Mom looked good in her new swim suit, she decided. She was in a state of utter relaxation in Dad's fishing boat: reasonably in-shape tummy exposed, only slightly jiggly arms resting over and along the prow of the boat, hair tied back in a lazy bun, bun held together by a pencil dad kept in his tackle box, bare feet crossed and resting on a seat cushion opposite her, big fancy sunglasses - an indulgence she'd permitted herself while wrestling with this year's bout of pre-lake-vacation travel prep anxiety - resting comfortably on her nose, permitting her to gaze up unsquinting at cream-colored clouds and warm blue sky, and to really bask oh so completely in her own hypnotic repose. The chic two-piece halter top swimsuit didn't hurt either. For helping her feel sexy. Strong. Good about things.
Dad's voice, suddenly, asked her something. She'd missed what he'd said.
"Hm?" Mom's head un-lilted. She peeked at him over her sunglasses.
"I asked if you were planning to fish?" he chuckled. "Since we're out here, y'know, fishing?"
"Am I not fishing?" she replied calmly. Her reel was leaned at arm's reach to Dad. He had helped her bait the hook, and then let her cast it out. Then she'd gone and laid down, leaving it in his care. To her, this was fishing. As Tracy might have put it, she'd done a thing, and that counted.
"Hn," Dad snorted collegially. He wasn't upset with her. Just a little bummed, perhaps. But he was clearly enjoying their shared silence on this beautiful lake. The way the water lapped at the hull, making that lovely clap-gurgle every now and again. The way the tree-line mirrored itself along the shore, and how there were two of that great bluff to the Northeast. He could settle, if this is all fishing with Mom would ever be. She did look awfully good, just laying there like that. He'd bagged a looker. His own dad would've been proud. Hell, he'd have been insufferable. Never could resist the urge to flirt with a pretty lady.
"Are you just going to stare?" Mom smirked at him.
Dad almost flinched. He hadn't realized her eyes were open. "I'm not staring," he lied, but lowered his own sunglasses to show his eyes wide-openly staring at her, "I'm fishing."
Mom scoffed, uncrossed and recrossed her ankles, and then sighed and told Dad to come snuggle with her.
"You know the second I get up, that's when they'll bite."
"So then I'd be doing you a favor," Mom shrugged. She knew how to shrug in a way that flattered her breasts. It'd seldom failed to elicit Dad's appreciation.
"Golly," Dad sighed at his wife's perfect boobs in their halter top. "I suppose you would be."
He got up from his seat. He approached Mom. The boat rocked a little as his weight crossed the deck. Dad normally had terrific balance on the lake, but here was an unignorable indicator that the drugs were taking effect. He wobbled a little, and half-stumbled into the bench seat beside Mom.
"Hey handsome," she said.
"Beautiful," he said.
She mounted his lap, grabbed his head, and kissed him with all the easy sun-drenched passion of a girl on a tropical honeymoon. She ground her chic cheeky bottoms into his groin.
His cock took a second to respond, but just a second. When it was clear Dad was starting to cringe and wince at the off-angled way she'd pinned his hardening junk, she sat up a bit so that she could reach underneath and readjust. Dad had to help her help him. His swim trunks had that mesh lining that they both hated but that Dad didn't feel comfortable not having - especially given how often they swam together as a family, he felt he needed the itchy mesh insurance policy against accidentally exposing himself to his children. When his cock had been comfortably adjusted to midline, ready to be humped (and to hump in kind), Mom sat her full weight back down and resumed grinding pleasurably, drug-addledly, into the very penis that had birthed her two new favorite sexual partners.
"God," Mom sighed.
"Mhm," Dad said around a mouthful of her slightly sweaty, sunscreen-flavored nape.
"I just love us so fricking much."
"Mm?" Dad snorted. He unlatched from her shoulder, wiped the spit from his lips, and gave Mom a look. "'Fricking?'"
"Sorry," Mom blushed. "I suppose I've been spending a lot of time with Tracy."
"You sure have."
"Do you know what she calls her vagina?"
"W-what?" Dad sort of flinched a little bit. Even his cock twitched. Mom felt it, but filed the feeling away for later appraisal.
"Her p-word!" Mom laughed.
"P-word?... As in...?"
"She doesn't like 'pussy.' And she doesn't know what else to call it. So," Mom batted idly at a piece of hair on the back of Dad's head that was refusing to lay down, "she calls it her p-word for now."
"And you know this how?"
