* Wishing * (On A Star)

"And what did you think?" I asked weakly. (I didn't dare correct her use of the terms 'Dad' and 'Uncle Gerald' or mention her swearing either.)

Geraldine grinned.

"What I've always thought," she replied. "I can't see the attraction of having a man's cock inside me. How long did Uncle Gerald last inside you? Ten minutes? Fifteen? When I'm being fucked by a girlfriend, we go on all night!"

Gerald chuckled.

"Actually, I'm ready to go again," he said proudly. "Your mother was just being cleaned up and prepared for round two by her cuckold. Do you want to stay and watch that too?"

"No, I'll pass on that, thank you, Uncle Gerald," replied Geraldine, getting to her feet. "I've said my piece, and now I'll go."

She must have seen the look of anguish on my face, because she quickly added,

"Don't worry mother. I'm not leaving. Where would I go? I accept this 'alternative lifestyle' you three are living. It's your business, not mine. If you're willing, I'll continue to live and work here. I'm still looking for a girlfriend, and if and when I find someone suitable, we four can continue to work together and to love separately."

I wasn't in the mood to stay in bed any longer. I scrambled to my feet and pulled Geraldine into a tight embrace.

"Thank you, darling," I whispered into her ear and I kissed her on the cheek. "I'm sorry you had to learn about this in the way you did," I continued. "You've been very magnanimous and mature. I hope we can put all this unpleasantness behind us, and move forward now?"

"I don't see why not," Geraldine answered, holding me at arm's length and looking me up and down.

"But cuddling my naked mother wasn't something I envisaged when I got up this morning!"

She smiled as she dropped her hands from my arms.

"Nice tits, though mum!"

All four of us howled with laughter, and Geraldine sauntered out, wiggling her fingers in a flippant 'See you' gesture of dismissal.

Later on that evening, all four of us sat down to eat dinner. The discussion was open and very frank. We agreed to never mention anything to anybody. Geraldine agreed to address us all by our Christian names, because 'Dad' and 'Uncle Gerald' had now become too confusing.

She laughed when I asked her if she would consider teaching me to smoke a pipe. Gerald and Richard had both explained their smoking fetish to her, and she'd nodded her understanding. So when I asked her to teach me, she readily agreed, and both my lover and my cuckold were obviously looking forward to the day when I smoked a pipe for them.

The events described above took place nearly six years ago. It is time for me to take a back seat now. The rest of this story will be narrated by Geraldine. Keep reading, because there are one or two things that my daughter 'forgot' to tell us about herself on that fateful day when she learned that her mother was a Hot Wife.

Part Two: (The Circus Comes To Town) - narrated by Geraldine.

Having abandoned my career in the legal profession (and been abandoned by my girlfriend too) I had been living back home with my parents for just over six years. I say 'parents'; by that I mean my mother, Olwen, her husband and cuckold, Richard and her lover (and my father) Gerald. It had come as something of a shock to learn that Richard, whom I had long thought of as my father, was, in fact, a submissive cuckold, who my mother pegged regularly, and denied any form of sexual penetration, other than with his tongue when she and her lover had been fucking.

Despite lots of effort on my part, I had failed to find a regular girlfriend. My interests lie in domination. I love to be top bitch, to spank, cane, crop or paddle my lover, and then to fuck her. I'd had a few dates over the years, but nothing long-term had come of any of them. As a result, I threw myself into the family business, which was running a hotel in a small Kent seaside village.

Even if I say so myself, I was very good at my job. So much so, that we were able to buy a large empty pub which stood opposite our hotel. We converted it into an annexe, and applied for, and got, planning permission to construct self-catering chalets in what used to be the pub beer garden and car park. Business was booming, and not just in the summer tourist season. We initiated weekend breaks with themed events during the low spring and autumn seasons.

As I became more hands-on, my mother and father and the cuckold (as I now thought of him) began to take more and more breaks away. They had faith in my ability to keep things running smoothly in their absence, and I in turn, relied heavily on our well trained, professional staff to help me.

We used only local people, and I kept them on the payroll even during slack periods. Thus, if we experienced an unexpected rush of visitors, they were always willing to turn up at short notice, and to pitch in to help maintain the hotel's deserved reputation for excellent service, good food and luxurious accommodation.

