For a thirty-six-year-old man, I was quids in. I had a satisfying job, with a good wage, a house in the countryside, away from the hustle and bustle of city life, and more to the point, a wife that was out-of-this-world sexy.

We met in the city, at a late-night bar. We must have fallen in love at the precise moment our eyes met each other. She was the waitress at our work’s party table, supplying us with drinks and snippets of food. Her pert eighteen-year-old bottom was urging me to make her acquaintance in a more informal way, which is precisely what I did as I followed her back to the bar after she dropped off some drinks at our table. We chatted for a brief moment, and it all started from there.

A few days later we would meet for a meal, we’d kiss each other, and say goodbye on the station platform, as I waited for the last train out of London. A few months later, we’d be cavorting on the platform with my hand firmly down her knickers, desperate to bring her off on my fingers even after the fifteen or so orgasms she experienced back at her flat. Our actions, as covert as they could be; and which were hidden away from the constant vigil of the security cameras.

It was under a year before we got married. It felt strange that neither her mother nor father were present, but she had a good excuse for her mother who she said had died when she was thirteen. It never occurred to me that she never displayed any photos of either of them in her flat. We bought a house in the countryside and lived happily ever after.

We fucked the shit out of each other at every possible moment of every day of the week. Sex was always on the menu and we seemed to like everything and anything as long as it was pleasurable. Her young age took me back to when I was younger and she reminded me of my sister.

That was a torrid affair from the start. She seduced me, though she would say that I was compliant. I was, in as much as wanting my dick sucked, but not when she towered over me and lowered her cunt onto my cock and proceeded to fuck me to orgasm. We were seventeen at the time, you could say we were experimentalists, though more her than me. It wasn’t just the once though. Once something like that has started it goes on and on. There’s always more to see and do. More to experience.

My sister and I parted company soon after our parents died in an unfortunate car accident. We were both eighteen years old at the time. It was their only holiday without us. At the time, we were happy to stay at home, though we pretended to be as miserable as we could about spending time together. The truth is, we fucked like rabbits once they were out of the door. She invited friends over and I was encouraged to fuck them too. A couple of her boyfriends, as she called them, got in on the act, and within a week of our parents being away, we were hosting full-blown teenage orgies.

It was a hell of a time and one that came abruptly to an end once the news of what had happened reached us. It changed me, it put my life on hold as I struggled to come to terms with what had happened. My sister and I argued a lot at the time as she seemed to just plough forward without any sympathy or remorse. I eventually left to go to college and I never returned to the family home. My sister and I exchanged a few emails but that was it, I didn’t have the time or energy to make real contact and then the emails stopped.

Stephanie, my wife, acted a lot like my sister when it came to sex. She was insatiable bordering on nymphomania. Getting enough sex sometimes meant I hardly slept, but I couldn’t deny her that pleasure, and to be fair, when I was goaded into fucking her beautiful body then I gave as good as I got.

The wedding was strange without either of her parents being there and without my sister as well, but there was no response to the emails I had sent her.

Our life seemed to plod on, ever upward (never a true word spoken in jest as far as my cock was concerned).

It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I noticed a change in my wife. She seemed down, something was troubling her and my subtle approach wasn’t getting me any closer to what was bothering her. It pained me to see her concerned over something because her laughter penetrated our house so frequently.

“Something’s wrong, what is it?”

I just came out with it while she sat on the chair to the side of the sofa that I was lounging on.

She shook her head but said nothing.

“Come on, tell me.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she replied. Her tone said otherwise.

I got up from the sofa, stripped off, walked over to her and while pinning her hands behind her head, dangled my cock in her face.

“If you don’t tell me, you won’t be getting to suck this tonight,” I nodded down at the attempt my cock was making at being limp. At least the act brightened up the moment. She did get to suck my cock even though she didn’t tell me what was wrong.

A few weeks passed before she sat me down on the same sofa and told me what was bothering her. I was blown away by the revelation that her mother was not dead, that she had been imprisoned three years before we met, and that she was embarrassed by the fact. She had received a letter informing her that she was about to be let out, and as next-of-kin my wife was listed as the woman’s carer.

“Two weeks,” she told me, “my mother will be out in two weeks.”

I consoled her as much as I could. We agreed that her mother would come and live with us while she got back on her feet. We both knew our sex life would be brought firmly down to Earth, but we could live with that in the short term.

