The Maneater's Plaything

This story features an incestuous plotline. The story describes the manipulative machinations of a bunch of beautiful, sinful and money hungry women. It also features a dirty old man, and one lucky 18 year old kid. This is a perverted insane sort of fantasy.

Dramatis personae

Warren – Bette and Julia's father

Madeleine – Bette and Julia's mother

Bette – Mark's mother

Mark – Bette's son

Julia – Bette's sister

Michael – Julia's cuckolded husband

Erin – Julia's elder daughter

Gina – Julia's younger daughter

Various additional cuckolded husbands, sexy female adult performers, and a hot corporate executive.

*****

INTRODUCTION - THE OLD INSANE FAMILY

I must be crazy, Bette thought, but she dismissed her reservations a second later. Why did the petty morals of little close-minded people apply to them - nobody had the right to scrutinize them and hold them accountable for such an innocent thing.

Hadn't she orchestrated this to give her son Mark what he wanted, Bette reflected, as she dragged on her cigarette - hadn't she done all this for him? Hadn't she done this all for Mark?

It was, after all, Bette who had caused the breakdown of her own marriage by taking that young man to bed and ensuring her husband caught them at it. And then it was Bette, after the divorce, who had moved her and Mark into this secluded mansion on the bleak northern coast, well away from prying eyes and the scrutiny of the world.

She had taken months to choose it. She had carefully selected the house because it resembled a fortress with its high walls and its elaborate security. It was the ideal sort of place – there was no one near them, and there was no one to bother them or interrupt them. There was complete privacy.

There had been some sacrifices to make, Bette thought coldly. Mark had to say goodbye to the few friends he had. The young man's schooling was finished at home, under the watchful eye of a tutor and his mother. And further, Bette had quietly encouraged Mark to place some distance between himself and his father, and the rest of the family.

Bette raised the glass to her lips and sipped. The fiery whiskey swam across her tongue and down her throat, burning perfectly there. She clutched the glass to her chest. She considered her son as she inhaled the bitter smoke of her cigarette.

She continued her thinking. She ran a careful eye over the history of her calculations. The change of residence and the withdrawal from family members and friends hadn't harmed Mark, as far as Bette could tell. It did make him more dependent on her, just as she hoped it would. He still had a car, so he wasn't marooned with her just yet, but she was hinting and suggesting that he sell it.

It was really no secret, as far as Bette was concerned. Mark was a mommy's boy through and through and that was the way they both liked it and wanted it – Bette was sure of that.

Bette had maneuvered Mark into a position where he couldn't escape without making a considerable effort. He was living miles away from anyone in a dark mansion, beaten and blasted by the sea breeze and the roaring waves. His father and the rest of the family were virtual strangers, living all over the world. His friends were gone. He had a girlfriend named Kelly, but he was slowly losing interest in her, as Bette slowly advanced into all areas of his life.

Sometimes, Bette felt like a big black spider and she believed her kid was a tasty fly she had trapped in her silvery web. She imagined herself slowly creeping across the web, ready to devour a wide eyed Mark.

But, of course, Mark was just trembling with anticipation and aching to be eaten alive by his beautiful mother. He was lying naked there, held in place by Bette's sticky web, with an excited grin on his face and a hard throbbing erection as she silently approached, looming over him, bearing down on him. There was no doubt about it, Bette reflected with satisfaction – her kid had the hots for his mommy big time. She was just giving him what he wanted. It was only a matter of time before he joined her in bed.

Bette thought she must be crazy, but then she remembered her family history and drew the conclusion that most of her ancestors were mad and that made her smile.

Her family was old money. The family's wealth was forged in European banking and finance capitalism during the 18th and 19th centuries. The family built a link with the arms industry and amassed a vast amount of power during the war years – wars, which the family helped to create through their media ownership. Bette's family had influence over governments and empires, over whole countries and populations.

But corruption and decadence slowly set in, as the years passed and no effort was needed anymore. Incestuous love became more prevalent and widespread in the wealthy depraved old family. Foul incestuous relationships began to plague the family for generations. There was so much inter-marrying and inter-breeding during the 20th century that the family tree was an outrageous and confusing thing to look at. It was truly an obscene diagram.

