Gentle Persuasion Read online

  A moment later she realized she should have paid more attention to the sign because she was confronted by the sight of the Reverend Alan Grey with his trousers round his knees, his fingers threaded through the hair of her mother who was down on her knees, cradling his long, hard cock between her ample breasts, suckling the swollen, purple tip of his penis on each upstroke.

  Emma could tell straight away the vicar was close to orgasm. The combination of soft, velvety breast flesh wrapped round the shaft of his prick, the wet sucks her mother was giving the head, and the realization that Emma was watching him and her mother sent the reverend over the edge. He steadied himself with his hands on his lover’s head, let out a low groan of ecstasy, and began to come.

  Time and again Emma watched her mother swallow a huge load of spunk, thick dribbles of sperm escaping from her ovaled lips to slide from her chin and add to the slippery liquid lubricating her deep cleavage. Emma was very envious: she often did exactly the same thing to Tom, delighting in the way she could combine masturbation and fellatio to give him intense pleasure.

  At last the vicar stopped emptying his balls into Joan Boswell’s mouth and she released the head of his cock from her mouth, wiping the last sticky remnants from her lips with a finger and licking it clean.

  “Hello, darling,” her mother said to Emma as she got to her feet and pulled her sweater down to cover her breasts. “So glad you could join us.”

  The Reverend Grey, suddenly embarrassed to be standing with his trousers round his ankles, reached down and pulled them up his muscular legs, tucking his still surprisingly stiff cock into his briefs. He smiled a little bashfully when Joan Boswell said, “Ten minutes, Alan. I just want to talk to Emma. When you come back you can have my ass. Alright?”

  The vicar’s expression turned to one of delight. “Thank you, Joan,” he said softly. Then he added, “Miss Boswell,” as he left the tent, to which Emma replied, “Vicar,” doing her best not to laugh.

  “God, Mummy,” said Emma. “You don’t beat about the bush, do you?”

  “Heavens, no,” her mother said, taking a brush comb from her handbag and running it through her hair. “I’ve been looking forward to having his cock in my bum all week. He’s very good at it, you know. Amazing control: he can hold his climax back for hours. Not that we’ve got very long today, which is why I thought I’d better take the edge off his desire.”

  “Does Daddy know?”

  “Oh probably, darling. He hasn’t said anything. But then I haven’t said anything about his spending most of last night making love to you.”

  Emma was nonplussed. She knew it was naïve of her to think her mother didn’t know. “Have I hurt you, Mummy?” she asked, genuinely concerned.

  Her mother smiled. “No, darling, of course not,” she said. “Your father is a very attractive, virile man. I’d be surprised if you hadn’t been seduced by his charm.”

  “It started only recently,” Emma said, wanting to reassure her mother.

  “I know, darling,” her mother said, reaching for a pile of teacups. “I told him I’d ruin him I he ever touched you when you were too young and goodness knows he wanted to. More than a touch of the paedophile in your father, I think.”

  She stopped for a moment and then continued.

  “It’s curious how I could make a threat like that and still adore him... And I do still adore your father, whatever I might get up to with Alan Grey. But then, as you’re just like me, I expect you understand that. Really it was just a matter of time and opportunity for you and your father to become sexually involved.”

  “We’re not ‘involved’ Mummy,” Emma said, her eyes looking into her mother’s face. “I just love the thrill of the forbidden. Incest and anal sex, the ultimate taboos, I suppose.”

  “I know, darling. But you know, I rather think you’re not alone in this family in that respect.”

  Emma was surprised. “Who-?” she started to say but her mother looked at her with a wicked little smile.

  “Jamie. With Sophie.”

  “But she’s so young!”

  “Oh rot,” said her mother, matter-of-factly. “A lot of girls are precocious, even promiscuous as soon as they become aware of the sexual potential their bodies. I’m not saying I approve, just that I think it’s taking place.”

  “Daddy said Jamie’s bringing Sophie with him today,” Emma said, her interest piqued. Seeing her brother and her niece together would have a whole new meaning if what her mother said was true.