I was a little excited at the prospect of meeting her mother for the first time even though the circumstances were not the best, and so it was that the Costa Coffee shop would be hosting the reunion. I decided to let Stephanie enter the café first, let her have her moment with her mother before I would enter the mix. Twenty minutes later I got a text from Stephanie telling me there was a hot coffee waiting for me.

I don’t know what I’d expected to see as I approached them. I was wondering whether her mother would be attractive, and why not, at thirty-seven what would you expect?

As I approached them, I saw Stephanie stand up and then I set eyes on her mother.

The blood must have instantly drained from my face. I felt my world getting out of control as if I was shrinking into infinity. My throat became dry, severely so, like I was in the middle of a desert with the heat setting on fifty-six degrees. I wanted to turn and walk away. Instead, I held out my hand.

“Pleased to meet you,” I politely shook her mother’s hand. My heart thumped as if it was about to burst open and gush blood all over the place. I could see a person in the same state as me looking back at me. Our hands were shaking as we grasped each other.

For the first time in eighteen years, I stood face-to-face with my sister.

The shock rebounded throughout my body and I was left in no doubt that hers was feeling the same.

I sat down and looked at her in disbelief. “Stephanie’s told me a lot about you,” I lied. My heart was thumping and my head was swimming with all the possible scenarios I could have walked into, but not this one.

It suddenly dawned on me why the emails between us stopped. And then the reasoning started. I wish it hadn’t. I wish I could have sat there and had a polite conversation, but that’s not me. I soon concluded that my wife –

I took in a deep breath, there were just too many bombshells in one day. First meeting her mother, my sister and now I was staring into the eyes of my niece, my wife, and I was my wife’s Uncle.

I closed my eyes and tried to push all those nasty thoughts to one side.

“Has she now, I hope it’s all good –”

I vaguely remember the words reaching me from the other side of the table and quickly opened them. I smiled at Stephanie and my sister, all the time thinking about how this was going to be explained and by whom. What would the fallout be like? and who would be picking up the pieces? I felt as if my marriage had come to an end.

Just like that. In the blink of an eye. One step too far into Costa Coffee.

The next forty minutes were torturous, at least for me. I had my coffee to console me, and whenever my thoughts started to betray the words that came out of my mouth, I stopped talking and took a long and lingering sip.

We eventually headed home. I couldn’t resist the glances in the mirror and on more than one occasion I caught my sister’s eyes looking back at me. I think trepidation was written on one side of our faces, and realisation on the other.

We settled her mother into the spare bedroom and left her there for a while. I was shaking with fright when my wife informed me that she was popping out to the supermarket for some groceries and that she’d leave the both of us to get acquainted.

No need for that, I thought, we’re all too familiar with each other. Those weren’t the words that came out of my mouth though, I just nodded and smiled.

When she left, I headed for the fridge and cracked open a lager, quickly downing it and opening another before Angela walked in behind me. I heard footsteps but stood looking into the fridge. Neither of us said a word as I slowly closed the fridge door and turned to face her. Her gaze fell to the floor, my eyes caught hers, and in that split moment, I felt she was as beautiful as she had been at eighteen.

The emotion surprised me. Shocked me. Unhinged me to the very core. I shouldn’t have any feelings for her. I just shouldn’t. Words started to form on my lips but no sound was being made. It was Angela that came out with the stunning revelation.

“What are we going to tell Stephanie?”

What indeed? I let out a long and lingering sigh, shook my head, took another sip of beer and stared at her.

“Pointless staring at me,” she said, eventually.

“It’s been a long time, Angela.”

“Yes, I know. This is a shock for me too, you know.”

I did know that much. I could tell by the look on her face in the café that she was feeling the same as I was.

“I don’t think it comes close to how I’m feeling right now.”

I let the conversation drop. It was only going to get worse and we’d end up arguing, or worse, fucking each other. I walked out of the room and headed for the safety of my bedroom.

“That’s it, walk away, bury your head in the sand,” she shouted after me. It was exactly what I was doing.

The evening meal turned out to be a bit of a trial and I was thankful that Stephanie decided to get an early night, but as I lay there next to her, I wondered about our relationship. When she suggested that it had been ages since I fucked her in the ass, I cringed. But then it dawned on me that once upon a time I’d fucked my sister in the ass so my niece should be fair game.

