Functionally Dysfunctional

This is the fourth installment in the Morgan family taboo saga, following "Oh Daddy, Can't You See I'm Busy," "Nolo Contendere" and "The Fall of the House of Morgan," all published in the incest/taboo section. This story can stand alone, though the reader will gain more insight by reading the other three, especially the one that precedes it, "The Fall of the House of Morgan."

*****

There's nothing left to hide, no more deep, dark secrets, no more metaphorical skeletons lurking inside the Morgan's metaphorical closets. The tense confrontation in Bud's study room took care of that, set the record straight. Monique had been the only one left in the dark, and now she too knows what's been going on. Moreover, she's eager to climb aboard, wants to be "cut in on the action," as she put it.

Marissa had started it all by seducing her dad Bud. Then she seduced her brother Stephen. Then Bud almost raped her when she refused to grant him another rodeo. She wants more from Stephen, and Stephen wants more from her. Monique also wants Stephen, and Stephen wants Monique, his own mom. Got it?

It's not all that complicated, really, because Bud has reconciled, albeit grudgingly, to Marissa's moratorium when it comes to him, and Marissa has accepted, albeit grudgingly, what will surely take place between Stephen and their mom. If Stephen harbored sexual designs on Monique, he didn't know it until she flashed him during that amazing confrontation. His cock stiffened at the sight of her lifting her dress, showing her pink panties and plump white thighs.

He tries hard to repress his feelings. 'Okay, so it might not be kosher to screw my own sister,' he says to himself. 'But mom, my own mom?' That's a line he feels he shouldn't cross. He goes about his life's normal routines, diving into his college work and pursuing his passion for sports, both as spectator and competitor. Still, his mom's MILF charms beckon, eats at him, helped in no small part by Monique who pushes forward her ambition to fulfill her own desire. Lifting her dress that time was only the beginning. When Stephen is home, she makes it her business to pad around the house in see-through nighties and short dresses wearing nothing underneath, no panties, not even a thong to hide her now shaved pussy.

"We both want to, Stephen," she says, cornering him one Saturday morning in the kitchen. "All we need is the time and place."

Stephen, eating his Wheaties, knows how silly he'd look denying the undeniable. He can barely eat, sitting with his mom at their round breakfast table, staring at her bare thighs and half-exposed boobs and her bare feet, her toes accented in bright red nail polish. He knows she wears this blue nightie just for him. As she crosses her legs, the short hem of the nightie rides a couple inches higher. He sips his coffee, wide-eyed and grinning, perusing his mom's voluptuous charms. "You're incredibly erotic, mom, but the kitchen is hardly the place," he says.

"Oh, I don't know about that," she says, swishing her tongue across her lips. Re-crossing her legs, she pushes her nightie high enough to where Stephen can now see, as the cliché goes, all the way to China. "Your father's out and Rissa's still sleeping." She extends her bare foot into the crotch of his plaid cotton PJs. "Ya feelin' it?"

He's "feelin'" it. He shakes his head in exasperation as his cock stiffens. "This is so crazy mom, so crazy what we're all doing."

She reaches out to stroke his hair. "Not so crazy, more like deviant. Think of us as functionally dysfunctional. Your dad earns a great living. You and Rissa are good students. And I do charity-volunteer work. We're Mantua Estates people, upscale, respected and respectable." She grins in case Stephen doesn't get the sarcasm.

"On the surface we're respected and respectable," he says, getting it but pursuing a more serious line anyway. "We both know what would happen if the powers that be in this community found out what goes on here."

"Yes, but they won't, not unless one of us spills the beans, and I doubt one of us will." She slides her chair closer. "Now, where were we?"

Stephen shoves the last of his cereal into his mouth, grabs a napkin and wipes his face. "You asked me if I was feeling it." He rubs his hand over her bare thighs. "Now I'm feeling it, feeling your sexy legs, inhaling your Channel-scented skin and staring at your big boobs and bare pussy that I'd guess is either wet or getting there."

"Ooo, Stephen, keep talking like that and I'll drip all over this seat." She spreads her legs and shoves her hand inside her crotch. "For the record, yes, I'm wet. And how do you know what I'm wearing?"

"Like mother like daughter. Rissa wears the same scent."

"Ah, I should have known. I almost forgot about your intimate encounter with your hot sister. Well, Rissa smells great whether she's wearing or not."

"Doesn't she though."