The busy summer season was drawing to a close, as was the month of September. We only had a few guests remaining, and they were all due to book out at the end of the week. Most of the staff had been released on down-time pay, as we called it, and only a small skeleton staff remained to wait on tables, work the bar, carry out room service and the general day-to-day cleaning.

My parents had gone on a month's holiday to an island in the Caribbean, which catered for swingers and fetish lovers, and the cuckold had gone with them. I was busy in the office, transferring the weekly takings from the restaurant and the bar onto a spreadsheet. I heard someone ringing the bell on the reception desk, so I saved my work, put my laptop into sleep mode and went to see who required attention.

"Good morning. How may I help you?" I smiled at the woman in reception who had obviously been the person ringing the bell for service. I'd never seen anyone look so orange.

Her ginger hair topped a body that sported the most hideous spray tan it has ever been my misfortune to see. Add to that bright orange lipstick and fluorescent orange nail polish, and the result almost had me reaching for my sunglasses, despite the dull, overcast weather conditions.

She was tapping her fingernail impatiently on the reception desk, and didn't return my cheerful greeting.

"I want to speak to the manager," she said, looking at a point about four foot to the left of where I was standing. "I'll have a skinny latte coffee with a double vanilla shot whilst I'm waiting. Bring it over there, and make sure it's piping hot. I despise tepid coffee."

With that, she picked up a thin folder she had put down on the desk, bent down to retrieve her briefcase, and stalked off in the direction of the residents' lounge. I let her have fifteen seconds or so to settle down, then I followed her.

I walked up to her table and smiled at her again.

"I'm afraid this area is for resident guests only," I said sweetly. "I can bring your coffee into the bar, if you like."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she sighed. "Just go and get the manager, you officious little bitch. I have a proposal for him that he'll be very interested in. Where's the bar? Far be it from me to sit in such a busy, restricted area."

Given that the large lounge was empty, save for her and myself, the sarcasm was obvious. I let it go over my head.

"Straight out of here into reception, and the bar is on your right," I said, adding, "I'll see if the manager is available. We're very busy at the moment, wrapping things up after the summer holiday season."

"Oh, he'll see me," she snapped, getting to her feet and picking up all her possessions once more. "Just tell him that Cynthia Arnott-Glover from the BBC is here to see him."

As she brushed rudely past me, I found myself wondering what the British Broadcasting Corporation wanted with a family hotel in September? I was soon to find out.

I didn't bother asking anyone to make her coffee. I did it myself, resisting the temptation to spit in it. I made a flat white for myself, and took them both into the deserted bar. She was sitting in the far corner, so I made my way across the room and put the two cups down on the table where she was sitting.

She didn't acknowledge me, or thank me, and my irritation increased another couple of notches. I sat down. That got her attention.

"I thought I made myself clear," she said, picking up her cup and sipping her coffee. "I need to speak to the mana..."

Her eyes rested on the badge which I had clipped onto my blouse just before I brought the coffees. It read 'Geraldine. Hotel Manager'

She had the grace to blush, and she tried to cover her embarrassment with flattery.

"This is a lovely cup of coffee. Thank you."

I picked up my own cup, and acknowledged her 'compliment' with a curt nod of my head.

"How may I help you, Ms. Arnott-Glover?" I asked. "We're wrapping things up here after a very busy season. Most of the staff have already left, and those that remain are all very busy. As am I. So please, what is it that the BBC want with this hotel?"

She put down her coffee cup and opened the thin folder that I'd seen her carrying in reception. She made no reference to her earlier rude and dismissive comments. I watched as she extracted a single sheet of paper from the file and began to read from it.

"I am the commissioning editor for an exciting new project that the BBC is undertaking this autumn," she began. "It has been decided to make a feature length film of one of the Beeb's most successful situation comedy series. Are you familiar with 'Allo, 'Allo?"

Not only was I familiar with the series, it happened to be a particular favourite of mine. Set in a fictional small French town, the plot revolved around the situation during the second World War, when France had been occupied by the German army. One of the main characters was Helga, a German army corporal, who was over sexed and under satisfied. She always wore stockings and suspenders, and frequently ended up in her underwear. I used to watch the series just to see her, because I thought she was as hot as hell.

