Little Sister Bea, Apollo and John - with a touch of Mom!

Apollo takes care of Bea’s needs, but she denies his in return – so he claims his bitch! Mom witnesses and gets turned on, so her son, John, quenches her fire!

Disclaimer: Welcome to a world where forbidden desire is the only rule. This story is part of a collection where all lines are meant to be crossed. If you keep reading, you're already on the other side.
Reader discretion is advised.
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Read ‘Little Sister Bea and Apollo - A Family Affair ‘ to enjoy the second story of Bea, Apollo and her brother John!

The day after Bea’s first time with Apollo and John.
The clinking of silverware and the low murmur of conversation filled the smart outdoor cafe. It was the kind of place where beautiful, well-dressed women met for overpriced salads and secrets. Candice, with the lean, hungry grace of an aging model, and Ellen, whose generous bust was a testament to a life lived fully, were two such women. Their hug was brief, a peck on the cheek, a ritual of their long friendship. But as they settled into their seats, Ellen saw it. A wild, fractured light in Candice’s eyes that went far beyond the usual gossip.
“Alright, Candy,” Ellen said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as she leaned across the small table. “Spill. You look like you’ve either won the lottery or witnessed a murder.”
Candice laughed, a brittle, hollow sound that was almost lost in the ambient cafe noise. “Divorce papers, Ellen. Eddie finally served me.”
The words hung in the air, a private bomb exploding in a public space. Ellen’s face, usually a mask of playful knowing, hardened with genuine outrage. “That son of a bitch. I knew it. I hope you take him for everything.”
“Oh, I suspected,” Candice said, waving a dismissive hand at a passing waiter. “He was just too good at covering his tracks. But that’s not it. That’s… that’s just business.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping so low Ellen had to strain to hear it over the clinking of a nearby wine glass. “Ellen, I saw something. Something I wasn’t supposed to see.”
Ellen leaned in, her own scandal forgotten, the world around them fading to a blur. “What? What did you see?”
Candice’s eyes were wide, a mixture of terror and a terrifying, illicit delight. “I walked in on John… on my son… he was fucking Bea. Her ass, Ellen. Right there in her room. He was buried so deep inside his little sister’s ass, and she was… she was euphoric. The way he held her. It wasn’t wrong. It was the most loving, passionate thing I’ve ever seen. I nearly came just standing there, watching them.”
Ellen’s breath hitched. Her perfectly manicured hand flew to her chest, her knuckles white.
“I left before she saw me,” Candice continued, her voice trembling with a thrill that made her skin flush. “We talked later, just him and me. I gave him my blessing. As long as it’s consensual… how could I stand in the way of that?”
For a long moment, the only sound Ellen could hear was the frantic beating of her own heart. She finally found her voice, a choked, disbelieving whisper. “Fuck,” she swore, shaking her head in awe. “Fuck. And I was just going to tell you I finally got Dan to go to his first swingers’ meeting.” She waved a hand dismissively, her own story suddenly pathetic, laughably tame in the face of Candice’s revelation. “Forget that. Candy… your son and daughter? Are you serious? What did it look like?”
“They were a single, tangled form on her bed, a study in shadow and soft light. John, nearly a man, was wrapped around his little sister, Bea, who was still just a girl. They were spooning, his chest to her back, his hips nestled against the soft curve of her ass. He was hilt deep inside her, a thick, possessive presence that filled her completely.” Her jaw dropped a little as she replayed what she saw.
“Bea’s little body seemed like a landscape of new discoveries for John, his hands exploring her. One of his hands was tucked under her, his arm circling her waist to find the sensitive nub of her clit. His fingers moved in slow, expert circles, a counter-rhythm to the deep, deliberate pulse of his cock. His other hand rested higher, massaging a tiny, developing breast, his palm warm against the new swell of her skin.
With each slow, deep thrust, he’d press his lips to the nape of her neck, leaving a trail of soft, lingering kisses. Bea pressed back into him, a silent, willing surrender, her small body arching to meet his, taking everything he gave.