The following morning my wife left early for work and I was left pondering what to do for the rest of the day. As I walked down the hallway I could hear running water, the bathroom door was open and when I looked in, I saw Angela soaping herself up through the misted glass cubicle.

Memories came rushing forward.

“Come and join me if you want to?”

It would have been wrong to do so, so very wrong. So I did what every hot-blooded male would do. I stripped off, opened the cubicle and allowed my hands to come upon my sister’s breasts from behind. A stiffened cock pushed into her backside momentarily before she turned to kiss me.

“Have you missed me?” She whispered.

I didn’t reply, but I didn’t stop kissing her either. Every planted kiss worsened the situation tenfold, and it wasn’t long before her hand grasped my cock and started to stroke it. I groaned at the touch and I suddenly became eager to bury it inside her.

“Seems to me like you missed me,” she added, as she slowly allowed the tip of my cock to graze through her pubic mound.

I kept kissing her. I knew I should have pulled myself away from her and left. I knew I should have denied her the opportunity to encourage me. I knew I was lost. I twisted her around and pushed her against the shower cubicle. I reached down, grabbed my cock and pointed it at her juicy and rather wet cunt. Brushing it along her slit only made the situation worse and I knew I would go to hell and back if my wife found out that I was poking her mother behind her back. But, poke her I did. Thrusting my hot cock into her waiting cunt was a no-brainer. My wife’s mother, my sister, cried out with the penetration, and I turned into a fucking-machine beast as I powered my cock into her. It could only have been a few strokes before she commanded that I shouldn’t stop and that she needed it badly.

I couldn’t believe the joy I experienced when I found my cock back inside my sister’s cunt. I was in heaven and I wanted to fuck her so badly, and here she was leaning forward with her hands flat against the tiles, pushing back and meeting my cock thrust for thrust.

I came in her cunt with a joyful grunt and I know she must have experienced more than one orgasm on the end of my dick. I never pulled out. I kept it there, savouring the feeling, mauling her tits from behind as she sighed to herself.

“That was so good,” she whimpered. Angela turned to face me causing my cock to spring out of her pussy and bob wildly. Her eyes locked on mine, searching for some kind of answer that I hoped I was not broadcasting her way. It was a quick fuck that she had set up and I had fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.

I couldn’t help myself, but I wanted to fuck her one more time. I trusted her to keep quiet about what had happened, and I reckoned that the situation couldn’t get any worse.

She leaned into me for what I presumed was a kiss but instead, she caught my ear with the edge of her lips.

“She’s your daughter…”

My eyes opened wide. I pushed Angela away from me, studying her face, her lips, her eyes. There were no smiles, no glint in her eyes, no wickedness stretching over her lips or face. It was the truth, and it was something I wasn’t prepared to contemplate.

My world was surely falling apart, and there I was, concerned about fucking my niece in the ass the night before. But, it wasn’t my niece, it was my daughter.

I’d been having raunchy hot sex with my daughter. Perhaps that’s why we were so attracted to each other from the outset. Perhaps that’s why we got on so well, but what were the chances of all this happening? Talk about keeping it in the family.

Angela left me in the shower, the water pouring over me was a poor substitute for any kind of sense or sensibility. I watched her leave the bathroom, dragging the towel behind her. I wondered if she had any idea what she had done to me with just the three little words.

I know why she told me. I had to know. I couldn’t go through life without knowing the full truth. Eighteen years matched the age of Stephanie. It also answered a lot of strange behaviour at the time. Acts of aggression and moodiness that I couldn’t explain. I suddenly knew why Angela and I split apart and the contact between us slowly diminished.

My daughter. I’d fucked my daughter. No! Worse than that, I’d enjoyed and got off by fucking my own daughter and she loved fucking her father, only she didn’t know anything about it – or did she? I parked the thought, but it never left me a moment’s peace.

A sick and perverted smile broke across my face, as I realised that her father was present at her wedding after all. The thought slowly propagated through my brain. It was only her mother that wasn’t present.

I must have remained in the shower for twenty minutes with my back to the wall and the hot water pouring over my body.

What to say? How to approach this with Stephanie? Should I even contemplate telling her? What would Angela’s solution be? Would she have one?

I was fucked.

At six-thirty that evening, Stephanie bounced into the house like she was on cloud nine. Angela and I sat in the lounge watching her enthuse over this and that. We...