Genesis

All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old.

*****

While Claude James was getting Subway sandwiches for himself, his sister, Sally, and her daughter, Nel, the women were relaxing in the motel room's oversized Jacuzzi bathtub, thinking of possible names for his children, whom they had just learned they were carrying in their wombs. Eighteen year old Nel sat against the far wall of the tub, sunk to her shoulders and hugging her knees. Her mom sat opposite, sprawled diagonally, with her arms laying along the tops of the tub walls. Sally's breasts bobbed and dipped as the foaming jets pushed the comforting streams of bubbling hot water over, under, around and between them.

"So, I'm pretty much decided," Nel said, idly splashing the swirling water, "If my baby is a girl, then I want to name her 'Carly' in honor of Grandma. If he's a boy, then I'm definitely naming him 'Clark Kent' after his daddy... because Grandpa is totally, like, SUPERMAN!" She laughed out loud, shaking her head in awed dismay, as she thought of the multiple times and ways Claude, at the advanced age of 57, had fucked her since she had given him her virginity less than three weeks ago.

Sally nodded knowingly and smiled, as she, too, reflected on the tremendous sexual appetite and stamina Claude displayed. Moreover, he had a seemingly magical power to infuse that same level of lust in her. She had not had a man for ten years; not since her drunken, brutal beast of an ex-husband had essentially raped her the night of Nel's eighth birthday. That had been the beginning of the end for her marriage. That was the moment she finally realized Chuck Martin was a danger to her and to Nel. Even so, it had taken four years, and a broken arm, for her to gather the strength, the courage, to pick up and leave him flat.

Sally stretched out her left arm and rubbed her daughter's right shoulder just below the water line. "That's a sweet thought, honey," she said quietly over the noise of the Jacuzzi, "Grandma would be pleased, I'm sure, to know you were thinking of her." Her hand moved along Nel's arm to her elbow and then perched on her right knee. "You may not want to saddle your son with a comic book name, though," she continued, gently squeezing her hand on Nel's patella, "boys can be awfully cruel and it's hard to predict consequences." She patted Nel and pulled her hand back. "You know how much you hated 'Nelson' and how strongly you pushed to shorten it when you went to school. We have nine months to figure out the perfect name."

"Yeah," Nel agreed, "You're right there, Mom, maybe just 'Clark' would be better..." She unfolded herself and slid her bottom into the tub corner, crossing her mother's legs with her own and overlaying her right arm on top of Sally's left on the tub wall. "You know I never did know why you named me Nelson, in the first place..." she mused, tracing her index finger along her mother's shoulder and toying with her ear shell behind her long light brown hair.

"Because your dad was an obstinate asshole who wanted a boy and didn't care that you were a girl. He had picked the name before you were even conceived. He was a huge Napoleonic War history buff and England's Lord Nelson was his hero. I don't know why, but he would not budge and I just got tired of arguing." Sally sighed. "I was a weak young woman at 19, darling." She turned her head to Nel and sent her a wan smile. "I'm sorry for that."

Nel, overcome with emotion, slid over to Sally and kissed her, more warmly than a daughter might normally kiss her mother, but theirs had become such a complicated, tender, relationship in the past weeks. "You weren't weak when it counted, Mom," she exclaimed breathlessly. "I'll always be grateful to you for taking us away from Dad." She kissed Sally again, less ardently. "And NOW look at us... we're, like, sisters and lovers as well as mother and daughter and we are sharing Uncle Claude and pregnant with his babies. What could be better for us?"

Just then they heard a key in the motel room lock. Claude called out, "Sandwich man! You ready to eat?"

"Just about, Babe!" Sally called back, "We're soaking in the tub!"

Claude put the Subway bag and a huge lemonade on the nearby small round table in front of the room's window, then crossed to the open bathroom door. Peering through the steam, he grinned at his naked knocked up naiads, sitting side by side, in the bubbling pool. "You look relaxed and happy," he observed. "Are you still hungry?"

Nel tilted her head and shot her uncle a puckish look. "Did you bring me my meatballs?" She asked, standing up. "Hand me a towel, please... I'm famished!"

Claude watched the tub water sheet off his granddaughter's chest and thighs as he pulled a large towel from a rod and held it out. While Nel took the towel, Sally stood and asked, "Me too, Claude?" reaching out her hand. He pulled a second towel and extended his free hand, helping his sister step over the tub edge onto the mat, then wrapped her in the towel, taking extra care to pat her on his favorite parts.