Candice paused, her voice thick with emotion as she replayed the memory. "And then he saw me. The look in John’s eyes… it wasn't fear. It was pure, triumphant joy. He just kept going, a silent invitation for me to stay and watch the love they were sharing." A slow, wicked smile spread across her face. "And I couldn't help but smile back."
The warm afternoon sun of the patio cafe did little to chase the chill from Ellen’s voice. “Do the kids know about the divorce?”
The question snapped Candice out of her reverie, the vivid memory of her children’s bodies entwined on the bed dissolving like a dream. She blinked, focusing on the concerned face of her friend. “Yes. I told the three of them this morning. Lea… she took it the hardest. She’s been a daddy’s girl since the day she was born.” Candice swirled the ice in her glass, the clinking a sharp, lonely sound. “But it was John’s reaction that made me proudest. He got this look in his eye—pure fire. He swore about his father, said he wanted to punch him for his betrayal of our family.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “And for whatever ‘whore’ his hypocritical ass was shacking up with!”
Ellen’s grip on her hand tightened, her expression a fierce, protective mask. “Honey, I hate to say it, but fuck your husband and his new bitch. And if you get to witness your kids fucking again, grab a seat and watch. And I want every single illicit and taboo detail, you hear me?” She was leaning so far forward their heads were nearly touching, a bubble of conspiracy in the middle of the bustling cafe.
A genuine, weightless smile touched Candice’s lips for the first time all day. The anger at Eddie was still there, but it felt distant, a storm happening in someone else’s country. “You know, Ellen… I think my acceptance of Eddie leaving is easier because of the kids. Because of what I saw.” Her eyes darted nervously around the patio, taking in the other patrons—women laughing over salads, a couple sharing a dessert. They were in another world. “He was such a staunch conservative. If he had ever caught them… God, he would have beaten John to a pulp. He would have pressed charges. He would have treated his own little girl like a harlot.”
“But his cheating was okay?” Ellen asked, her voice laced with the familiar poison of hypocrisy.
“That’s the nature of his beliefs,” Candice said, the words flat and final. “His rules apply to everyone but himself.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the unspoken truth settling between them. The conversation drifted then, touching on the mundane—the rising cost of groceries, a new show Ellen was binge-watching, a leaky faucet Candice needed to fix. It was a normal conversation between two old friends, but the subcurrent of their shared secret ran beneath it like a dark, powerful river.
Eventually, Candice glanced at her phone. “I should get going. I need to be home for Bea.” She stood, gathering her purse. “I don’t know when John will be back from practice.”
Ellen stood with her, pulling her into a tight, fierce hug. “Call me,” she whispered into Candice’s hair. “Don’t you dare keep any of those details to yourself.”

The house was a sanctuary of silence. Eddie was gone, Lea at the movies, John at soccer practice. At least for another ninety minutes. An eternity. Bea had the house to herself.
A familiar, restless heat coiled in her belly. She craved John’s touch, the possessive weight of him, the way he knew her body so completely. But he wasn't here. And beggars can't be choosers. Her gaze fell on Apollo, the family's German Shepherd, who was sleeping peacefully in a patch of sun. A different kind of need, one that was simpler, more primal, began to surface.
She went to the kitchen, her heart thumping a nervous, excited rhythm, and retrieved the jar of strawberry jam from the fridge. In her bedroom, she laid out two thick towels on her floral duvet, a makeshift altar for her sin. She stripped off her clothes, the cool air on her naked skin making her nipples pebble. Lying back on the towels, she spread her legs, her teenage pussy exposed to the air. She dipped her fingers into the sticky jam and smeared the sweet, red goo over her folds, the cold, slick texture sending a jolt straight to her clit. She was so horny it hurt.
“Apollo,” she called, her voice a husky whisper.
The dog’s ears perked up. It wasn’t long before he trotted into the room, his nose twitching as he caught the scent. He climbed onto the bed, his tail wagging, and immediately lowered his head to the source of the sweetness. The first rough lap of his huge tongue against her sensitive flesh made her gasp. It was incredible. He began to lick her in earnest, a relentless, wet assault, his thick tongue lapping at the jam and her swollen clit with frantic, single-minded purpose. It was overwhelming, a wave of sensation so intense she was instantly lost. He didn't just lick; he consumed. His tongue probed and swirled, driving her higher and higher until her back arched off the bed and a silent scream tore from her throat as her orgasm crashed through her.
