Broken Bonds

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*Author’s Note*

This story is about ‘consensual adult incest’ – and the possibilities that could arise from it.

I have taken the subject matter in a different direction this time.

Some will like that direction, and I am sure others will not. Take what you will from it.

Thanks for reading.


My name is Clark Williams, and at the time this story begins, I was sixty-two years old. I was your basic, average, retired guy, counting the days until God told me, my time was up. Thing is, God decided to upset my calm, static life, with a major revelation that quickly became a complication. One that I never expected. One that I will eventually have trouble dealing with — briefly.

This is both my backstory, my current story, and inevitably, a continuing story.

I will eventually get some help telling it, as you will discover, once you start reading.



I got married at twenty – because Maggie and I messed up. The one time we try it without a condom… well… you get the idea. At twenty, she gave birth to our first child. A year later, we had a second one.

My daughter and son were born almost exactly a year apart. Both were decent kids when they were growing up, and both did well in school. My son joined the military at age eighteen, and unfortunately, a year later we lost him – and hundreds of other brave sons – to a war most people have forgotten. And yes, his death took a toll on both his sister and his mother.

My daughter met and married a fairly decent guy – well, he started out that way. He had a decent job, made pretty good money, and treated her well. Taylor gave birth to their first child a week after she turned twenty. Shortly thereafter, things began going downhill. Thomas quickly discovered how expensive a child can be, and supporting his family became a daily struggle. Unable to cope, he eventually slipped into the world of drugs. He lost his job, made no attempt to find a new one, and ended up going in and out of jail constantly for the next year. While we let Taylor and the baby stay with us, Thomas wasn’t allowed in the house – which of course caused a huge rift between our daughter and us.

When Taylor told us she was pregnant again, that’s when I began to worry. I knew it was a ploy to get us to let Thomas move into the house with us – which didn’t work. Taylor became so angry, she took both babies and disappeared, telling us we’d never see them again.

And we didn’t.

Three years ago, I lost my wife to a very aggressive form of cancer, and at times, believe I am still in mourning.

I think that the loss of her grandchildren was a big factor in my wife’s refusal to fight her cancer. Without grandchildren, she simply didn’t see the need to fight to stay alive. I can only hope that she is in a better place now.



Fast forward to six months ago.

I kept the house that once held my family. Not sure why, but I don’t want to move. Perhaps, I’m just comfortable here.

At sixty-one, I’m not in bad shape. While I don’t work out or anything like that, I try to eat well, and do walk a lot. Because I was able to retire early, I always seem to have something to tinker with in the garage, and my neighbors like to ask me for help with things as well. I’m 6′ even, weigh around 185 lbs., am fairly dark complexed, and while I do have a head full of hair, it’s pretty much totally gray – as is my goatee. I’ve been told that I look ‘distinguished’ – whatever that may mean.

On a beautiful Sunday, I’m about to head off for my weekly walk on the beach – something I’ve done religiously since Maggie passed away. As I am gathering my keys and wallet, the doorbell rings. With a big smile on my face, I go to see which neighbor needs what today. When I pull the door open, I’m stunned to silence. On my porch are what very well may be the two most beautiful young women I have ever seen.

The one on my right is taller, and the one on the left is a bit plumper, but both are blonde, and have big blue eyes. Both are dressed conservatively, but in older and blatantly worn out clothes. They also look very fatigued – as if… well… back in the day we would have said they were ‘rode hard and put away wet’.

“Good morning ladies, can I help you?” I ask.

“Mr. Williams? Clark Williams?”

“At your service.”

“finally…” the shorter one mutters, and lets her face fall into her hands.

“Excuse me?” I quickly retort.

“You’ll have to excuse my sister,” the taller one offers, “it’s just that we’ve been looking for you for a while now.”

“Because?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“This is probably going to freak you out, but we are related,” she says, pausing to see how I react. After a second she smiles and says, “My name is Abby and my sister’s name is Lizzy – well, Giresun Escort Elizabeth actually. Our last name is Parker – but our mother’s maiden name is Williams.”

Truth is, I didn’t need to hear the surnames – the moment she said Abby and Elizabeth, I knew exactly who there were.