As well as Helga, there was a representation of every nation in the series, and they all received the same treatment. The authors made fun of the French, whom they portrayed as sex mad; the Germans (incompetent and corrupt); the British (upper-class twits) and the Italians (boastful and lecherous).

"Our location manager has decided that Dymchurch is perfect for all the external filming that we will need to do," explained Cynthia Arnott-Glover. "We have booked the film studios in... oh I forget where. Somewhere in Kent, anyway. Now I need to secure accommodation for the cast and crew. I'll need approximately sixty rooms for at least six weeks. There will be around ninety to a hundred people staying here. Can you manage that?"

She smiled sweetly at me, and I noticed that some of her lipstick had somehow transferred itself onto her two very prominent front teeth. My stomach curdled, but I returned her smile. I picked up my coffee and sipped it, watching her over the brim of my cup. I could tell she was fighting an urge to yell at me.

"That depends," I said slowly, putting my cup back down on the saucer. "It would be no problem with the rooms. I'll need dates, guest lists and dietary requirements to begin with. I suspect that your crew will need to be in rooms away from the actors?"

"Oh yes," she nodded in agreement. "And they'll have to be paired so that we have camera people, sound, make-up, continuity etcetera together. The different departments will be working separately from each other. So make-up will be required to be on set before sound, lighting and cameras for instance."

She smiled at me again.

"I'll group everyone together so that you can allocate rooms. All the actors will require rooms of their own, of course."

"Of course," I agreed sweetly. I got to my feet.

"As I said, Ms Arnott-Glover, I'm rather busy at the moment. Get those dates and lists to me as soon as possible. I can't see any problems in accommodating your cast and crew, but I will need numbers. I'm afraid that we will need to charge our full-rates, even though it will be in the low season. I'll need to re-engage all our staff, and they'll need to be paid."

She smirked. Taking out another sheet of paper, she scanned it and handed it to me.

"We've secured backing from some of our European sister television companies," she said proudly. "Finance is no problem."

She stood up and came and stood uncomfortably close to me.

"That's the sum set aside for bed and board," she said, pointing to a figure that I'd taken to cover everything from accommodation to all aspects of the filming process.

"I'm sure that will be sufficient," I replied coolly, as if I dealt with sums in excess of a quarter of a million pounds every day.

"When do you think you can get guest lists to me? The sooner the better from my point of view."

"I'll go straight back to the office and get them arranged this afternoon," she smiled, putting an orange paw complete with equally orange talons on my arm.

"I might even pop back this evening to complete the details. Would you be free for dinner tonight?"

My look must have said it all. She hurriedly removed her hand from my arm and spluttered,

"Oh, I'm sorry, my dear. It's just that I got the impression that you were one of us."

"If by that you are asking if I'm a lesbian," I replied disdainfully, "I would reply that my sexual preferences are none of your concern. Who I choose to fuck is my business, and my business alone. I'll do my best to meet your professional and business needs, but that's where our co-operation ends."

She sniffed and blushed, turning her orange face a disgusting colour.

"Well, that put me in my place," she said angrily. "I'll e-mail you everything you need, including a contract, which will need to be returned, signed of course, as soon as possible. We're on a tight schedule, and shooting needs to begin promptly, so that we can wrap everything up before Christmas."

She held out her hand to shake mine.

"Thank you for your time and your willingness to accommodate our needs. You'll be hearing from someone in my department very shortly."

I let her get almost to the door before I said,

"Ms. Arnott-Glover?"

She turned back to look at me, a hopeful expression on her face.

"The coffee's on the house," I said sweetly. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you."

If looks could kill, I wouldn't be around to write the rest of this story.

She might have been an obnoxious bitch, but she was an efficient, obnoxious bitch. Before most of the remaining guests had come down into the residents' lounge or the bar for a pre-dinner drink, I had received an e-mail which gave me all the information I needed.

There were nearly sixty technical crew, all of whom had been paired together. That meant thirty rooms, and given that they would be starting earlier and finishing later than the rest of the company, I decided to put them all in the annexe over the road.

