EroticReverie

Bianca Belmont

My grandfather looks at me across the room and places his hand on his thigh, his eyes looking me up and down. His bushy , mostly grey eyebrow lifts as he smiles and nods in approval of the dress he's bought for me. He pats his thigh a few times, beckoning me over to him. 

"You look wonderful." He says, his old cigar rattled voice hums as I turn, his legs spreading slightly, allowing me to sit on his thigh as the other men in the room look upon me. I can feel all of their eyes on me. Because the dress, if you can even call it that. Is a tight black see through lace mini dress with tiny little straps, and a hem that barely covers my ass, not that it matters, because I was instructed not to wear panties. 

My hair is done up, I wear a thin black choker around my neck, and five inch heels. Sometimes they insist I don't wear makeup. Tonight, it's required. My mother did my makeup, my hair. Wordlessly. I'd watched her in the mirror the entire time, and not once did she look at me. Because, we don't talk about it. We never have, and I'm not sure we ever will. I tried once, and was hushed and told to never speak to her of it again. 

I look to my father, who sits in a chair near my grandfather. His eyes leering up and down my body as well. I don't mind. I should. But I don't. 

At first, I'd been too young and naive and trusting to ever think the things my father and grandfather made me do would be wrong. Why would my own father do anything bad to me? And my grandpa? No, they loved me. Surely. But sometimes...men love their daughters and grand daughters too much. And when they're filthy rich...they get away with it. 

As I got older, there was a brief period where I'd hated them both. Very, very brief. Because men, especially powerful ones, didn't take a girl telling them "no" very well. Not well at all. They make it hurt more when you tell them no. 

So, I'd learned to accept my life as it was. My father and grandfathers plaything. Occaisonally borrowed by other men. My just as rich uncles, a few family "Friends" , a few other men with too much money and a taste for the forbidden. Women too. Because they were no different. People tend to think only men are capable of such things. But no, women do too. Because when you're rich, you get bored. You want things you're not supposed to have, to do things you're not supposed to do. And when you have as much money as they do, well...you can do anything you want, can't you?  Even if "normal" people found it, and reported it, they have enough money to make it go away.

"Honestly." A man says. "How unfair is it for us men, when they make laws to prevent us from enjoying the body of a woman that looks like that?" 

Woman. Ha. He knew I wasn't a woman. But I supposed I was more of a woman than most girls my age when it comes to the things I've been made to do with men and actual grown women. I supposed I was CLOSE to being a woman. 

"What laws do you speak of? There are no laws here." Another man says, all of them laughing in their old rich man laughs. Though some aren't even old, just rich. 

Sometimes, it disgusts me. I know it should always disgust me. To listen to them talk about me like i'm not here. Acknowledging me, but not directly. 

But I've gotten used to it. It's sad. But I have. And if I had to be honest........I even enjoy it sometimes. I like it. The attention. Knowing I'm a "Good one". That my father and grandfathers "Friends" sing my praises. I like being good at fucking. Maybe it's a bit of me being brainwashed, or maybe I'm just truly what they trained me to be. A whore. 

My mother enters the room , in the same dress as me. She walks to my father, sitting on his lap. The men leer at her too, their eyes ping ponging back and forth between us, like their brains are about to explode. 

"I suppose it's time, we take this to the show room." My grandfather says and pats my hip and I stand. His hand rubbing over my ass as I stand. He gives it a small slap through the lace and I smile down at him. 

I walk to my mother who stands back up, taking my hand and I look at her, she doesnt look me directly in the eyes, but at my mouth, or somewhere else, as she gently places manicured fingers under my chin to tip it up and drags her tongue over my cherry painted lips. The men in the room giving a collective groan as they're given a preview of what's to come in the showroom. Though they already know, they've seen it before. Maybe not all of them, there are two new faces, or at least unfamiliar ones. 

We all walk through the estate, out to the back, down the stone steps, onto the lawn, and paved stone path leading to the other "House" on my grandfathers property. 

Inside we go, after my grandfathers retinas are scanned, and his finger print, along with his voice, and a numbercode pressed into a keypad. Because behind these walls, only few were allowed to go. I'd called it Pervert Palace when going through my phase of being angry with my father and grandfather, and mother. The whole property was Pervert Palace. But this..was the center of it. 

The bottom floor, is entirely open. One room, all black, and gold.  Mostly black, with gold accents. Black walls, and black drapes with gold sewn hems, with gold ropes to draw them open. But those curtains were never opened. 

The adjusting lights, dims brighter and brighter , bit by bit as the nearly circular layout of the room grows lighter. Golden baphomet shapes sconces on the wall, allow that low movie thater lighting to light up the walls around the room. The center of the room, the raised platform stage of the showroom, shines under a spotlight that is brighter than the rest of lights. 