The family retreated from sight, behind the high walls of blackened mansions and gave way to their lust for each other. No fresh air seemed to stir and ventilate their dark fetid bedrooms. No new blood from the outside world seemed to refresh the family tree. Family member loved family member, who loved family member. Mother and son, father and daughter, and siblings reveled in each other between damp sticky sheets, or in noisy incestuous orgies.

Bette knew the truth. The whole family knew the truth. Nobody outside the castle walls had any idea – the family was the most secretive organization imaginable. They continued to run their part of the world and pull the strings without ever being scrutinized or questioned. A vast impenetrable maze surrounded them all.

It made Bette's head spin – it was still going on, even today, in secret.

My God, Bette thought - the incredible pleasures and the sinful couplings. She could imagine the wails and groans of incestuous pleasure floating down the long dark corridors of the family mansions, at all hours of the day, all over the world. She could hear the cries of joy coming from behind closed doors. Bette was amazed - nobody seemed to be able to stop, once they had taken the fateful step.

Bette had heard the whispered stories about her grandparents, even her mother and her father, her aunt's and her uncle's. She had never seen it, but had merely heard rumors. It was all merely a rumor.

Bette paced back and forth in the wide lounge room. Her high heels click clacked on the floor. She went to the bar, set her glass down, picked up the decanter of whiskey and poured herself another double.

She turned and slowly approached the porch, stepping through the open door and stopping at the railing. The sea breeze softly stirred her short blonde hair. Bette's sheer robe fluttered, rolled and came open. The soft mid morning light caressed the curves of her naked body. The silvery glow shone in her light blue eyes.

Her son Mark was finally 18. Bette had promised herself that she wouldn't touch Mark or even seriously consider entering into a relationship with him before he turned 18. She kept that promise.

Bette had orchestrated everything so well. She was all ready to continue the family tradition with her only child, the young wide-eyed man, who adored her obsessively and whom she loved so deeply and whom she called her son.

Everything seemed to be set correctly and the dominoes were falling one after another in the right order as they should. What could possibly go wrong?

PART ONE – SUCCUBI

Erin ignored the doorman, as he nodded and then opened the front door for her. She passed through the entrance and casually strolled into the hotel lobby. She stopped for a moment, slowly looked left and then slowly looked right, located the female toilets and then walked towards them.

Erin was modestly and conservatively dressed. She wore a non-descript charcoal suit, a cream blouse, unattractive stockings and a pair of sensible low heeled shoes. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail and she wore a pair of dark sunglasses. Erin walked carefully, making an effort to avoid unwanted attention. She carried her handbag in one hand and a large black plastic bag in her other hand.

There was nobody in the toilets, when Erin entered. She ran her eyes around the room as she stepped slowly past each cubicle. There was nobody in there at all. She stepped into the last cubicle at the end of the room, closed and locked the door behind her, and dropped the black plastic bag down on the top of the toilet seat. She laid her handbag down on the floor.

Erin reached down and opened up the black plastic bag. She pulled the contents of the black plastic bag out and laid the bits and pieces down on the lid of the toilet seat. She then stepped out of her sensible low heeled shoes. She took off her charcoal suit jacket and then unzipped her long charcoal skirt. She unbuttoned her cream blouse. She unsnapped her bra and peeled her panties off and stepped out of them.

Erin grinned. She was in the mood for some fun and games. She reached down and picked up a pair of tiny hot pants from the top of the toilet seat. She held them up to the light for a moment and studied them with a smirk.

"I'm sure you'll love these you dirty old man," she whispered. "I'm sure you'll love peeling them off me, while I'm flirting with you."

Erin stepped into the hot pants. She slowly pulled them up and adjusted them until they sat comfortably on her body, high on her broad hips. She then reached down and picked up the sheer top with the plunging neckline. She held the flimsy thing up to the light as well – the sexy garment was translucent. Erin slipped the top over her head and dragged it down her body, manipulating it until it was sitting right. She then dropped the pair of stiletto high heels on the floor and stepped into each one.