  “Hmm, yes. He is,” her mother said with a little smile. “And he said there was no need for me to make up both guest bedrooms. Sophie could sleep in the big double bed and he’d sleep on the floor. Apparently she gets insecure in strange houses...”

  Joan Boswell had finished laying out the many cups, saucers, teaspoons and other paraphernalia and she turned to look at Emma.

  “Alan will be here in a moment,” she said. “God, I’m gushing just thinking about that big cock of his fucking my bottom.”

  Emma felt just as aroused as her mother. “Do you think he’d like to bugger mother and daughter, going from one to the other?” she said.

  “Oh definitely,” her mother said, laughing. “But there isn’t time. I’d like it if you stayed and watched though.”

  “Mmm, that sounds very wicked,” Emma said, her cunt syrupy at the thought.

  “Isn’t it, though...” her mother said and a moment later the vicar appeared at the door of the tent, closing the flap behind him.

  “Come in, Alan,” Joan said and Emma realized the relationship between her mother and the Reverend Alan Grey was one of dominant and submissive. Emma was not surprised, considering her mother’s strong personality and voluptuous figure, that it was the big, strong man who did as he was told.

  The vicar started toward Joan but he was hesitant, wondering where Emma fitted into the picture.

  “Emma wants to watch,” her mother said. “I said she could. But she can’t touch. A little punishment for my waking up in the night and realizing my husband wasn’t in bed. Judging by the sounds of a woman being fucked coming from my daughter’s bedroom it wasn’t hard to work out where he was. And I have no doubt that my darling girl was being sodomized because she and I share a taste for that very delightful pleasure. Which is what you’re going to do me, my delightfully well-endowed vicar. Right now.”

  The Reverend Grey swallowed hard and unbuttoned his trousers, pushing them down his legs. Then he looked at Joan, waiting for instructions.

  “Lie down, darling,” she said and he did, the thick pole of his prick jutting from his groin and reaching up to his navel. Emma could see his balls were big as lemons, covered with a mass of thick black curls that extended down into the furrow between his buttocks. Emma felt her mouth water as she thought how wonderful it would be to slide her tongue through the fragrant fur and past the tight muscle of his sphincter, feeling him buck and shudder in orgasm, his spunk shooting onto her face.

  But her mother was determined to enjoy all the pleasure that was on offer and Emma consoled herself with the thought that, perhaps some time later, there might be an opportunity to have the vicar’s delicious looking prick pushing its way into her bowels instead of envying her mother so much.

  Joan Boswell took hold of the hem of her skirt and pulled it up to her waist. She was naked underneath. Once again she unbuttoned her sweater and bared her breasts, the heavy globes rose and fell with the intensity of her passion as she turned her back to the vicar, lifting her legs over his body, straddling his groin with her buttocks. Then she reached her arms down to steady herself and lowered her bottom toward his cock.

  “Put it in for me, Alan,” she said, her voice thick with lust.

  The vicar reached down between his legs, took hold of his cock and held it upright, moaning softly as Joan Boswell lined up her anal sphincter with his glans and squirmed her hips, working the come-slick head against the tight opening, forcing the muscle to relax and accept the intruder. />
  Intensely aroused by her mother’s wantonness, dripping wet between her legs, her nipples hard against her t-shirt, Emma could only watch as Joan pushed herself down, taking inch after inch of the vicar’s long, thick prick into her rectum. Never in her life had she witnessed anything so arousing as watching her own mother bugger herself until Alan Grey’s massive cock was buried to the balls in her back passage.

  Emma could imagine all sorts of lustful scenarios in which she could heighten her mother’s pleasure. She longed to repay her mother for being so understanding about her need to have her father’s prick fucking her asshole, just as the vicar’s cock was now buried in her mother’s back passage. She would have liked nothing better than to straddle his body herself, lifting her skirt so she could settle her cunt, oozing with sex honey, onto her mother’s face. She would have loved to suck her mother’s jiggling breasts, tonguing and biting the succulent nipples. But Emma could tell from Joan Boswell’s expression that the pleasure she was experiencing was a selfish one and Emma could do no more than watch and wish it were her the vicar was sodomising.