The men begin taking seats, either near the walls, or in the seats somewhere between the wall and the stage, like a mini movie theatre, except there's no screen. Just the shiny black platform where they'll get to watch a mother and daughter have sex together. 

The center stage is always shiny, made of the same black marble as the floors, but I can see the perfectly placed thin liquid layer. And I know what it is. The sacrifice was already made. Among just the men. While my mother and I were getting ready. They spilled somethings blood, or... someones. I didn't want to know. But I can see it, and smell it , just like always. The metallic scent bites at my nose. It used to make me sick. I got used it though. Because I've been on this center stage too many times to count now. For as long as I can remember. I was part of the show, in some way or another. 

Made to fuck my mother. Made to fuck myself. Made to fuck another girl or boy my age. Made to fuck grown men, or women. Made to fuck my father and grandfather. Made to dance, naked, covered in blood. The things they made me do, were always different, and sometimes the same. I suppose it's whatever they were in the mood for really. 

My father undresses my mother. My grandfather undresses me. Both of them lifting our lace dresses till they are pulled up and off, and tossed to the floor. 

I look to my mother, and she looks at me. Still, not in my eyes. Never in my eyes. Does she hate it sometimes like I do? Is that why she never looks at me? Never talks about it? Or was her avoidance to do with the shame and guilt, ...because she liked it? 

Our hands go to each others hips softly, our heads tilt in opposite directions as we stand near the steps leading to the circular platform where we'll be watched having sex with one another. 

I kiss her like I mean it. Because I do. She kisses me like she means it, and I'm not sure if she does or not. 

My mouth parts and my tongue slips over her mouth first, I'm always the one to seek her with my tongue first. After sharing my first kiss with my mother, that involved tongue. In a room full of far many more men than what was here tonight...after that first kiss, my tongue was always eager to to kiss her. Even during the period where I was mad at all of them. I enjoyed their kisses. My mothers most of all. Maybe it was because it was the only affection I ever received from her. IF that's even what you can call it. 

I bite her lip and she hisses and I grin to myself and then kiss her harder, my hands sliding behind her, to her ass, I push up on my toes, she's a few inches taller. My smaller breasts, press to her larger ones and my mouth angels itself further and I draw my tongue over hers and lick inside of her mouth as I grow wet between my legs. My mother moans and gasps as our mouths part and I dip my mouth to her neck. Kissing, biting and moaning as I suck at her skin as we keep undulating against one anothers, our hips rolling into one anothers, our breasts moving against each others. Hands roaming and grabbing, with almost two dozen men watching us together. 

There are quiet whispers and murmurs between them , they could be discussing us, or the fucking weather. Who knows. Sometimes they liked to pretend that watching us wasn't the thrill that it truly was. As if this wasnt exactly why they were here. As if this stage was an actual television, and nothing more than cheap entertainment. 

"Upon the stage." My grandfather Richard says from the seat he's taken, front and center. 

I pull my mother to me, stepping backward, taking the few steps slowly, knowing that the marble will be slippery at the top, and the perfectly spread out blood that tops the platform will be start to drip and push over the edges the second we lay upon it. 

So I sit, my ass squishing against the blood, and I push back on the step with my feet, to slide myself toward the center of the platform. My mothers hands already in the blood, as she crawls onto the stage carefully, dips her head down, and drags her tongue from my navel to my breasts, and bites my nipple and I cry out, her head turning, biting the other as my hands slip and I fall back. Theback of my hair soaking in blood, my shoulders and back and arms soaked, my feet pushing through the blood on the marble as my mother sucks at my nipple hard and lifts a bloodied hand to my other, smearing it all over me, her hand dragging down my breast, over my torso, over my navel and I groan as I lift my head, panting as I watch her tongue flick my nipple and her hand leave the long streak of red blood smeared on my body, her hand sliding between my legs and I spread my feet wider as my mother slides two fingers directly into me and I moan, my eyes fluttering. 

I bite my lip hard as I let my head fall back, my hair soaking up more blood as I writhe and my skin slips and slides against the marble as I pant, my mother finger fucking me with her bloody fingers as I clench around them. 

Her tongue drags from my bare nipple to the breast covered in the blood of their sacrifice and she sucks it clean. Licking and sucking at my breast and down my torso, lapping up the mess she made, as she keeps moving her fingers. The room is silent now, more murmurs or talking, just the sound her mouth kissing and licking, and mine moaning and panting, and the wet squelch of the blood beneath us, and my the wet squelch of my pussy as my mother fingers it. 

I smack my bloodied hands to my tits, squeezing and moaning as I lose myself in it. Because I don't hate it. I don't hate it at all and I know I look good. I know I make them hard. I know they like the way my mother fucks me, just as much as I do. I love it. This is my life , it's always been my life, and I know one day..........I'll have a daughter......covered in blood....with my mouth between her legs......and my father.....and her father.....and maybe her grandpa too....will make her love this life...just like they did with me.