Monique nods. "Okay, now getting back to me." She again rubs her pussy. "My god, son, I'm so hot that all you'd need do is breathe on my cunt and I'd come."

She exaggerates but not by much. Mindful that Marissa is still sleeping, she's doing her best to modulate the volume of her moaning. Stephen, on his knees, works his tongue over her pussy, soaked and stoked. She hikes her nightie up around her waist and spreads her legs, giving him maximum access. "Ohmygod, oh baby, you're unbelievable!" While messaging her boobs, she leans over and kisses his head. "Your tongue is too much. I can't wait to learn what your cock feels like."

Stephen knows she won't have long to wait, not with his cock at full stretch and his desire usurping the staid rules of Western moral convention, not to mention Marissa's proximity, her grudging acceptance of a mom-son liaison notwithstanding. Breathing heavy, he stands up on the ersatz stone floor and takes down his PJs to show Monique the goods.

She nearly swoons at the sight of it, not from the size—it's just average after all—but from the anticipation of where it's headed. Dizzy from this surreal reality that she helped create, she shakes her head, then strokes her hand over it a few times, before taking it into her mouth. She rubs her clit as her pale lips work over her son's stiffness. Her head moves in accelerated thrusts as if she's trying to maximize the size of him. However, he's as maximized as he's going to get. Instinctively, she knows that if she keeps this up, he'll ejaculate inside her mouth. Not a bad thing, except that it's her cunt, her burning, yearning cunt, that she prefers he come into, her orifice of choice.

His too, because, as if reading her mind, he plops back down on his vinyl, light brown kitchen chair and invites Monique to straddle him. She does, facing him, so he can suck on her nipples as she moves, grasping the back of the chair, her eyes half-closed, staring into the room's ether when she's not bending over to kiss him. She loves the feel of his cock, of course, but also the sensual, tactile delight of his hands rubbing her plump, silky-smooth thighs. She imagines she'd have her legs wrapped around him if they were in bed. She imagines, too, that he's about to come. "Don't hold back," she says, "come into mom's pussy."

"I'm waiting for you," he says, and makes good on it after Monique, forgetting about Marissa, takes her last few bounces, then shakes and yells as successive waves of pleasure pummel her inside and out.

After slipping off Stephen's lap, she grabs a napkin and wipes herself, while assuring him that she won't get pregnant. "I'm on the pill, son, although I must admit that having a child through my own offspring sounds wickedly exciting."

"Wickedly wicked to my way of thinking," he says, wiping off his penis. "That said, you were terrific, mom."

"Thanks—and right back at you."

*****

Marissa heard her mom's screams in her dream and assumed, upon wakening, that a dream was all it was. Now, as she blinks and wipes the sleep from her eyes, she isn't so sure. She hears the voices of her mom and brother downstairs, laughter and bits of dialogue. Her dream was weird as all dreams are, and her mom's screams still ring in her head—screams not of terror but of pleasure. She knows, because they mirror her own in compromising situations.

Normally, she sleeps until around ten on Saturday. But now, at just past nine, she's wide awake. After tying her hair back, she begins to pad downstairs in her yellow nightgown, her little feet barely making noise on the thick white carpet. When she reaches the hardwood floor of the dining room, she hears commotion—the sound of a chair sliding across the kitchen floor and bodies scrambling. She enters the kitchen to find Stephen pulling up his PJs and Monique tugging down the hem of her nightie.

"Rissa, I thought you were still sleeping," Monique says, trying to stay calm and looking just the opposite in the process. She stabs her fingers through her short, frosted blond hair for a quick primping.

Marissa takes note of her face, flushed and sweaty. Stephen, too, looks like he did more than just breakfast. "I WAS sleeping...until I heard the screams. Thought I was dreaming. But I wasn't, was I?"

She watches Monique and Stephen trade shy grins, their expressions conveying a cross between amusement and guilt. "I'd ask what's been going on, except I'm pretty damn sure I already know. Wearing that sexy thing in front of Stephen is a dead giveaway."

Monique nods. "I'd look ridiculous telling you this isn't what it looks like."

"Look, you knew it was only a matter of time before me and mom got into it," Stephen says, trying to appease his sister, who looks none too pleased.

"Not really," Marissa says, pouting. "I mean, I knew mom wanted to but didn't think you'd go along, at least while we were still lovers. I thought what we had was special."

Reaching out, Stephen rests his hands on her shoulders, leans in and kisses her. "What we had—and hopefully still have—IS special. It's just..." He looks up, groping for the right words.