Claude kissed them both and said, "Hurry along. I don't know about you two, but I'm close to worn out. I want to eat and go to bed... to SLEEP!" he added quickly with a meaningful look at Nel, who was deliberately, slowly, rubbing her towel provocatively over her rear end while she raised her right foot on tiptoe and flashed her open pussy at him. Claude turned and re-entered the main room, surreptitiously adjusting his swelling cock inside his jeans before he sat in a wooden armchair by the table and began pulling the wrapped subs from the sack.

Sally walked across the room in her terry sarong, drying her hair with a second towel. Standing by Claude she cooed, "Only 'close to worn out'?" She dropped her hair towel and bent over the table, hunting for her tuna sandwich. Her body towel rode up on her ass and the knot unraveled in her cleavage. Her wrapper failed and fell to the floor at Claude's feet. "Oh, there it is," she said, picking up her sub and pulling back the paper. "Thank you for bringing back food, Babe." She rotated a quarter turn and sat on Claude's lap. "You want a nibble of my tuna?" she offered.

Claude grinned, reached around her waist and cupped his hand gently under her heavy left breast. "No, thanks, Baby," he declined. "Seriously, you girls have me all tuckered and puckered out. Have mercy, won't you?" He chuckled and bit into his steak and cheese sub.

Nel came out of the bathroom, naked and dry, carrying her towel. She sat in the vacant chair opposite Claude and Sally and carefully spread her towel across her lap, hiding the fine hairs of her lightly furred snatch, but, nothing else. She picked up her sub and unwrapped it, explaining, just before she bit into it, "I like my meatballs wet, but, I don't want to get their juice on my pussy. That's how some girls get in trouble, I've heard!" She giggled as she chewed.

When the sandwiches were gone and the lemonade was down to mere ice cubes, Claude gently pushed Sally off his thighs and stood up. "OK, ladies," he said, stepping over to the rollaway bed and unfolding it, "Beddy-bye time for daddy."

Nel swallowed the last bit of her sandwich and said, "I thought you said that was just 'for show' and we were all sleeping in the big bed?"

"That's right, kiddo," Claude replied. "And what kind of show do you think it would be if the bed was left just as it was when we checked in?" He winked, pulled down the twin bed's covers, peeled off his jeans and Pendleton, and then climbed into the king bed, tucking the blanket and sheet up to his chin. Smacking the bottom sheet on either side of his hips he said, "Come on, now, don't let me catch cold... I need a couple of 'hot mamas' to cuddle if I'm going to have sweet dreams!"

Nel needed no encouragement and was under the covers on Claude's left side before he finished his sentence. Sally, already on the window side of the bed, slipped under the blanket and sheet and snugged up to Claude's right side, burying her face in the hollow of his neck. "Anything you say, Daddy," she whispered, shivering, but not from cold, as he dropped his arm along her spine and patted her bottom. She closed her eyes and drifted into slumber.

"Good night, Grampa," Nel said, giving a satisfied sigh as the combination of sex, soak and sandwiches transported her to the Land of Nod.

*

Carla James looked up from her sewing machine when her husband, Ben, walked into the dayroom. "Taxi's here, Carla," he said, stepping behind her and placing his hands lightly on her shoulders. "Gotta go."

Carla pushed her chair back and stood. "I'll walk you out, dear," she said sweetly, with a smile. "Seattle, right?"

"Yeah, then San Francisco." Ben nodded. "Home by noon on Saturday."

"That'll be nice." Carla said, as they moved along the hall to the front door. "Claude has something planned for Sunday."

"Sunday?" Ben arched his eyebrows "What's Sunday?" He asked.

Carla punched him in the back. "Uh, FATHER'S Day?" She answered. "Your son remembers those things, even if you don't!" She laughed, taking the edge out of her voice, although it always galled her that Ben did not seem to care about family-oriented days. "I'm lucky he remembers he's married, I guess" she thought to herself, again, as she opened the front door.

"Oh yeah..." Ben acknowledged, "Thanks for reminding me. I have a lot on my plate right now," he offered as an excuse.

"I know it," Carla said, letting him off the hook. "Call me from the hotel?" She knew he would, but, she always liked to make him say so.

"Absolutely," Ben grinned, kissing her perfunctorily and squeezing her shoulders. "Right after I fuck Kristy." He thought to himself as he picked up his suitcase and walked to the cab waiting at the curb.

Carla was waving to the departing cab when her 18-year old son, Claude, walked up behind her. "I made some iced tea, Mom. The pitcher's in the fridge. I'm going to lay out by the pool if you need me for anything." He touched her waist with his right hand. "Where's Dad off to this week?" He asked, with only mild interest. His father's business trips were too frequent for him to keep up with. "He's back by next Sunday, right?"