  Slowly, lingeringly, Joan Boswell lifted her hips so the vicar’s prick slid along the tight sheathe of her asshole, the grip of her anus ensuring it was still held tight. Then she settled herself back down again, grinding the head deep into her bowels. The effort of accommodating something so large in her back passage made Emma’s mother gasp, tiny beads of sweat appearing on her upper lips and the slopes of her breasts.

  Beneath her the Reverend Grey let out soft grunts of effort as he raised his hips in response to the squirming motion of Joan’s bottom enveloping his cock. She wanted him grinding his cockhead in her bowels; he did his best to oblige. Emma could see a froth of spunk and anal lube oozing from her mother’s wide-stretched asshole; heard the sound of flesh against flesh as Joan’s plump bottom slapped repeatedly against the vicar’s muscular belly. The air in the tent was fetid and hot, the scent of buggery hung thick.

  Time and again the long thick shaft appeared and disappeared into Joan Boswell’s clasping rectum. Emma could tell, from the loudness of the vicar’s moans and the answering whimpers her mother was making, that their respective orgasms were close.

  “Yes, Alan, YES!” her mother hissed, her eyes closing as she impaled herself on the cock crammed into her back passage. A moment later her hips jerked in spasms as a climax made her shake with ecstasy, and the vicar responded by arching his hips, holding his body stiff as he pumped his creamy spunk into the depths of Joan Boswell’s welcoming asshole.

  Exhausted from watching as much as if she had joined in, Emma walked over and helped her mother climb to her feet.

  “Thank you, darling,” her mother said, a little smile on her face. She looked down at the vicar lying on his back, his chest heaving, his eyes closed. He looked thoroughly satisfied and happy. Then her eyes met Emma’s.

  “Can I, Mummy?” Emma said, as if she were asking her mother for a treat.

  “Go on, darling. I’m sure he’d like that.”

  The vicar opened his eyes, his gaze expectant.

  And Emma did what she’d been longing to do, pulled her skirt up to display her pink, wet sexlips, straddled the vicar’s recumbent body, and lowered herself so her cunt enveloped his face. Her own head was level with his groin and she heard her mother let out a soft sigh of approval as she took the still-hard prick, rich with the scent and flavors of her mother’s asshole, deep into her mouth and began to suck.

  Saturday Evening

  The fete had been a great success. A lot of money had been raised for the church repair fund, no serious injuries had befallen any of the village children, and everyone agreed it had been an even more enjoyable event than the previous year. Tired and hungry, Emma carried a basket of cakes and jams she had bought as she walked home with her father, leaving her mother to finish tidying round and, possibly, enjoy another bout of vigorous sex with the handsome vicar of the village, Alan Grey.

  A car was parked in the driveway of the house. A moment later the front door opened and a young girl Emma hardly recognized as her brother James’s daughter, Sophie, let out a yell of greeting and hurtled out of the house. She threw her arms round Emma’s startled father who laughed and immediately hugged his grand-daughter as hard as she was hugging him.

  Letting go her grandfather, Sophie walked over to Emma and said, “Hello, Auntie Emma. It’s lovely to see you,” then kissed her aunt, softly and intimately, on the cheek, a gesture that surprised and delighted Emma.

  “Where’s Grandma?” the girl asked.

  “She’s tidying up after the fete,” Emma’s father said. “Making sure no-one goes home unsatisfied...” and Emma glanced at him, catching the gleam in his eye. Her mother might think he didn’t know about the dalliance with the Reverend Grey but Emma suspected he did.

  Sophie reached for the basket, said, “Oooh, yummy, cake,” and led the way into the house. As she did so, Emma had the chance to see that her niece had developed a very pert and curvy little bottom emphasised by the tight jeans she was wearing. She also had surprisingly large breasts for a girl so young, the briefness of the boob tube she was wearing showing off their smooth, creamy-white slopes. Emma found herself wondering idly if Sophie’s nipples were pale English rose pink and then realised with a little jolt she might well have competition for her father’s sexual favours.