The modest and conservative clothing, she wore into the hotel, was then stuffed into the empty black plastic bag, dumped on the toilet floor and ignored. Erin picked up everything else, opened the toilet cubicle door and click clacked her way to the bathroom sinks. She dropped everything she was carrying.

"I deserve to be spanked," Erin whispered, with a smile, as she considered her reflection in the mirror.

She laughed. Her light blue eyes sparkled. Her grandfather would put her over his knee and let her have it as soon as he saw her. She grinned at her reflection, as she cherished the idea of it.

"Oh, spank me granddaddy," Erin whined in mock desperation. "Oh, fuck me granddaddy."

Erin laughed again. She pouted and blew kisses. She was having fun.

She undid her pony tail, picked up a hairbrush and ran it through her long blonde hair until it was straight and gleaming perfectly. She set down the brush and picked up a spray can filled with golden glitter. She closed her eyes and laughed as she sprayed her hair until it sparkled. She put the spray can down and picked up her bright red lipstick and applied it to her full mouth until it was shocking and vulgar. She put the lipstick down and picked up her mascara and thickened her eyelashes.

She applied some blush to her cheeks. She sprayed some of the gold glitter on her arms, her chest, her legs and her feet. She then picked up and slipped a pile of shining bangles on both of her wrists.

Was she mad, Erin asked herself, as she went about transforming herself? She was a 29 year old married business executive with two young children at home. She was normally a ruthless and brutal woman to be reckoned with, but here she was, standing in the toilets of an expensive boutique hotel, transforming herself into a garish looking whore.

Erin quickly dismissed the thought. There were some things worth doing and she was a woman who did everything well. She pushed the points of the dangling earrings through her ears. She slipped a necklace over her head and set it in place.

Erin gave her hair a final brush. She set the brush down on the edge of the sink and then scrutinized her appearance in the mirror. She slowly turned from side to side, running her eyes up and down her body. She grinned again. She nodded her head and winked at her reflection. She looked sleazy. She looked like an easy slut with her cheap costume jewelry and her sparkling sticky skin. She could clearly see the shape and tips of her breasts through the sheer top. Her tight tanned midriff was showing and her behind was on display in her hot pants.

She looked down at her watch. She was due to meet her grandfather Warren for lunch in five minutes time and she was ready.

Her grandfather was, no doubt, already there in the hotel restaurant, seated at a table, just a minute's walk away from where Erin was currently standing. Erin could imagine the expression on her grandfather's face, when he saw how she was dressed and made up – the dirty old man would be leering at her and his cock would grow hard in his pants.

Erin had booked a table at the hotel restaurant, as soon as she took her grandfather's business proposal seriously. She had not given it even a second thought: she had picked up the phone, called the restaurant and made the arrangements. Then she had called her grandfather next and demanded he join her for lunch the next day to discuss the proposal further. Warren was more than happy to accept the invitation, after noting the inviting tone in Erin's voice.

And Erin had been so pleased with herself. She had sniffed smugly, her nose in the air, as she had dropped the phone back into its receiver. She had walked to her wide office window triumphantly and gazed out at the dark glittering city. She had outplayed and trumped her younger sister Gina.

"Strike while the irons hot, Gina darling," Erin had whispered. "I'll be bedding granddad tomorrow and giving it to him real hard, while you flounder around in the dark like an ignorant fool."

Erin's plans seemed to have come together well, she thought as she added a couple more touches to her makeup and adjusted her hot pants. She, of course, would never wear such vulgar clothing and make up under normal circumstances. She was a married mother of two, after all. But these were exceptional circumstances and Erin knew her perverted grandfather would start eating out of her hands as soon as he saw her.

Surely she had a reputation to maintain, Erin thought, and surely there were some people in that restaurant who knew of her, who may even know her. Bur Erin didn't care about her reputation, or being seen at that moment, dressed like a whore. She knew how much money and power were at stake. She knew what was up for grabs and what the rewards were if she beat Gina and won the contest.

Warren was like any other man, Erin thought. She would control and manipulate her grandfather with ease. All she had to do was treat his cock like it was the most important thing in her life and he would end up doing everything she told him to do.