My granddaughters…

“no fucking way…” I mumble without thinking. I’m so stunned, I slip into a strange, hanging silence.

“See,” the plump one says, “I told you. He’s not interested…”

As she turns to leave, I snap out of my daze.

“Someone certainly has a fucked-up attitude,” I blurt out, which causes her to stop. “Excuse my language young lady, but I’m not accustomed to people making up my mind for me.”

The kid blushes bright red. The other girl is trying desperately not to fall out laughing.

“Would you two care to come in and tell me what the hell is going on?”

Five minutes later, we’re sitting at my dining room table, sipping iced tea and staring at each other. I’m about to have my mind totally blown…



Turns out Thomas and Taylor fell head-long into the drug world, and had relocated to Arizona. They were running drugs all over the western states for some dealers, in order to support their own habits. Inevitably, they got caught, and a chase ensued. At some point, Taylor was able to get out of the car, but Thomas kept going. The result was a pretty bad accident, that cost their father his life. For the next two years, my daughter and her daughters struggled to survive. According to the girls, their mother traveled down a very dark path for well over a year. Eventually, she went back to work for the dealers. A year later – at the age of thirty-seven – Taylor traveled the same path Thomas had. This time, she was the one driving, and the results were the same – a horrendous accident, that took three lives.

Now, Taylor is facing prison – for a very long time. If she is convicted on all the charges, she may actually die in prison. I lost my son to a war, my wife to cancer, and now my daughter to the world of drugs.

Taylor was in an induced coma for three weeks, and they had no idea who she was, or that she even had kids. Once they identified her, they went and found the girls – Abigail almost eighteen and Elizabeth sixteen – in a crappy apartment, in a questionable part of town. They were taking care of themselves as best they could, with the help of a couple of their neighbors. They even made it to school every day, if for no other reason than to eat. As it turns out, over the course of their short lives, they dealt with being left on their own quite regularly.

Shortly after that, their ‘foster care’ adventure began. Although Abigail only had to endure it for about four months, it took Elizabeth just short of two years to escape it. While they haven’t told me everything that happened during that time, I’m fairly certain it wasn’t pleasant.

Abigail spent hours and hours researching – trying to find out who their extended family was. She was able to determine that Thomas was an only child, and that his parents and grandparents had all passed. Taylor refused to tell the girls anything other than she didn’t have parents, and that they needed to let it go. Her hate for us is that deep. Fortunately, Abigail is relentless. Somehow… she found me.

Two weeks ago, Elizabeth turned eighteen – and was allowed to leave Arizona with her sister. Now, they are sitting at my dining room table, staring at me.



Fast forward to today.

I offered them a place to stay, and they accepted. Over the last six months, the girls and I have become – ‘accustomed’ I think I’ll call it – to each other. I was surprised to find that they are both very driven. They seem to be in a constant battle to be ‘normal’ – like other kids their age. Considering what they have so far faced in life, I would think you can understand their struggle. They have also, after thinking about it for a bit, decided to call me ‘Grampa’. I understood their initial reluctance, as we haven’t ever been family.

Hopefully… eventually… that will change.

Elizabeth makes it clear that she prefers ‘Lizzy’ – which is what everyone has been calling her for as long as she can remember. I make my protest, but do concede to her wishes. Then one day, out of the blue, she pulls me aside and tells me that if I really want to call her Elizabeth, she’s okay with it. Later, Abigail will tell me that they both get the same weird sensation when I use their full names – saying it’s if I’m supposed to call them Abigail and Elizabeth. That one makes me smile.

Elizabeth takes her mother’s old room, and Abigail takes her uncle’s. It’s strange for her at first, knowing that he was the same age when he was killed, that she is now. I actually have to make them redecorate – as they are Giresun Escort Bayan both very hesitant to change anything in the rooms.

There are still some strange issues going on between the three of us, but I think that over time, I’ll get over it. I say ‘I’ll’, because I think most of it emanates from me.