"Honey, it's more my fault," Monique says, sitting down on the same chair where only minutes ago she had straddled her son's lap. "Your brother was having breakfast, minding his own business, when I came marching in here all hot and horny and exposed."

"And the rest is history, right?"

Monique sighs. "You of all people should understand. Think back to when you seduced dad, how exciting that was, and then jumped in bed with Stephen."

"Dad's almost raping me months afterward destroyed any good memories of that day. Look, I'm not angry, mom, just a little hurt." Pause. "Is this going to be an ongoing thing with you two?"

"Rissa, I don't get it," Stephen says. "Mom has a point. After you seduced dad, it wasn't long after that you set your sights on me. I find you both incredibly sexy."

Monique covers her mouth and starts to laugh. When they ask why, she says, "I just thought of something. Nothing important." They plead with her for a while before she finally gives in. "All right, if you must know, a ménage a trios crossed my filthy, kinky little mind."

Stephen chuckles. "That's taking the functional dysfunctional thing to a whole new level."

Marissa shakes her head. "Not sure I could do that. But let's say I could. What about dad?'

"He can watch," Monique says. "He can even film it, add it to his porn collection."

"Then you can leave me out of it. That man will never see me naked again."

"I was being facetious."

"About what, dad's filming it or your proposed ménage?" Stephen says, laughing.

"God, what a perverted bunch we are," Marissa says after they all have a good laugh. "Has Mantua Estates ever had a family like ours in its midst?"

"Somehow I doubt it, seriously doubt it," Monique chimes in. "But, as I told Stephen, I'd call us deviant, not perverted."

"A question of semantics, I suppose," Marissa says. "Depends on how far things go."

Monique perks up. "Oh?"

"Honestly, a ménage sounds too kinky for me. However, I might be persuaded to explore some mom-daughter action." She wouldn't have said this except for the fact that she finds herself becoming aroused at the sight of Monique's boobs, almost fully exposed under her skimpy nightie. She shakes her head. "Did I just say that?"

Monique looks just as surprised. "I'm afraid you did, honey bun. Are you serious about the mom-daughter thing?"

"That I'd like to see," Stephen says.

"Shall we give him a preliminary, mom?"

"Um, well, maybe. What do you have it mind?"

Marissa steps around Monique's chair, reaches down and begins to message her boobs.

"This, for starters."

Smiling warmly, Monique grasps gently onto Marissa's arms, leans back and closes her eyes. "Mmmm, that feels really good, honey."

Stephen sits down and begins to touch himself. "I hope you don't mind an audience because this is beyond hot. More like incendiary."

A little over a minute into it, Monique is moaning as Marissa proceeds, albeit with trepidation. Her hand action over Monique's boobs slows to a crawl and then stops altogether. Backing off, she says, "You know, I spoke too soon. Sorry guys, but I'm not comfortable with an audience." She looks at Stephen. "Sounds weird, I know, given what we've done."

Monique looks at her sympathetically. "Obviously, a ménage isn't for you. But that's okay, one on one privacy is my preference as well."

"Guess I'll just have to fantasize the rest," Stephen says. "Damn, you two had me going there."

His good-natured tone doesn't hide his disappointment, something Marissa picks up right away. Addressing Monique, she says, "How about this? If we decide to take things further, perhaps we can tape it. Then Stephen can watch at his leisure. Is that okay with you, mom?"

Stephen grins. "Can't wait. Are you onboard, mom?"

"Sure, why not?" She stands up and then slides a hand over her crotch. "Oh my, Rissa, you had me going as well. Whew, I'm coming on my feet! Let's pick a date already."

*****

Marissa never thought of herself as a lesbian. Still doesn't. That said, she doesn't fully understand her reaction in the kitchen a week ago. She'd seen her mom naked hundreds of times and thought nothing of it. Somehow, though, the sight of Monique in her nightie right after she had sex with Stephen triggered some sort of weird mutation in her sexual psyche. Had Stephen left the room, she might have gone further, provided Monique went along, and from Monique's reaction, Marissa has no doubt she would. To suck and be sucked by her own mom: so kinky, so naughty, and so undeniably exciting.