My heart leaped when I saw the cast list. Helga was one of the main characters, so the actress who portrayed her was fifth on the list of actors who would be staying with us. As well as the director, the producer, several continuity people, runners, messengers and other assorted hangers-on, the actors all required single occupancy rooms. It was a nightmare to organise, but we were being extremely well paid, so I stayed up late, and by just after midnight, I'd sorted everything out.

Perhaps this is the point at which I should reveal that I now lived in the chalet that my mother and father had previously used as their love nest. Now that their lifestyle was out in the open, at least as far as I was concerned, they lived, with the cuckold, in a large detached house, set in its' own grounds, on the outskirts of the village. My mother came into work most days, my father less frequently. The cuckold rarely came in these days, as he had housework to do.

I'm telling you this because having allocated accommodation to everybody from the film crew, I made sure that Kim Hartman, who played Helga, was going to be living in the chalet next to mine. Despite the fact that I knew she had a husband, and everything I'd ever read about them said how happily married they were, I harboured a secret fantasy that once Kim set eyes on me, she would instantly fall in love with me become a lesbian, and we'd spend every spare moment fucking each other. (As I think has been mentioned at the start of this tale, it is a fantasy!)

By the time my parents came home, everything had been arranged. I was able to report that the hotel would be full throughout the rest of October, all of November and the first couple of weeks of December.

I'd contacted all of our staff, and only a handful were not able to commit themselves to coming back to work. I promised to pay them time and a half for an eight hour shift, and double time for any extra hours they had to put in. Everybody was happy with this arrangement.

Just before the film hoards were due to descend on us, I was having supper in my parent's house. My mother and I were both smoking, and Gerald, my father, was watching us and rubbing his cock occasionally. The cuckold was on maid duty, and he too had a hard-on as a result of seeing Mum and me smoking our pipes.

Not that it affected me in the slightest, but Richard, the cuckold, was so pathetically equipped in the cock department, that he was able to get a hard-on whilst wearing his chastity device. My mother constantly teased him, so he was nearly always hard.

The evening was drawing to a close, and I was about to return home when my mother beckoned me over and made me sit on her lap. I did as I was told, and we kissed for a while. This was something we had started doing ever since I bought her a pipe and sat on her lap teaching her how to smoke it. It excited my father, and got my mother wet. I knew she and Gerald would be fucking almost before the front door shut behind me.

"Darling, you've done a marvellous job with this film business " my mother smiled. "So much so that Gerald and I have booked a winter cruise. We'll be back by Christmas, by which time, all this fuss will have died down. We can have a lovely Christmas together. Is that ok?"

"Do I have a choice?" I grinned. "It's not fair, mum. You and Gerald are fucking like bunny rabbits, the cuckold gets to eat cream pie, and I'm reduced to using a vibrator to pleasure myself. I'm spending a fortune on batteries!"

"You could always come to bed with us," grinned Gerald. "It's not as if you've never fucked a woman before. Why don't you let your old dad introduce you to the pleasures of being man fucked?"

I sighed. It wasn't the first time Gerald had suggested this.

"I'm a lesbian, Gerald," I explained for what felt like the eighty fourth time. "A dyke, a rug muncher, a cunt consumer. I don't do man cock."

I winked at my mother.

"I'll willingly strap-on and fuck you mum. I've never considered incest, but I would never say never. Then maybe when my strap-on is slick with your cunt cream, I can flip Gerald over and peg his arse!"

"In your fucking dreams, Geraldine!" sputtered my father. We all laughed and I kissed them both, said 'goodnight' to the cuckold, and jumped in the car and drove home to my cold and lonely bed.

It was the weekend before all the cast and crew were due to arrive. Thanks to our brilliant staff, the hotel looked fantastic. Everything gleamed,glistened or shone. We'd even been blessed with an Indian Summer, and the grounds looked fantastic.

To show my appreciation, I arranged a staff party at a rival hotel a couple of miles up the road. I didn't want our establishment to look anything other than perfect, so the staff and I dirtied other people's glasses, crockery and cutlery. I told the staff that they would be paid for the weekend, but that the hotel would be closed until Monday morning, when I expected everyone to turn up on time and to be prepared for a long, hard period of work, which would probably last until just before Christmas.