"You're about to lose darling Gina," Erin whispered at her reflection. "Granddad's all mine. And then his fortune and his business will be all mine as well. And you, my darling younger sister, will be out in the cold, where you belong."

Erin picked up her handbag, turned and left the hotel toilets.

She couldn't care less - dozens of pairs of eyes turned in Erin's direction and people craned their necks to gawk at her and whisper their opinions as she strode across the hotel lobby, turned left and approached the entrance to the hotel restaurant, where her grandfather would be waiting for her.

Her grandfather was going to be putty in her capable hands.

"I'm coming granddaddy," Erin whined under her breath. "Your little girl is coming."

Erin walked into the hotel restaurant. She paused for a moment, ignoring the startled Maitre d' and the wide eyed men and women who were staring at her. She scanned the room, running her eyes quickly from left to right. Sure enough, her grandfather was sitting at a table in the far corner of the restaurant.

"Madam, you can't dine in the restaurant, dressed like that," the Maitre d' said.

"Yes, I can," Erin said. She began walking again.

"Oh, I'm fine," Erin said, brushing past an approaching waiter, without looking at him.

She fixed her eyes on her prize. She sauntered down the walkway between the tables, swinging her arms and her hips, stepping past the conservative diners, the bustling wait staff and the nosy Maitre d'.

Warren looked up and saw his eldest granddaughter. Their eyes met across the crowded room as she emerged into sight and grew larger in his vision. And then his eyes grew wide and then he broke into a sleazy grin as she appeared in open space, just ten feet away.

"Oh my God," Warren whispered.

His gorgeous grandchild was approaching him, with a grin on her face. She was wearing almost no clothing, and the clothing she was wearing was almost see-through.

Erin kept her icy pale blue eyes on her grandfather as she arrived at his table and stood before him. Warren looked up at her silently and then he slowly and deliberately ran his eyes up and down his granddaughter's body. She considered his appearance: her grandfather was in his late sixties, but he was such a distinguished and physically strong looking man. She breathed in deep. She really didn't see any problems sleeping with him. She had no problems with that idea at all.

God, this is going to be so much fun, Erin thought as she stared down at him. This wasn't a business meeting at all. They weren't there to discuss a business proposal at all. Then she remembered Gina and realized she would still need all her business cunning and toughness to direct her grandfather into bed, under her sister's nose and gain the victory.

She placed a hand on Warren's shoulder and leant in. She kissed him softly on the cheek.

"Hi granddad," she purred warmly in his ear.

"Hi honey," he said, as she sat down in the chair opposite him.

A waiter tentatively approached. He took Erin's order for a drink. He vanished.

"Granddad, what are you gawking at," Erin asked playfully.

"I've never seen you dressed like that before honey."

"Do you like it," she asked. "I swear I look like a whore. I look like your whore, you sugar daddy you. Everybody here must think I'm your young plaything."

"Uh huh," he muttered, his eyes constantly dropping to Erin's chest.

"Granddad," Erin abruptly asked, as if offended by his agreement.

Warren softly laughed.

"You just look..."

"Is sleazy the word you're looking for Warren?"

"Well, I guess so, but you're still beautiful, as always Erin."

"Thank you, and you're looking pretty damned good yourself granddad," Erin whispered, gazing into her grandfather's eyes.

The drink arrived. Erin thanked the waiter, without looking in his direction. She picked up her martini and sipped the drink as the waiter vanished from sight. She slowly leant forward and held that position while she withdrew a cigarette from his packet and pushed it into her holder. She didn't say anything for a moment, nor did she look across the table at her grandfather, but she made sure he could see straight down her top.

Warren picked up the lighter, leant forward and lit his granddaughter's cigarette. She sucked at the tip of the holder with a look of disinterest, as the end of the cigarette began to glow. Erin placed the holder down on the edge of the ashtray, sat back, looked up at the ceiling and exhaled a fine stream of smoke. She then calmly leant forward again.

Was Erin finally on the same page, Warren wondered, as he calmly fixed his eyes on his granddaughter's cleavage? It seemed so, Warren thought - he could definitely sense something tangible.