like it or not. But you'll do it because it's a gracious way of accepting a man's most precious gift, a gift by the way that he constantly manufactures."

"Do you like it?"

"I love it."

She then put her finger under my chin and tilted my head back just a bit while reaching with the other hand for a glass of water. This she held above my mouth and poured in a bit, slowly at first, and then tilting the whole glass at once she spilled water all over my face.

"That's what it's like when someone pees on your face."

"Are you trying to shock me?"

"No. I'm telling you this because if we're to live in a ménage a trois, then you need to be aware that you may find your father and I to be quite versatile in the way we approach our expression of physical love."

"But he's so quiet."

"He is. But he's regained the healthy appetite he had for life before he went to war, and before everything that followed after that, until we settled in here."

"These hills are my garden of Eden."

"Well said. This really is our own bit of paradise."

"Can we wake Dad?"

"He's up."

"How do you know?"

"Because, I saw him tiptoe past the kitchen archway just a couple of minutes ago. I think he was on his way outside so he could go down to the tasting rooms to see if anything is needed."

"So he obviously knows I'm here."

"Yes. We've discussed the possibility that you would find out about our relationship, and we decided that when you did, I'd be the one to have the first discussion with you."

"I'm glad. I feel like you're my sister, not my aunt."

"That's funny. I said the same thing to your father. I've always felt like you were my little sister."

"You know what else?"

"What?"

"I still remember the very first time I saw you, when Dad opened the cab door for you way back when you first came to meet me. I thought, and actually, I still think, you are the most beautiful human being I've ever seen."

She looked at me for a few minutes then said, "Kiss me."

I leaned forward on my chair, put her face in the cups of my hands, and gently, ever so gently, brushed my lips against hers.

She pulled me tighter so our lips mashed against each other, then she released enough pressure between our lips and gently stuck her tongue into my mouth.

We held the kiss for a moment and then broke apart.

Andrea opened the bottle of wine and poured us each a glass.

"We're going to put you on the pill."

I nodded.

"We won't chance vaginal penetration until the pill has had a chance to regulate you."

"I get it."

"In the meantime," Andrea smiled, "I'm going to teach you to suck cock like a whore during fleet week."

I laughed and reached for the yogurt.

When my father returned from the tasting rooms, we were still sitting in the kitchen. Andrea had been telling me all the various ways they had been having sex since their first time together. After the first few minutes of awkwardness, he sat with us while we continued our discussion.

She'd told me how she used to watch his cock become hard, raising the sheets while he slept all those years ago when she'd cared for him for the months after he returned from the war. She too was a virgin. She decided to stay that way until everything was sorted out. But then, the letter informing them of my mother's death arrived and all thoughts of sex were repressed for another few years.

In Europe she began to feel the "itch" as she so eloquently put it. We'd gone to the beaches in the south of France and seen the women sunbathing topless. Though Andrea admitted to being attracted to other women, (so was I) even desiring to lay with them, she knew she wanted, even needed, a man's cock inside of her. Upon our return to the States, she secretly began to masturbate and then discovered porn on the internet. It became something she looked forward to most late evenings; watching porn and "jilling off" as she described it.

It was here at the vineyard she knew she would bed her brother. It happened in a very matter of fact manner.

One night, after getting ready for bed, she walked into his room as he was getting under the sheets. He looked up and saw her standing at the foot of his bed. No words were spoken. He simply scooted over, patted the bed, and watched as she disrobed to join him.

They'd gone beyond the "making love" stage. They purchased a copy of the Kama Sutra for guidance and began working their way through the various positions illustrated on the book's pages.

As my father had been my mother's lover, he had the most experience sexually. However, he admitted, he and my mother had both been virgins, and so their sexual repertoire only included a bit of oral as foreplay. They mostly stuck with the missionary position when they made love.

Though both Andrea and my father admitted to experimenting with some kinky stuff, they really found great pleasure just being together in the same room. It didn't matter what happened, even if nothing happened, what mattered most was being in proximity to each other.

My father told me he and Andrea had once watched me leave for school and, without words, they both knew I was the missing link in their relationship.