"Oh yes," Carla answered brightly, "You know he wouldn't miss a Father's Day with you," she lied protectively. Turning around she kissed her boy and smiled. "Go. Be lazy, Graduate!" She laughed, "In three months you'll be cracking books and chasing co-eds." Carla watched her son turn and walk toward the patio in his swim trunks and flip-flops, carrying a towel and a glass of tea. "When did Claude get so manly? How have I not seen it?" She wondered, agape, at his broad, muscled back tapering to round flat glutes. His hard hams descended to corded calves. "Swim team has been very good to him," she marveled silently, then returned to her curtain project in the dayroom.

At the same time, in the taxi, the driver turned to Ben and asked, "Which airline at LAX, mister?"

"Northwest, but stop by this address first, please," Ben said handing the cabbie Kristy's house number," We need to pick up my assistant, too." He settled himself in the backseat, adjusting his swelling dick in his Jockeys, as he anticipated the coming week with his newest playmate. Kristy, age 22, had just graduated from UCLA and was interning as an Executive Marketing Assistant for the summer before returning in the fall to her M.B.A. program. She was as smart as a whip and reed thin, with enough bumps and bubbles to let any observer know she was a woman. She was five feet tall, weighed 90 pounds, and wore her red hair in a pixie hair-cut, which perfectly set off her round face and button nose. Her perfume and voice could give a blind man a hard-on and she knew it. Ben was not blind and could therefore fully appreciate all the sand visible in her 32B-20-30 hourglass.

Back at her sewing machine, Carla found herself oddly distracted. From her window she saw her muscular teenage son dive from the board into their pool and swim a couple of lengths before hauling himself out. He stood facing her, fifty feet away. Lifting his towel Claude blotted his face, chest and stomach before turning around and laying back on the chaise lounge. Carla flushed involuntarily as she watched transfixed. Her face and neck felt hot, her pussy turned to mush and her gut churned. She looked at the calendar and saw the small red 'o' in the corner of the date box for Monday, June 13, 1977. "Hunh! Right... tomorrow's egg-day," she muttered to herself, "No wonder you're edgy... but dammit, even so, it isn't right to look at your son and feel horny!" Carla chastised herself and looked back at her curtain material, stepping on the treadle and running a few stitches.

"Bah!" She exclaimed, giving up on her machine. Carla stood and walked to the wall calendar. She flipped back to May and noticed her 'o' coincided with Ben's trip to Denver. In April, he was in Phoenix and Tuscon. "That's interesting," she pondered, "I've never noticed how frequently he is gone when I am sexually peaking, not that we're having any more kids!" She snorted. Ben had clearly indicated that having a son to carry on his name was the sum total of his interest in children.

Carla used to take birth control pills, but discontinued the practice in 1970 when Ben's employer, Parke-Davis, was bought out by Warner Lambert. The new company liked his sales performance and, instead of laying him off, promoted Ben to Regional Manager. His new responsibilities required traveling farther, more often and being away from home longer than when he was a local territory salesman. As a result, he and Carla just sort of stopped having regular sex. She still watched her cycling closely and their infrequent sessions were always on safe days because Ben refused to use condoms. However, by 1975, they were fucking only on New Year's Eve and her birthday, April 6th, and even then, only if the timing was right. Continuing to turn the calendar pages back, it dawned on Carla that Ben had not screwed her in more than a year. She shook her head "No wonder you're climbing the wall when you seen a handsome man in a Speedo, even if he's your own son." She rationalized aloud.

Returning to the window, Carla stared through the louvered slats at Claude's supine, virtually naked, body. Her mind drifted as she studied his pectoral platters and ladder abs. His relaxed quadriceps bulged. She was struck by how much his face looked like Ben's, when he was 22. Carla could feel Ben's breath, hot on her neck in his car at the drive-in movie. His hand closing around her breast, palping and tickling her nipple through her broadcloth dress. She tasted his kisses, pushing herself hard onto his chest. Now his hand was sliding over her ass, under her skirt, up the back of her legs. She squirmed feeling him insert his fingers beneath her panties finding her wet nook.

Carla's breath became ragged as her memory triggered physical responses. She unbuttoned and unzipped her Gloria Vanderbilt jeans. Pushing her right hand inside the waistband of her cotton briefs, she pressed her index and middle fingers into the slicked folds of her cunt. Her left hand came up, hefting her full left tit in its D-cup beneath her red gingham checked halter top. She squeezed herself, thinking of Ben's hand twenty years ago, but, looking, across the lawn and tile, at their son's athletic frame lounged in the sun.