  Emma’s brother James was standing at the bottom of the stairs. He looked even more attractive than Emma remembered, his face deeply tanned from serving in the Middle East. His hair was almost white blond, setting off the blueness of his eyes. Over six foot tall, his body was lean and muscular under his designer jacket and trousers.

  He stepped forward and slid his hands round Emma, kissing her on the cheek, and said “Hello, sis, you look dishy,” and Emma let out a soft gasp of surprise when he slid his hands down to cup his hands over her buttocks and squeezed them, pulling her close and making her breasts mound against his chest. He’d never been so lovingly familiar before and Emma felt herself blush with the pleasure of being hugged, smelling the scent of his after-shave and noticing another, very familiar, scent underneath.

  “Come on you two,” James said, leading the way into the living room. “I figured you’d have been drinking tea all afternoon so there’s a couple of bottles of champagne on ice. Let’s open them.”

  “A special occasion?” Emma said, arching her eyebrows at him.

  “Not really,” he said but he glanced across at Sophie and Emma wondered if James was having a little private joke, celebrating something special that had happened he couldn’t share openly. She saw Sophie suppress a little giggle and everything suddenly clicked into place.

  While the family had been at the fete, father and daughter, who had not seen each other in some months while James was abroad, had taken the opportunity to show each other how much they missed one another. James had freshened his after-shave to mask the erotic scent of girl-come from his daughter’s pussy.

  “How are you, Dad?” James asked as he twisted off the foil from the champagne and expertly popped the cork without spilling the bottle’s contents. He poured the champagne into three glasses.

  “Me too, Daddy!” Sophie said, half-demanding, half-pleading. James looked at his father, respecting the older man’s conventions.

  “Go on then,” Alex Boswell said. “But just half a glass as it’s before dinner.” He took the glass James offered and then continued, “Oh, you know the typical life of a village GP: underpaid, overworked and still living with your mother...”

  “Which means he gets to spend most of the time tending his beloved roses and playing the Stock Market, increasing his wealth and our inheritance,” Emma said with a grin.

  “I hope you saved some champagne for me,” Joan Boswell said as she walked in behind Sophie who let out another yell of delight and hugged her grandmother.

  Dinner was slow and relaxed, taken up by small talk catching up on the events of the last few month
s. Emma glanced across at James and Sophie every now and then, amused by the way they were acting toward each other. She knew the signs so well: new lovers sharing the delicious secret that they found it impossibly difficult to keep their hands off each other.

  Eventually the coffee had been drunk, the dishwasher loaded and Emma’s mother said she was off upstairs for a bath and an early night, apologizing to everyone because she was exhausted by the rigors of making tea for the entire village. To which Emma mentally added not to mention being vigorously sodomized by the village cleric, the handsome Reverend Grey, whose penis, fresh from being buried deep in her mother’s bowels, Emma had sucked clean.

  Emma’s father also excused himself to spend time before bed at the computer studying the day’s trading on the Nikkei. Sophie pulled out several DVDs from her shoulder bag and said she was going to watch TV. Just before she left, she gave her father a quick kiss on the lips and said, “You will ask her, won’t you Dad? I so want her to,” and then she gave Emma a cheeky little grin and left the room.

  “Ask me what?” Emma said, sipping her wine.

  James answered her question with a question. “Fancy a walk in the garden?”

  “Love to,” Emma said and followed him out through the patio door.

  However much of his day Emma’s father gave to his patients, his real love was his roses. He cultivated older, long-established strains of roses, experimented with new ones, loved to produce those with delicate scents, tended every bush and bud lovingly. Their fragrance filled the night air and Emma felt deeply at peace and happy to be home.

  “I love her, you know,” James said, breaking her reverie.

  “Of course you do, she’s your daughter,” Emma said, as if she didn’t understand. James was about to say more when Emma put her hand, gently, to his cheek. “And you’re in love with her as well. You love the way she acts, the sound of her voice, the beauty of her body. Which I’m guessing you’re very familiar with...”