All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old.
*****
Claude James sat bolt upright in bed. His naked chest and shoulders were bathed in a clammy layer of cold sweat. Simultaneously, a burning sensation streaked up the back of his neck, pulling his scalp hairs to attention. His temples pounded and disorienting lights flashed behind his eyes as he looked around, unable to make sense of where he was. The light-headed spell passed quickly enough, but Claude's angst remained until he fully gathered his bearings. He shook his head and rubbed the nape of his neck as he took in the Draper Motel Room #1.
The bedside clock displayed 4:14 a.m. On either side of him, Sally Martin, his 38-year old daughter and sister, and her 18-year old daughter, Nel, lay nude, partially draped by the bedcovers and undisturbed by his sudden rising. Claude was glad of that. He grinned broadly, stroking his cleft chin, recalling the great news from yesterday: Both women were happily pregnant by him and all three were looking forward to his relocation from Portland to Denver to become a full-fledged family unit after six years of separation.
During the night, his cuddling harem had moved into their preferred sleeping postures. Sally, to his right, lay facing the motel window, on her right side, pedaling an invisible bicycle. Her top leg was drawn up over her extended lower leg. Nel, turned toward the bathroom door, was curled into a compact fetal position. Her head lay, on her pillow, on her bent left arm. Her pert right breast was supported by her crooked right elbow while her right hand cupped her left tit. Their chests and ribs moved in gentle peaceful rhythms as they dreamt their sweet dreams.
Claude pulled himself from under the blanket and sheet, as if climbing out of a sleeping bag, careful not to waken his lovers, and eased his way to the foot of the king-size bed. Standing, he looked down, mildly surprised his daily dawn erection was absent. "Thanks, Dad," he muttered, under his breath, "You bastard!" He had not thought, more than fleetingly, about Ben James, for more than a decade, and now, his 12-years-dead father's face had inexplicably stirred him from a pleasant sleep. Claude walked to the window and sat in an armchair beside the small round table, still strewn with the paper leavings of last night's Subway picnic. His mind flew back to 1977, to the end of what he still thought of as 'Fuck Week.'
*
Saturday, June 18, Claude woke, with his typical hard-on, in his 40-year old mother's four-poster bed. His dick poked between Carla's matronly thighs as he spooned against her nude back and buttocks. His right arm curled over her waist and around her firm flat tummy. He had awakened this way every morning, since Tuesday, after their whirlwind, anything goes anywhere, explorations of each other began precipitously on Monday. He was still frankly amazed that he had fucked his mother at all, let alone seven times in 16 hours. Her aerobics and yoga classes, which helped her maintain her glorious 35D-28-37 figure, and her pent up randiness, from Ben's neglect, were a wild combination. Claude was grateful that competitive swimming and water polo had given him the fitness and stamina to keep up. At the very least, it compensated for his lack of experience. Before Carla's surprise molestation, he had only ever actually screwed three girls a total of five times across a two year period. Now he was fucking, literally morning, noon and night, the most beautiful, most personal, trainer, ever.
Claude pushed his nose against the base of his mother's neck, inhaling the light floral fragrance of her lustrous shampooed amber hair. He softly kissed her nape while his right hand rose from her midriff to the bottom of her left breast, closing upon its full roundness. Carla moaned quietly as her body responded. Her mind fled her fuzzy fantasies and focused on the real pleasure her son's attention brought. She spun, slowly, in his half-embrace, until she faced his stubbled jaw and chin. His cock re-entered the crevice between her thighs, still inches below where it so desperately wanted to be lodged.
Claude stretched his left arm out and curved it around Carla's smooth back, coursing his hand lazily along her spine while his right fingers centered on her tit, scissoring her stiffening inverted nipple. Carla brushed her left hand along Claude's right cheek from his earlobe to the corner of his mouth. She tentatively poked her index finger between his lips and ran its tip over his bottom teeth as his mouth opened.
"Mmmmm," Carla hummed, "Good morning, Sweetie. How's my fella today?" She asked throatily, giving Claude a lingering kiss and interrupting his attempted answer.
Claude responded nonverbally by pressing his left hand flat against Carla's bottom and pushing her hips forward while scrunching his pelvis. His effectively elevated erection snubbed its velvet knob against her dampening cunt and twitched. Carla broke the kiss. She grinned when she heard Claude huskily reply, with a low chortle, "Up and at 'em."
"Mmm HHMM!" Carla hummed emphatically between their recompressed lips as she lowered her left hand to her son's buttock and pulled him closer still to her nest. She raised her left leg, keeping her foot flat against the mattress and opening the flared entrance to her grotto. Claude's fat cock burrowed deep through her os into her slippery trench. She flexed her cunt, holding him tightly trapped in her twat, while they wrapped each other in their arms and kissed with tender ardor, enjoying their momentary motionless union.
Carla adored the fullness she felt in her vagina when it swallowed Claude's thick hard penis. She rocked her hips against each slow deep thrust and squeezed him at each apex, encouraging him to linger. Their tensions increased in deliciously agonizing small increments until, finally, Carla gasped and mewled. "Uuuuhhhhnnnn!" She sighed as a great rolling wave crested in her gut and broke over her son's captured cock.
"Hhhnnnnhh!" Claude snorted through his nose, exhaling his sweet warm breath onto Carla's soft face, while she sucked his tongue and he replenished her pussy's sperm supply with a fresh hot seed-filled storm.
They lay cradling each other, locked at their loins, until Claude's dick shrunk and retracted. Carla ran her fingers through his hair and over his face, unable to stop smiling, as she gazed into his steel-gray eyes. "You are so BEAUTIFUL, Sweetie," she purred.
Claude's musical memory was triggered by her inflected compliment and he instantly sang back to her, softly and off-key, covering Joe Cocker's 1975 hit:
"You're everything I hope for,
You're every... everything I need...
You are... so beautiful... to me"
Carla laughed, patted his face and said "Thank you, 'JOE'! Now, let's get up and have breakfast... We also need to plan how we're going to behave in... what, four hours? When your Dad gets back from San Francisco."
*
Meanwhile, at that very moment, in a suite at the St. Francis Hotel, in San Francisco, Ben James was bent over the pallid freckled ass of his 22-year old Executive Marketing Assistant, Kristy Stauffer. She knelt her 5' frame on a mushroom and taupe colored hassock. Her undressed 90 pounds barely dented the brocade upholstery, as she braced her slender arms on the sill of the 31st floor bay window overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge. She glanced from the spectacular view, past her pendant speed bumps, to the glistening curls of her trimmed thatch, which were the exact color of the bridge's paint.