They are in college now, and both have found part-time jobs – on their own. I never told them to, or even suggested they should. I’m funding the college thing for them – I’m using the money Maggie and I saved up over the years, so we could travel in retirement. Their education seems like a good cause. I also got them new wardrobes – theirs were complete… well… trash. They both insist on repaying me – at the rate of $25.00 out of each paycheck. I’m putting it back into their college funds, not that they know that.

I also went and broke out Maggie’s old Mustang, which was in storage. Not sure why I didn’t sell the damn thing. The two of them immediately made it a priority to get driver’s licenses. Now they are sharing it.

So, we’ve reached the point in the story where, willingly or not, I begin to slip. Remember I said the ‘issues’ emanated from me? Living with two beautiful young women has begun to take its toll. With each passing day, I am finding it more and more difficult to see ‘granddaughters’ instead of ‘hot, sexual, young women’.

This morning, as I am getting ready to go for my beach walk, a solemn looking Elizabeth turns up at the front door. She’s wearing a pair of cutoffs, under which is her bikini bottom, and a t-shirt she cut them bottom off of (kids… go figure?) is covering her bikini top. Her long blonde hair is braided and twisted up on her head in a bun, and she isn’t wearing any make-up at all – not that the girl needs it.

Yes, my body does in fact react to her physical beauty.

“Grampa, I have a question…” she says, stopping next to me.

“Yes, you can,” I reply, watching her face.


“Come with me, silly.”

“How… how did…” she mumbles, looking confused as hell.

“Shorts and a half shirt, under which is your bikini? Duh? I’m sixty – not dead…”

‘Yeah… if only you knew what I’m thinking’ passes through my mind, making me question my motives for allowing her to join me. I told you, I’m slipping – fast.

She laughs, and hugs me – forcing her breasts to smoosh against my chest, which of course makes my heart stop and my erection grow.

I toss her the keys, try to adjust my shorts to hide my hard-on, and we are off to the beach.

Forty-five minutes later, she slips the Jeep into a spot at the bottom of the southernmost beach ramp on Crescent Beach. Although she never asks if she can, I can tell she loves driving the Jeep, so I generally let her. I watch as she slips off her shorts, and her t-shirt, and tosses both onto the back seat of the Jeep. Then we wander down to water – her ninety percent naked, and me with a raging hard-on.

Every Sunday for the last three years, I’ve made the same walk – three miles up the beach, and three back to the Jeep. I even know a lot of the faces I pass as I wander along. This is the first time anyone has ever made the journey with me.

It takes less than five minutes before we start getting all kinds of strange attention. You see, my granddaughter is what we used to call ‘every high school boy’s dream’. The fact that ninety percent of her body is currently visible, definitively supports that theory.

Elizabeth is 5’5″, weighs 136 lbs. (I asked), and has her mother’s amazing cobalt blue eyes and long blonde hair. The thing about her that gets the most attention are her breasts. Just like God did with her mother, He has blessed Elizabeth with a very well-endowed chest – one that most girls her age would like to have. Apparently, for the last few years she has been carrying around a pair of damn-near perfect 34Ds. At the moment, they are barely (not an exaggeration) being contained by the tiny white triangles of her bikini top. Her slightly plump, but very cute little ass is semi-contained by the bottom of her excessively skimpy, bright white, string bikini. I should also add that after only six months in Florida, she has the most amazing tan.

Yes, I know she is technically my granddaughter. But damn…

As we traipse along the beach, wading in and out of the surf, Elizabeth takes my arm and holds on. The big grin on her face gets my attention immediately.

“What’s with the grin?”

“I like how everyone is staring at us… that’s all.”

“You know what they’re thinking, right?”

“Uh huh. Kinda… erotic actually.”

Erotic? Is she trying to tell me something?

“You want people to think we are… well…”

“Fucking?” she blurts out, without even the slightest hesitation. When she sees the stunned look on my face, she laughs and adds, “Sorry, Grampa, but just like you, I tend to tell it like it is.”

“Okay you little Escort Giresun smartass, do you want people to think you’re ‘fucking’ your grandfather?”

