Tabootopia - A Nation of Incest Ch. 08

Venetia looked at Richard and spoke in a hushed tone: "You will be sleeping over? Please, I insist."

With sauce all over his face, he smiled and replied, "Of course, I would not have it any other way."

"I'm happy, and again...thank you."

The way Venetia said 'thank you' was the most clear, direct message of them all. A highly seductive husk had gone into her delivery, her posture (chest stuck out, breasts in full view) and body language (lips dripping wet, cheeks glowing) were such that she was giving all the signals at once. She might as well have tore all her clothes off, laid out her naked body on the table and let him know that she'd nominated herself as dessert.

"It is my pleasure, truly," he said as he ate slowly, savouring the taste.

***

Thirty minutes after the meal was served, it was finished.

"Thank you all, it was an excellent meal," said Richard. "I thank the chefs."

"Thanks," whispered Daniel, he and his friends choosing to stay silent, not wanting to disturb the ritual.

When Richard put his knife and fork down, a tangible change took place, a huge shift in the balance of power -- and everyone knew it.

He looked at Frankie and said without a glimmer of hesitation: "Son, I think you should go to your bedroom."

The teen observers were stunned. The directness and tone that Richard had used was simply flabbergasting. He'd basically ordered Frankie, in his own home, to go to bed, and not soon, but now.

Yet, Frankie did not see this as offensive. Not even in the slightest.

"Yes, Sir," he said with glee in his voice.

Frankie stood up and extended his hand to his boss.

"No, no," said Richard. He stood up, cast a shadow over the boy, and then hugged him. Richard then whispered something to Frankie: "You may watch."

Richard sat back down after having given his order.

Frankie was thrilled. "Thank you, Sir." He then approached his mom, hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. "Goodnight, Mom. Night, Sir."

"Yes, yes," replied Richard.

"Thank you, Son, goodnight," said Venetia.

Frankie rushed up the stairs, to his room...and right out the window.

"Now," Richard stood up, went over to Venetia, and extended his hand. "To the bedroom."

In that spilt-second, as his hand reached down to her, a dormant thought popped into her head: she'd always wanted the option to say the following to her son: "Do it or else I'll tell your father." Yes, she was blessed in having a boy that was always polite and obedient, but the idea of being able to say that, having that caveat, that one that she didn't need but wanted, was a thought she'd use whenever the batteries on her machine ran dry. Dream no more: Daddy was standing right in front of her.

"Yes, please," she took his hand, stood up, and went up the stairs, to the bedroom.

***

Richard opened the bedroom door, leading Venetia in by the hand. He walked to the centre of the room, quickly took his shirt off, and stood tall. He looked at her with a clear and simple purpose: he wanted her to pull his shorts down.

Without a second's hesitation, Venetia went to him, stood close and looked him right in the eyes. She was close enough to smell him, able to take in the stench of metal merged with Richard's natural pheromones. Hmmmm. Simply put, it was the smell of a man -- and it made her wet in an instant.

Venetia looked up at him; his expression was stoic, calm, collected, while she, she couldn't hide her joy; she had a huge smile glued to her face, the same smile she got when her daddy came home from the Ford Factory. And Venetia was always a good girl. Daddy's girl. She loved it when that proud strong man hugged her tightly, making her feel warm and safe. She loved that feel of his big hairy chest against her small soft body.

Welcome home, Daddy.

Venetia rubbed her hands through Richard's chest, amazed at how rock-hard his body was. Her long fingers glided against Richard's rough skin, she able to feel that familiar prickly hair which she loved so much. Whilst her hands explored, she was looking in Richard's eyes, awaiting further instructions. He gave her those through his actions; he put his hands on her shoulders, his body language clearly communicating the message: on your knees. Venetia did as her superior ordered. She got on her knees, her eyes lowering down upon descent, eventually looking right at the prize, it just begging to be released: his massive bulge.

Venetia complied with Richard's wish. She put her hands around the waist of his shorts and pulled them down with a quick tug. Her eyes remained on the shorts when they reached the ground. She then peered her head up...and gave a heavy, audible, air-sucking gasp when she saw it. For a second or two, she just stared, awed at the size and girth of the massive instrument. She'd never seen manhood like this. Heck, she'd never even imagined it could be this big...but then...it went full. When Venetia saw it go erect, become full of alpha male red blood cells, she started salivating like never before. Unconsciously, her hands were reaching towards it, but, right before she could put her fingers on that goliath, she felt Richard's hands lift her back to her feet.

