What a night.
It was hard to believe how far things had come in just a few hours. Not long ago, my wife Marsha, our eighteen-year-old daughter, Chani, and I were all enjoying a delicious meal at a fancy restaurant.
Now I found myself sitting on the couch, in complete astonishment, as the two most important women in my life put on a lingerie "fashion show" for me.
Marsha wore an all-black ensemble of leather and mesh with a fantastic hair and makeup job, a sort of punk/goth look. Her outfit was clearly designed to put all of her incredible assets on display. (And provide easy access to them.)
Chani was her polar opposite. Dressed in all white, she looked more like a young bride on her wedding night. Subtle makeup with her hair in pigtails, her demure and shy expression only heightened the sense of innocence she radiated.
As I stared, dumbfoundedly, at these two women, each the embodiment of pure sensual sexuality, my wife spoke...
"James, please remove your pants and take your cock out. I'm drunk, I'm horny, and right now, I can't decide which of you I'm going to fuck first."
At that moment, two things happened.
First, my hands began to move, seemingly on their own, before I could even consciously process what Marsha had just said. They unfastened my belt and feverishly began ripping my pants off.
Second I became acutely aware of a deep aching, a feeling bordering on pain, emanating from my groin. I had been aroused since we left the restaurant, and that was hours ago. I needed release, and I needed it now!
Generally speaking, I like to be in control when it comes to sex. But there seems to be some deep, instinctual part of the male brain that takes over when it sees a woman "in heat." As Marsha stalked toward me, her face a mask of pure lust, that part of me began screaming...
"Whatever you do, DON'T FUCK THIS UP. Don't move. Don't speak. Don't even blink."
I heeded that advice and went still. I can't imagine that I looked particularly masculine or sexy at that moment. My ass partly hanging off the couch, my pants around my ankles, my eyes wide with fear, and my cock pointed at the ceiling, but I certainly didn't care. Because with feline grace and a predator's intent, my wife was nearing me. She looked like some kind of succubus transported from 1984, she looked ready to feed, and I was more than happy to be this evening's meal.
As she approached, hips swaying, eyes locked on mine, she brought the palm of her right hand to her lips. Next, sticking out her tongue, she coated it with a copious layer of saliva.
Then in one fluid motion (had she practiced this?), she swung her leg over me so that she now straddled me, facing Chani. She reached down and both greased my cock with her spit covered hand and then used that hand to guide me into her as she quickly and forcefully impaled herself on my throbbing member.
I find it fascinating, but no matter how many times I've fucked my wife, when I'm horny (I mean really horny), entering her pussy is the most exquisite sensation I have ever experienced in my life.
This time was like that; it felt amazing! And apparently, I wasn't the only one who really needed this because we both let out an intense groan of satisfaction.
Across the room, Chani stood staring at our conjoined crotches, her own parent's genitalia locked together. She was transfixed. Her body language betrayed her understandable trepidation. But, simultaneously, the blush on her chest, her dilated pupils, and the cadence of her breathing demonstrated another emotion...desire.
I learned later that due to her mother's position and quick motions as she moved in, Chani hadn't actually seen my penis. She could very clearly see my ball sack, but that was it. Again, I was a little too preoccupied to care at the moment, but as I thought about it later, I was glad for that. It might sound silly, but I wanted our first experience of total nakedness to be private and shared only between us.
Marsha began a slow grind, and I knew, after hours of teasing, that I wouldn't last more than a couple minutes. Almost immediately, I had to grab her hips and take control just so I had even the slightest chance to avoid blowing my load instantaneously.
I tried my usual technique—thinking of work—but my mental fortitude crumbled when I noticed how Marsha focused on our daughter. For her part, Chani continued to stare at my wife's stuffed cunt and the juices slowly running down my balls. At least until she chanced a glance up and their eyes caught.
Looking back and forth between them, I saw as Marsha slowly nodded, then indicated, with her eyes, where she wanted Chani to be.
Obviously weak in the knees, Chani took tentative steps as she moved closer to us. She came to a stop right in front of us, standing between our spread legs.
Chani hesitated, clearly unsure, but Marsha—as she had done all night—took control. She reached out with both hands and began to gently stroke Chani's arms. The loving and sensual downward strokes worked to both soothe our daughter and to guide her down.
She obeyed the unspoken command and knelt between our legs.
The scene playing out before me was mesmerizing. (Well, to be perfectly honest, I couldn't see the whole thing. I had to lean over as far as I could to see around my wife, but I saw enough to know exactly what was happening.)
That part of my brain again started is screaming, "Don't fuck this up!" So, as before, I froze.
Marsha, noticing that I was no longer guiding her gyrations, increased the pace of her movements. It felt amazing, and it was taking every ounce of concentration I could muster not to come.
Still petting Chani's arms, Marsha picked up Chani's hands and placed them on her mother's thighs. Then she reached out her right hand and gently stroked her daughter's face before moving that hand to the top of Chani's head.
As Marsha began to pull Chani's face toward her sex, she said in a clear and commanding voice, "That's it, baby-girl. Taste your mommy."
It was more than I could bear. With a force I hadn't experienced in a very long time, I began to come. I groaned and growled as my hands dug into my wife's hips, holding her tight as I bucked beneath her.
Apparently, I wasn't the only one on the edge. Because within seconds of feeling my warm seed filling her up, Marsha clenched her eyes shut as her body was wracked with her own orgasm.
As she convulsed on top of me, her hand—thus far just resting on Chani's head—involuntarily grabbed a handful of Chani's hair and held her tight just inches from Marsha's spasming pussy.
We all held that position for what felt like an eternity.
Eventually, Marsha slowly came down from her orgasmic high. As she did, she opened her eyes and took in the scene around her.
She was straddling my lap—with my softening manhood still insider her—while her right hand gripped tight to Chani's hair, maintaining our daughter's face only an inch or two from our conjoined groins.
I couldn't see Chani's face from my position, but I could feel her labored breaths on my balls.
Maybe Marsha likewise felt those steady puffs of air, and perhaps that's what finally brought her to her senses because she reacted as if she was startled awake from a deep sleep.
Gasping in apparent shock, Marsh quickly released Chani and brought her hands up to cover her mouth, "Oh my god! What was I thinking..."