"Mmmmm, uhhhnnn, ohhhh," Carla moaned, sliding her fingers down and into her aching pussy. "AHHH! Unh! Yes!" she cried. Her right thumb stabbed her stiff clit. Her left index finger and thumb pinched her nipple and areola hard through their inadequate cloth armor. She rammed her long fingers in and out of her vagina, sucking on them with her kegel muscles, until her tension overbuilt and she came, sweating and crying, while she peeked at her boy dozing poolside. "Oh, Jesus," Carla panted, as her crux passed and she propped herself, weak-kneed, against the wall, "What am I THINKING? What am I DOING?"

Pushing herself straight up, Carla held her jeans closed with her right hand and walked, wobbling, to the master bedroom where she flung herself on the queen-size four-poster. Although the bed was made, the heavy brocade drapes were still drawn and the room was dark. Carla stared, unseeing, through the shadows, kicked off her Sperry deck shoes, arched her hips and wiggled her tight jeans over her broad hips and mature butt. Lifting her legs up she bicycled, and pushed with her hands, until the denims were off her body and on the floor. Lowering her legs, she untied her halter's neck then rolled to her left and reached behind her back. Carla unbuttoned the thin cotton top and unhooked the strap of her underwire brassiere, sighing in relief as her sensitized breasts mounded themselves carefree against her chest.

Tossing her top garments to the floor, onto her castaway jeans, Carla gently smoothed her palms over her boobs, plucking lightly at their tender pebbles as she passed. She inhaled deeply and held her hands pressed against her tummy. She was proud she had maintained her figure. At 35-28-37 she had only gained two inches in her waist and one at her hips since she graduated high school in 1955. "It's certainly not YOUR fault if Ben has lost interest, Carla," she said aloud to the room, slowly rubbing circles on her toned abdomen. "Maybe he's got a problem and is too embarrassed to even talk about it," she hypothesized on her husband's behalf. Her hands moved lower, seemingly of their own accord, until they covered her furry blonde mons beneath her wet cotton panties. She idly scratched her right fingers through the thin fabric against her curly pubes. Her left hand insinuated its fingers below the leg seam and traced her open, receptive, slippery slit. Before she realized it, Carla was fingering herself into a fever again. She rolled her head and moaned while her digits ducked and dove into her twat and up to her aroused clitoris. "Uhnnn, Ohhh, Yes, Yess, OH CLAUDE!" Carla cried. She flushed with excitement and shame as she caught herself visualizing her son hunkered over her. Helplessly trapped by her surprising fantasy, she wondered if Claude's cock was as thick and strong as his father's. Flexing her hips against her hand, she determined she had to find out.

*

Flying first class out of LAX to Seattle, Kristy Stauffer and Ben James sat in the back row against the dividing bulkhead. Kristy was on the aisle. When they were aloft and leveled, with the seatbelt sign extinguished, Kristy called for assistance. "Could I have a blanket and pillow, please?" she asked the responding stewardess. The stew smiled, returned moments later with the items and then moved on to her next in-flight task.

Kristy draped the blanket over her hips and across Ben's lap, curling in to face him and placing her head on her pillow. With a low chuckle, she explained, "I'm not waiting." Her voice dropped to a whisper, as she quickly unzipped Ben's trousers and fished his penis and balls out of the double-fly of his Jockey shorts with her left hand. "If we crash, I want your cum on my hand when it happens," she cooed. She thrilled to feel his throbbing prick fill her fist.

Ben moaned as her hand slid to the top of his stalk and her thumb rubbed the slit in his mushroom. "Sshhh!" Kristy hissed, "Close your eyes. Pretend you're asleep." She craned her neck and nipped his earlobe. "I'll do everything. You just give it up... when you have to..." Her fingers rolled on his dick as she stroked slowly, lightly at first, up and down. On each down stroke Kristy drug her pinky's fingernail across Ben's bag, hooking his balls, scraping them as she resumed her up stroke. Ben closed his eyes as instructed and bit the inside of his lower lip. His hips involuntarily rocked in time with Kristy's tugs. She quickened the pace and breathed softly, constantly, into his ear, "Come on Benny, come on... GIVE it UP, Benny... come on... come for KRISSSSteee..." She felt the increasingly rapid pulse of the large vein under Ben's cock and noted his balls were now tightly bunched in his constricted scrotal bulb. Each tweak of her little fingernail made his dick hop in her hand. Her thumb was tacky when it retreated from his knob and every return found more oozing pre-cum. "Bennneee, Bennneee, Bennneee," she teased breathlessly, "Krissstteee wants... your CUM!... GIVE IT... GIVE IT... come for me!"