As she lay panting, lost in the blissful aftershocks, the bed shifted. The frantic licking stopped. Apollo whined, high and insistent, nudging her thigh with his wet nose. He wanted more. He wanted to fuck.
“No, boy, no,” she gasped, pushing at his broad chest. “Bad boy.”
He whined again, a frustrated, needy sound, and nudged her harder. In her post-orgasmic haze, she made a grave error. She turned her back to him, scrambling to get up on her knees to push him off the bed properly.
It was the invitation he’d been waiting for.
In a blur of fur and muscle, Apollo lurched. His weight slammed into her, a heavy, furry force that sent her pitching forward. Her hands flew out to catch herself, landing hard on the towels. The move forced her into a hands-and-knees position, her ass presented high in the air. The realization of her mistake hit her a second before he did. A cold dread washed over her as she felt his front paws clamp like vices around her hips, his claws pricking her skin. He saw his chance, and he was taking it.
Apollo’s body hunched over her, a hot, panting weight on her back. She felt the frantic, wet jabbing of his cock against her thighs, her ass, searching blindly. Then, the pointed tip found her slick entrance. He jabbed once, missing, then again. On the second try, he drove into her, a hard, invasive thrust that stole the air from her lungs.
“No! Apollo, stop!” she cried out, trying to squirm away. But his grip was iron. He was too strong, too heavy. His powerful humping began, a frantic, violent rhythm. He forced her face down into the duvet, the fabric muffening her screams as his body weight pinned her in place. The scent of strawberries and her own arousal filled her nostrils, a mocking perfume to her violation.
Then came a new pain, a sharp, insistent pressure at her entrance. It was his knot, a thick bulb of flesh trying to force its way inside. She clenched, trying to keep it out, but his humping became more urgent, more forceful. With a sudden, painful pop, the knot rammed past her tight muscles and locked inside her. A raw scream tore from her throat as a searing pain radiated through her pelvis. He was stuck. He was locked to her.
He was still humping, but the deep, violent thrusts were now shorter, grinding against her deepest walls. And in the midst of the pain and the horror, a new sensation began to bloom. The frantic violence of his cock, jabbing against her g-spot from time to time with brutal accuracy, sent a jolt of unwanted pleasure through her. Her body betrayed her. Her protests weakened, her screams turning into ragged, sobbing moans. The flood of orgasms started, not as gentle waves, but as violent, shattering crashes that stole her strength, her resistance, her will. She surrendered to it, her mind going blank as her body was wracked by one convulsive climax after another. She was still upset, still violated, but her flesh was no longer her own.
They were not being quiet. The bedframe slammed against the wall, the sounds of Apollo’s frantic panting and Bea’s broken cries echoing down the hall.
The bedroom door creaked open. “Bea? What on earth is all that noise? Are you and your brother being too—”
Candice stopped dead, her hand flying to her mouth. The scene that greeted her was one of pure, animalistic violence. Her daughter was on her hands and knees, her face buried in the bed, being fucked hard and fast by their dog. For a heart-stopping second, she thought it was rape. She was right.
“Bea! Oh my god, Bea!” she shrieked, rushing into the room.
Bea, lost in a haze of pain and forced pleasure, tried to turn her head, tried to speak. “No, Mom, it’s—” she sobbed, trying to communicate that it was okay, that she didn’t want her to panic, but the words wouldn’t come. All that escaped were choked, desperate sounds.
But then Candice looked closer. She saw the way her daughter’s body was arching into the thrusts, the way her fists were clenched in the duvet not in terror, but in ecstasy. It wasn't rape in her eyes anymore. It was a baptism. A violent, beautiful initiation. A shocking, dark heat bloomed in Candice’s own core. She wasn’t just watching her daughter be raped; she was watching her daughter be ravaged. And it was the most erotic thing she had ever seen. She felt a gush of wetness soak her panties. She stood there, transfixed, her hand unconsciously drifting to her own breast, her thumb rubbing her suddenly hard nipple through her silk blouse.