"My turn," he said with a small grin.

"Please," she replied with a soft whimper. Venetia was in a state of utter amazement, amazed at how effortlessly Richard had lifted her up. Never before had Venetia, a proudly curvaceous woman, been manhandled like that. She liked that feeling. She liked it a lot.

Richard placed his thick palms on her shoulders, turned her around, grabbed the zip of her dress, pulled it down, and let the dress drape down her shoulders, falling to the floor with a satisfying crumple.

She stepped out of the dress, disrobed and in her white bridal lingerie. Venetia felt her body brilling with a chilly wave of excitement, feeling Richard's gaze go down her neck, feeling his intentions, feeling his presence loom over her. Venetia was full of timid excitement, full of joy -- and for a very taboo reason: she was thrilled to be at the absolute mercy of this man. He could've done anything to her -- and she liked that feeling, liked knowing she was being totally dominated.

Richard clasped his hands on Venetia's shoulders, taking a quick whiff of her strawberry shampoo. His libido had reached another level of arousal -- yet, he kept control, his demeanour staying cool and confident. He turned her around and looked deep into her eyes.

"Strip."

He said it with a calm tone -- but make no mistake about it: this was a clear and serious order.

Venetia's response was as natural as the air she breathed: "Yes."

Venetia unstrapped her bra with her shaky fingers. She let it fall to the ground, her dark nipples and full, pert, well-matured breasts exposed for his viewing pleasure. While Richard was admiring those succulent teats, Venetia let her panties slid down to her feet. Her vaginal hair was trimmed, neat, and dripping, dripping wet, chocked full with seeping pheromones.

Richard looked and knew, knew she was his ideal woman: humble, good-natured, kind, and submissive. And, of course, her looks greatly appealed to his personal tastes: full dark hair, luscious lips, dynamite curves, and the extra added shade of exotic spice: her dark-chocolate smooth skin.

While he admired her, Venetia looked at him and knew that this was the man she'd be hungering for, that this, this was her ideal man: strong, powerful, a man with great character, a strict father to her son, a gentleman outside the bedroom...and a beast inside that was ready to pounce.

Both were now fully stripped back, back to their cores, as nature intended, with nothing between them, nothing to hide, both in their most primal forms: a breadwinner who was ready for bed, and his woman, ready to serve.

Now they were ready.

Richard grabbed Venetia's arm, pulled her towards him, and took a big meaty feel of her juicy ass.

Before Venetia could react, Richard's lips were on hers, he giving her a hard, passionate kiss. When lucid thought returned, she was already dripping on his toes, knowing full well that she wasn't giving herself to him, more like he was taking her, owning her. She was his.

While locked in his grasp, Venetia evaluated her position: her feet were dangling against his shins, his prickly hair was poking against her skin, and his cock was jabbing at her navel. That, and how he was holding onto her ass with a hard grip, didn't make this the most tender and romantic of situations -- but that was how she liked it. Why? Because Venetia loved being controlled and dominated. Venetia was the kinda girl that took a little extra thrill in saying "Yes, Sir" to her teachers, and liked it when her daddy threatened to spank her -- which he never had to do since she was such a good girl, but she liked knowing it could happen. Even at the age of 45, Venetia still called every uniformed man 'Sir', both out of habit -- and because she liked to. She'd felt miscast for much of her life: she was a submissive with a dominant frame, a woman with a body which had men on their knees, but, what she really wanted was a man that put her flat on her back.

Meanwhile, Richard felt a huge firebomb going off inside him. The touch, the feel, the aroma: Venetia was everything he wanted in a woman. The taste, the taste of her lips, the sweetness of her skin. If he was any less of a man, this overload would've already had him finished. But Richard? He hadn't even started yet.

With her in his hands, Richard led Venetia to the bed, he taking his natural position: on top. He spread her legs open, a strong scent shooting right into his face. He took a second to let that scent, that natural aphrodisiac, go inside him. It smelt like rosemary grace, springtime bloom...and untamed tropical jungle lust.

"Hmmm...yes." That was nature's way of telling Richard that Venetia was his ready and willing bitch. With that confirmation in mind, he got steady his piece, directed it towards her quivering vaginal lips and parted open the velvet curtain.

"Ahhh! Ahhh!" she moaned as the bare iron rod pushed itself into the hot, boiling core. He lowered himself down to her face, pushing it in deeper, deeper, to levels she never knew possible.

"Ahhh! Ahh! Ah! Ahh!"