“They don’t know you’re my grandfather. I think I just find it amusing that people get so excited over age differences. If you were thirty, no one would give us a second glance, or even care if we were fucking…”

“Well, I suppose you could be right. However, I’m fairly certain they’re all looking at the astonishingly beautiful blonde, in the absurdly revealing string bikini, walking down the beach, and couldn’t care less who she is with…”

She giggles and kisses my cheek. Forty-five minutes later, we reach the turn-around point, and start back the way we came. At some point, she takes my hand, and never lets it go. Half way back, I grab her around the waist and toss her into an oncoming wave, listening as she squeals until she lands. Once she is back on her feet, she turns to face out to sea, and it only takes me a moment to realize that she is trying to get her boobs back into the safety of their respective triangles. She also takes a moment to rearrange the bottom of her bikini as well.

Then… she promptly runs over and jumps on my back. In response, I flip her over my head, and into yet another wave. When she surfaces, her boobs have once again escaped their constraints, and she is laughing like she is crazy. I – and few people in the near vicinity – watch as she again gets her near-perfect breasts back where they should be, then walks over and kisses me – smack on the lips. And no, it isn’t the kind of kiss a granddaughter gives her grandfather.

She takes my hand and we slowly make our way back to the Jeep. When we get there, I hold out the keys to her, and instead of taking them, she backs me up against the side of it.

“Grampa, you are making it very damn difficult to see my ‘grandfather’… and not a seriously hot, older guy. I’m just sayin’…”

Once again, I’m as hard as a block of granite, and there is nothing I can do about it.

She takes the keys, jumps in behind the wheel, and starts the Jeep. It takes us forty-five minutes to get back to the house, and she drives the entire way in nothing but her bikini.

Yeah… she gets a lot of attention…



My turn.

My name is Abigail Marie Parker.

I’m two weeks away from turning twenty.

I’m fairly certain I’m in lust with my grandfather.

Yeah, you heard that right…

Most people are going to say that it’s disgusting, or bizarre, or horrible, for me to feel that way, and that the feeling must be based on some traumatic emotional thing that happened to me at some point in my life. I’m not a shrink, but I totally disagree. Let’s remember that until eight months ago, I didn’t know I had a grandfather. I didn’t grow up with him filling the ‘grandfather’ position in my life – like most other kids do.

I’m fairly certain that my feelings for him are based on the fact that he’s the very first decent male that I have encountered in my short life.

Yeah, I know that technically he’s my grandfather, but having encountered him the first time as an adult, I find myself looking at him as a ‘fairly attractive older guy’ – instead of a blood-related grandfather. And, in truth, I’ve often wondered what it would be like to be involved with an older guy…

He doesn’t know it, but I’ve caught him watching me in the shower. When the bathroom door is ajar, you can see in via the mirror over the sink. And… the shower doors are made of clear glass. No, I don’t think he’s weird or perverse for doing it. I think that maybe, just as Lizzy and I have begun to see ‘a cute older guy’ and not our grandfather, he has probably begun to see us as a couple of ‘hot (maybe?) young girls’ – instead of as his granddaughters. I’m also pretty certain that it’s been a really long time since any female – old or young – has been part of his daily life.

In an effort to help him out, after the second time I catch him, I start purposely leaving the door ajar. Bad Abby. And yeah, he takes full advantage of it.

The other thing he doesn’t know is that having accidentally discovered his routine, I have been watching him masturbate. Why, you ask, would I want to watch my grandfather jerk-off?

Well, the truth is, the man is hung! God totally blessed him, and in reality, he has the biggest cock I have ever seen. And yes, I have seen a few.

As disgusting and disturbing as a lot of you will find that comment, we need to go back to the true relationship between him and I. In my mind, I’m not watching my ‘grandfather’, but instead, am watching a fairly attractive, physically fit, sixty-year-old guy with a really big cock, pleasure himself. No matter who he is, that’s just plain hot.

And again, as ‘wrong’ as it is for me to say this, the first time I saw the long white streamers of cum being ejected from the head of his huge cock, I was completely stupefied – not to mention overcome by a serious case of the hornies. I’d never seen that much cum all at once. If I hadn’t seen it myself, and you told me that a sixty-year-old guy could generate that much semen, I would have said you were full of shit.

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