Apollo gave one final, deep lunge and went rigid. A hot gush of cum flooded Bea’s insides, so much it leaked out around the tight seal of his knot. He whined, high and long, his body trembling.
As the frantic energy subsided, Candice rushed forward, her maternal instincts warring with her lust. “Easy, baby, easy,” she cooed, reaching out to steady the dog, to keep his weight from crushing Bea as he remained knotted inside her. She stroked Apollo’s heaving flank, her eyes locked on the place where her daughter and the dog were joined.
It felt like an eternity before Apollo’s knot finally subsided. With a wet, sucking sound, he slipped out, followed by a flood of milky fluid. Bea collapsed onto the bed, a boneless, sobbing, trembling mess.
Candice was there instantly, pulling her daughter into her arms, uncaring of the mess. She held her close, rocking her gently. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”
When Bea’s breathing finally evened out, Candice pulled back just enough to look at her. Her own voice was a husky whisper, thick with curiosity and lingering arousal.
“What does it feel like?” she asked. “His… his cock?”
Bea shuddered, burrowing into her mother’s shoulder. “It’s the knot hurts… at first. But his cock… it’s an incredible sensation of being completely full. Stretched. Owned.”
Candice stroked her hair, her mind racing. “How long have you been… doing this?”
Bea hesitated. “This is… the first time he’s gotten rough,” Bea shuddered. “The first time… John was there. He helped me. It was powerful, not rough like this. He loved watching us fuck, and… and it was incredible. This time… I screwed up, and turned my back to him, and he was gagging for me – he took his chance.”

A short while later, Candice emerged from Bea’s room. She was vibrating, charged with a dark, sexual energy so potent it felt like a live wire in her veins. Her kids were fucking each other, and her daughter had the hots for their dog. The images flooded her mind, a relentless slideshow of taboo that offered a vicious, tantalizing escape from the pain. And to make it worse, as she’d arrived home, the text from Eddie had been a final, brutal twist of the knife. He wouldn’t be back till Monday. He’d collect his things while she was at work, while the kids were at school. A clean, surgical extraction.
She went to her room, sat on the edge of the bed, and finally let the tears fall. She cried until the anger and the grief were a hollow ache in her chest. Drained, she stood and stripped, her clothes falling to the floor like discarded skin. She went straight to the shower, letting the hot water embrace her, wash it all away. Thinking of John now.
Remembering her first night with her son. It was late, she didn’t want to sleep. And she didn’t know John was still up until that moment.
Then she heard it. John. The familiar creak of a floorboard, the soft sigh of a boy trying to be silent. She knew the sound in her bones. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Her bedroom door wasn’t fully closed. She stepped over to it, nudged it open just a fraction more, a silent, deliberate invitation. Then she returned to her dresser, standing with her back to the door, making sure her naked form was perfectly framed in the full-length mirror on the wall. She could feel his eyes on her, a physical weight, a brand. The air grew thick with unspoken intent. This started to make her wet, a slick heat blooming between her thighs.
She began to rub her own breasts, her fingers tracing the curves, subtly pleasing herself for an audience of one. She bent over slowly to pick a towel from the bed, exaggerating the arch of her back, presenting the smooth globes of her ass, and the slightest glimpse of her pussy. She heard it then—a deep, shaky sigh from the hallway. The torture she could imagine her son feeling sent electric shocks up and down her spine.
As she headed into the bathroom, she stopped at the doorway, her back still to him. “Join me, John,” she said, her voice a low, husky command. She flashed a glance at the mirror to her side and saw the flicker of shock and raw desire on his face. She knew he was there.
Steam billowed into the bedroom as she disappeared into the bathroom. John froze for only a second before stepping into his mother’s room, closing the door with a soft click. He stripped in record time, his cock already hard and jutting, and followed her into the shower.