She and Monique pick a weekend. Stephen knows what's up but not Bud. For all he knows, from what Monique tells him, his wife and daughter are doing an overnight in rural Connecticut to shop and sightsee. All true, except that Monique leaves out the other part, what she and Marissa plan to do at The Wellington, a bed and breakfast known for its good food and cozy accommodations. Of course, the friendly, middle-age couple that owns the place hasn't the slightest idea what they'll be accommodating. They give them one of The Wellington's premier rooms, one with a fireplace, hot tub and king-sized bed among other amenities.

All is "normal" the Saturday they drive up and then proceed to visit a museum and historic houses, Mark Twain's for one. What they came for primarily is that proverbial big elephant in the room, seen but not talked about. That is, until hours later when they're having dinner in the pricy Franklin Inn, an 18th century stone pile featuring Continental cuisine, where patrons sit on Early American style furniture and dine by candlelight.

"I'm kind of nervous," Marissa admits after chewing a forkful of her chicken cordon bleu.

Monique smiles and steals a sip of her Chardonnay, then forks into her salmon. "Me too. But we don't have to do this. We can just enjoy the rest of the day tomorrow, do what, quote unquote, normal moms and daughter do."

Marissa leans across the table and whispers, least other diners catch what she's about to say. "Sometimes I wish I had never walked into the kitchen that day, seen you with your boobs hanging out and your pussy all hot and moist after fucking Stephen." She pauses and takes a deep breath. "Geeze, mom, I'm getting hot just thinking about it."

Monique whispers, "Well, just stay hot because I'd love for you to suck on my boobs and then get between my chubby legs and lick my pussy, get me so wet and hot that I squirt all over the sheets."

Marissa covers her face with both hands, shaking her head. "Mom, I can't eat with you talking like that. It's bad enough you're wearing a sexy low-cut."

Monique giggles. "I thought you'd like my outfit. Okay, honey bun, I'll save the dirty talk for latter. You know, we're kind of on the same page with this latent incest thing. For me, it might have started even before you came into the kitchen, when Stephen said we wore the same scent and I said you smell great with or without perfume. Also, thinking about you with Stephen turns me on the same way that you get hot picturing ME with Stephen."

"Makes sense...in a perverted kind of way."

"Deviant, remember, we're deviant, not perverted. I know that sounds like so much euphemistic pretension, but I actually feel that way."

"Okay, but you and I both know what others would call it," Marissa says after a swallow of her Merlot, "especially people in Mantua Estates."

"We'd be seen as pariahs, I know. But, like I've said before, they'll never know."

*****

Only minutes after arriving back at The Wellington, mom and daughter strip and then step into the hot tub, an amenity reserved for the more expensive rooms. "As if I needed to get any hotter," Marissa jokes in reference to the 100-degree water temperature and the heat coming from her erogenous zones. The water jet she's crouched over tickles her pussy, ramping up her desire.

"You really do smell delicious," Monique says, licking her daughter's nipples, then kissing her on the mouth. "You're absolutely adorable and with such soft, smooth skin. No wonder you drive dad and Stephen wild with lust."

"They love it when I wear my cheerleader outfit. Hope you don't mind that I left it home."

"Rissa, I love you just the way you are—with apologies to Billy Joel."

"Yeah, I don't think that song was meant for moms and daughters who do what we're doing."

They embrace and kiss crouched in the hot, bubbly liquid, breast to breast, tongue to tongue, their passion pouring out of them. "I love you mom," Marissa says. "Thanks for taking me here."

"My pleasure. Meanwhile, I'm burning up in more ways than one. So let's towel off and set up our camera."

"We did promise Stephen some fireworks, didn't we?"

"Yes, we sure did, and fireworks is what he'll see."

Their recording device is somewhat dated in that it uses a tape format. No matter, it still does what Sony designed it to do. Monique places it on an end table near the bed. "There, I think this will work."

After crawling into bed, Marissa slips under the sheet and thin yellow blanket. Her hair, still slightly damp on the ends, hangs loose, hiding half her face. "As you can guess, I've never done this with a woman before."

Monique, propped up on an elbow atop the covers, lies beside her, stroking her shoulder. "Me neither. We're both virgins in that sense. It's okay, I feel kind of shy myself."

Comforted by this revelation, Marissa pulls the covers down and sits up. She giggles through her cute, little girl smile as she stares at her mom's C-cup sized boobs, hanging just inches from her face. She hopes her own boobs look this firm when she reaches middle age. She leans in and begins to suck on her nipples. "You know, mom, I have no memory of doing this."

"No, I didn't think you did, honey. Of course, when you were little, you did it for a very different reason." Pause. "Oooo, baby, that feels so good."