Venetia's breathing was hot and heavy, her breath going right into Richard's face. The smell of her hot honey breath got his fire to burn even stronger. He kissed her hot lips and neck as he went in and out of her vagina, going at a moderate pace, aiming to elongate this moment.

So while these two engaged in this highly intimate lovemaking session, they unknowingly had a viewer in their midst. Well, they knew, but they were so lost in the trawls of passion, that they'd forgotten him entirely. Yes, outside, peeking through the window, on his knees, in the dirt, with his pants off, whacking off like there was no tomorrow: it's Frankie.

Awed Frankie took in all the delights of this hot, steamy spectacle. It was everything he imagined -- the big white dominant boss on top, ploughing the hot black mom -- and yet it was also so much more. It was the passion, the intensity, the mutual enthralment, the undertones at play and the power plays being manoeuvred. These intangibles had Frankie incredibly turned on. He kept watching and kept investigating...

First, Frankie examined Richard. When he did, Frankie saw a truly stunning display of power. It was clear to see that Richard had made his role very, very clear. He wasn't a guest, or just Frankie's boss, nor was he merely Venetia's lover. Richard was, without a doubt, the Man of the House. The way Frankie saw it he, the son, was watching his mother have sex with Mr. Hermann, in Mr. Hermann's bed, inside Mr. Hermann's bedroom, in Mr. Hermann's house. Watching this new power dynamic unfold, Frankie felt humbled, happy, honoured and proud to see this great man take this cherished role.

When Frankie examined his mother, he found himself to be very surprised -- and extremely turned on. Frankie was seeing a whole new side to his mother: a submissive side. Frankie had peeked before, he'd seen her have sex with a couple of men, and each time he peeked, it was his mother in the lead, the men following, they just happy to be in her nude presence. But what Frankie saw now was a whole different story. His mother was being groped without permission, lifted, thrown, ploughed, fully, completely and totally dominated by this strong man. Frankie was stunned with this development, but also buzzing with excitement, thrilled beyond words to see his mother in this whole new taboo light.

As Frankie continued to watch, a realisation hit him as hard as a hammer to the face. As Frankie took further examination of the scene -- his mother on bottom, her feet in the air, her profuse sweating, and the pained expression of pleasure on her face -- he could easily sum up the difference between this encounter and others he'd seen his mother have. Frankie knew he wasn't seeing his mother have sex: he was watching her get fucked. This epiphany made him reach his climax...and then go into his next round of self-pleasure.

Back to the bed, and after ten-or-so minutes of strong thrusting, Richard paused, got on his knees, and looked down at his woman: her body was glistening, a hot wet sheen over her smooth dark skin.

"Hmmm." He paused to admire, catching her glance as he did. From the look in her eyes, he could see the devotion, the absolute permission from her to him: 'I'm your bitch,' was how he read it -- and he was right, she was, and she was damn proud of that fact.

Richard turned Venetia around, onto her front. He grabbed her ass cheeks and took a nice, hard feel. He then reached under and put his hand on her stomach, using his strength to put her on her hands and knees. Richard steadied his cock and inserted it back inside her vagina, making her wince as the girth slipped back to its natural resting place. Mission accomplished, Richard had his desired position: his hands on her hips, her soft cheeks bouncing against his navel as he gave her a smooth, hot thrusting.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" Venetia felt that thickness go in hard and deep, her sweat dripping onto the sheets, lightning bolts spinning around her body.

Then came a gesture which got Venetia on a whole new level of arousal.

Smack! Richard slapped Venetia's butt. It was a soft slap, one for pleasure, not for pain, yet a gentle blow from his palms still left a painful sting. It hurt...and she loved it. A 'stay good' spank is what she called it -- and that's exactly what Richard's intention was. As he thrust, he continued to give her light, stinging, slaps to her bottom. Obedient Venetia took her humbling like a good little bitch, very appreciative of her master's affectionate display of brutal power.

After he saw his mother take the spanking, Frankie exploded all over the wall. Studious Frankie knew that what he saw went beyond the act of hand on rear: he knew he was watching his mother get humbled, watching his mother's owner confirm that she belonged to him. The spanking, the sound of that white paw on those dark cheeks, is something he'd never forget because it was the moment, the moment when Frankie saw his mother for what she truly was: a fully subservient woman. Not to all men, of course, but to the right man, to Mr. Hermann, she was willing and loving to his acts of submission. To know these deeply intimate details about his own mother made Frankie's heart race faster than it ever had before, so fast that it felt like it was about to tear out of his chest.