My first blowjob was not the prettiest sight; certainly not like you see in pornos. I tried to swallow all my father's cum, but there was so much I couldn't keep up with the pulses and I started coughing with his cock still in my mouth. Cum was running out my nose, my eyes were watering, my throat was clogged, and I couldn't stop laughing.

I'd watched Andrea service him a few times before. She would kneel in the supplicant's manner, open his trousers and fish out his member, all the while maintaining eye contact promising, without words, great pleasure.

She always took her time and when he was ready for his release, she would bury his cock in her throat, milking all the cum he had to offer. I loved to watch her beautiful throat work to swallow every last drop. After she released him she would swish her tongue about the inside of her mouth, gathering the entire residue. I would then kiss her. The familiarity with cum's taste helped get me ready for my own first time.

Unlike Andrea, I learned to love having him fuck my mouth. She's the supplicant, I'm the victim, the receptacle of his overheated loins. Andrea thinks the fact I like the rough stuff is somehow related to the time I was almost raped. We don't share this idea with my father.

When he fucks my face, I like the way my mouth and throat feel for hours afterward. I can hardly concentrate fully on anything while I'm still in the throes of the act I've just experienced. Now when I fellate him, I know with certainty, I'll service him perfectly and I know both of us will derive great satisfaction from the act.

Andrea squirts.

When my father was showing me how Andrea liked to have her pussy eaten, he didn't tell me that fact. But when she was near release, he told me to get closer so I could see her pussy palpitate. When she squirted, her juices hit me square in the face, some even went into my mouth and nose. Though it was less thick than Dad's cum, it still turned me on to know I had swallowed some.

The first time I went down on her, I dragged her pleasure out for as long as I could. I was hoping she would fill my mouth. I wasn't disappointed.

My first intercourse hurt like a bitch.

My hymen was thick, thicker than Andrea's must have been. I bled and did not enjoy it one bit. It was not a disappointment though. We'd discussed the possibility that it might hurt and boy did it. We didn't try again for a few days.

The next time we tried, Andrea suggested I mount him from the top so I could control how far and how fast his cock entered me. It worked. Once he was inside all the way, I swooned, not from physical pleasure but from the spiritual connection. My father was inside of me. It was the final act of love connecting us forever more.

My favorite thing in our sexual menu is for Dad to fuck me from behind while I'm bent over eating Andrea's pussy.

Our sex life is unpredictable.

"Meg. Meg, where are you?"

Andrea had just come into the house. I was sucking dad's cock in the kitchen.

"Oh. There you are."

Without any regard to the position I was in, Andrea sat at the kitchen table reading going over my choice of classes for my final year at school.

"I think you really should consider the advanced statistics class. Your ideas about using probability theory to meld the elements into a predictive guess, should I say, about the time the grapes will be at their optimum should be continued. Don't you agree?"

My throat was full of cock so the best I could do was grunt in assent.

"Oh, sorry. Anyway when you've finished, we really should finalize your class schedule."

Just then Dad came. This time, I didn't swallow. I kept everything in my mouth.

When Dad withdrew his cock, I hollowed my cheeks so neither he nor Andrea knew I'd kept his cum. I stood up, winked at Dad and walked over to where Andrea was seated. I smiled slightly, made like I wanted to kiss her and when she offered her mouth I spit all the cum from my mouth into hers. She was completely surprised. It ended all talk of school business that day.

Our lives are about much more than sex. We eat well. We drink fine wines, beers and occasionally more hard liquors. We love music and are patrons of the great symphony south of us. I teach dance to the local kids at our town's community center.

I think a better way to describe our existence is to liken the three of us to a modern interpretation of the ancient epicurean's way of life. We enjoy all the pleasures of the flesh, in excess, in moderation, and twice each year in a fortnight's abstinence.

At the end of our two weeks' abstinence we throw a party for the local townsfolk. It keeps everyone from wondering why we spend so much time away from the general populace. The day after the party we enter a three month phase of moderation. After that, we indulge excessively for another three months and then it's back to the two week period of abstinence.