The hot water was a torrent, a cascading curtain of heat that instantly slicked their skin. Candice leaned against the tiled wall, and John was on her, his hands everywhere. He worshipped her body with a desperate, youthful hunger. His mouth found hers, a kiss that was all tongue and need and pent-up longing. His hands roamed her slick curves, squeezing the full weight of her ass, sliding up her ribcage to cup her breasts, his thumbs flicking her hard nipples.
“Eat me, John,” she gasped, her voice lost in the hiss of the water. “God, please, baby. Eat my pussy till I cum.”
He obeyed instantly. The water streamed over his broad shoulders as he looked up at her, his eyes dark with worship. He lifted one of her leg over his shoulder, exposing her completely, and then his mouth was on her. His tongue was a fiery brand, lapping at her clit, probing her folds, fucking her with a rhythm that was both tender and ferocious. Candice’s hands tangled in his wet hair, her hips bucking against his face as the orgasm built, a tidal wave of pleasure that crested and broke, leaving her screaming and shaking against the tiles.
She slid down the wall, her body boneless, and took his beautiful cock in her hands. It was thick and hard, a perfect, angry spear of flesh. She admired it for a moment before taking him into her mouth. She sucked him hard, her head bobbing, her hands stroking his shaft and balls.
“Fuck me, John,” she panted, pulling away. “Take me. Be rough with me.”
He spun her around, pushing her face-first against the slick tiles. He kicked her legs apart and slammed into her from behind, a single, brutal thrust that stole her breath. He fucked her hard, just like she asked, his hips pistoning, his fingers digging into the flesh of her ass, the sound of their bodies slapping together echoing in the steam-filled enclosure. He bent her over, took her standing up, then pressed her against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, driving into her with a primal need that matched her own. He came with a guttural roar, flooding her, his body shuddering against hers.
Later, lying tangled in her bed, the sheets damp with their sweat and the shower’s steam, Candice felt him get hard again, his young cock pressing against her thigh. She knew what she wanted. She rolled onto her back and let her head hang upside down off the side of the bed, her throat a straight, vulnerable line.
“Fuck momma’s mouth, baby,” she whispered, her voice thick with lust. “Fuck it deep.”
He stood over her, feeding his cock into her open mouth. He thrust deep, the head hitting the back of her throat, and she took it all, moaning around his thickness. He fucked her mouth like he’d fucked her pussy, hard and deep, over and over again, until he came again, his hot cum shooting down her throat.
They collapsed onto the bed, spent, their bodies tangled in a blissful, post-coital haze. Just as Candice was about to pull him into a cuddle, John froze. He heard it. The faint, distinctive chirp of Lea’s cellphone as she approached the bedroom door. He heard her quiet footsteps, just like his own.
“Lea,” he whispered, his voice panicked.
Candice’s reaction was instantaneous, practiced. She reached into the bedside table and pulled out her sleek, silver vibrator as John dropped silently to the floor on the far side of the bed, hiding. Candice spread her legs and pressed the buzzing toy against her clit, her breath hitching. The door creaked open.
Lea popped her head in, her eyes wide, and froze at the sight of her mother naked, pleasuring herself. “Oh my god, Mom! I’m so sorry, I—”
“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetie,” Candice moaned, not stopping. “Probably something you’ve done yourself when you needed it.” She smiled at her daughter, a wicked, knowing smile.
Lea stared, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson, but her gaze didn't drop. It flicked from the buzzing toy in her mother's hand to the glistening skin of her thighs, a hungry, fascinated curiosity replacing her initial shock. “You… you look so hot, Mom!” she whispered, then quickly backed out, closing the door softly behind her.
The moment the door was shut, John was back on the bed. He climbed on top of his mother and they kissed passionately, a deep, possessive kiss that tasted of sweat and cum and forbidden love.
“You're mine now,” he growled against her lips.
He kissed her one last time, then grabbed his clothes and slipped out of her room, leaving her alone in the dark with the lingering scent of their sin.

Bea - 3
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My world is built on shared desires and whispered sins. Now, I invite you to add to the silence. Leave a comment with your thoughts on the story, or offer something more forbidden: a true experience. Let me weave it into the life of a character, giving your secret a new voice.