Richard kept the pace smooth, strong, using his skill to keep himself going, though he very nearly burst when he reached his hands under and took a good, hard grope of Venetia's breasts, her dark areoles giving him a gigantic mega-volt surge to his senses.

"Ah yes! Ah yes!" she moaned as she felt him go deep inside her.

Richard then slipped his cock out, put his left arm around Venetia's shoulders, and put his free hand on her stomach. He lifted her up, put his right hand on her chin, turned her face and kissed those lips. Those lips, he found himself addicted to them, unable to get enough of their taste.

Whilst enjoying this embrace, Venetia noticed that with his arms locked around her she was trapped, Richard's hold so strong that she couldn't even move an inch. Despite her position, and her general unfamiliarity with this man, she felt no terror, none at all, just a feeling of safety as she was held in his sturdy arms. His casual display of ownership and protection had her break into her next level of arousal, a place she'd not visited before, a new plateau of sexual satisfaction.

Richard rubbed his hands over Venetia's smooth soft skin, then turned her around, and pushed her back down onto the bed, going back into his most preferred position: missionary. He inserted himself back inside, able to glide in smoothly due to the accumulated juice and sweat. He went back in, going with a deliberately moderate pace.

"Ah, yes, yes, yes!" she said as his sweat drops dripped down onto her skin. The heat in this bedroom was intensifying, growing larger by the second, both participants feeling the perspiration roll down their foreheads.

"Urr, urr." Richard progressively increased his pace. As he thrust, he felt like he was underneath a waterfall, the sweat roaring down his broad back. Indeed, this room was humid, the heat coming from the sweltering North Gaudium summer and, of course, coming from the warmth that these two lovers had created. It would be no exaggeration to state that the modest bedroom had become a sauna, the intense heat trapped inside, not letting go, not letting up, growing, breathing, alive, pulsating, pulsating with waves of scorching warmth. This heat only grew more intense as the seconds ticked away, as he kept thrusting, as she kept moaning. Soon, the wallpaper was hanging loose, the floor was damp, and the bed, the bed had become a mass of molten-hot wood.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" the volume of Venetia's groans increased as Richard went in faster, faster.

"Urr! Urr!" Richard's cheeks were glowing red, his inner-uproar only increasing from watching his woman, watching her breasts shake, looking at her face, her gorgeous ebony face, her wild full hair gliding against the pillow as he thrust, her eyes always on him, always looking right at him.

"Ah! AH! AH!" Venetia's body was trembling with delight as she felt all the inches go deep inside. To her, it felt like the whole house was shaking. It was: the bed was being rammed against the wall, the loud thuds reverberating around the house, rumbling its very foundations.

Bring-bring.

The call had been made: Richard's body was at its limit. Time to finish. He tensed himself up and went faster, increasing his pace to a heart-skipping speed, going head-on into the finish.

"Urr! URRR!" The thunder in his tone and the strain on his face let Venetia know what Richard was planning: he was going to cum inside her. No permissions, no asking, no thoughts of consequences, just ready to spill his seed into his woman.

"Ah! Yes...ah!" she groaned as the pressure increased. As the end drew near, Venetia felt all of Richard's heavy frame laying on top of her, an almost suffocating feeling, but one that only added to her pleasure. Richard laid soaking-wet kisses to her neck as he thrust in with all his might, his lips like dynamite, his cock like an atomic bomb.

"Urrr!!!" He'd reached the tip of the summit, his muscles strained, all the pressure in his body building, building, slowly converging towards one point, getting tighter, tighter, his member boiling red, like a piece of just-melted iron, ready to unload inside the bubbling, wet container.

Frankie took his shirt off and let his pants and underwear slip to the ground. He was fully naked, drenched, his stumped pencil on its 5th round. Even from his vantage point, he could feel the heat, feel it searing over him. Frankie felt like he was watching the untold part of a fairytale, that tale being the one with the ubiquitous proud warrior and his fair maiden. He was right: Frankie was watching what was left out of the fairytales, what they didn't show, what they didn't even elaborate on, and that was the hero taking his woman back to his kingdom; Prince Charming stripping Cinderella of those robes; Aladdin slapping Jasmine's fine toned ass; The Beast mounting The Beauty; the hero making his claim full and complete by giving that princess what she always wanted: a hard, proud, heroic fucking that let her know that she was to live happily ever after...if she let him cum inside her. Frankie jerked on, awaiting the final curtain.