All Characters In This Story Are 18 + Years Old.
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John Taylor's eyes popped open at 5:52 a.m., just as they did every morning, and, as far as he knew, had done for his entire 42 years. He seemed constitutionally unable to turn off his internal alarm clock. He recalled how, once, as a young boy, he had asked his mother why he woke of his own accord, even on Saturdays or holidays, and always, when he looked at the clock, it was eight minutes to six. She had smiled, patted his head and taken him by the hand to his father's home office. Opening an inner compartment in the big roll-top desk, she pulled out a business envelope with a folded piece of paper.
John's mother opened the document and held her son close in front of her as she showed him the print. "See, Johnny, you were born on Aug 8, 1974 at exactly 5:52 a.m. right here in Denver at St. Anthony hospital." She bowed her head and kissed his forehead as he tilted his face up from the birth certificate and looked at her.
When she kissed him, John felt her motherly warmth fill him up from crown to toes, and especially along his ears, which had become wedged between her large heavy breasts, pendant beneath her soft velour housecoat. He grinned up at her half-closed eyes. "So I'm waking up every day at the same time I was born?" He asked. "That's really weird, Mom."
She hugged his back closer to her stomach and briefly rocked him. "Maybe not so weird, Johnny," she had hummed. "Maybe you and I just have a special connection or bond. I think it's sweet... unless it bothers you." While John's curiosity was not prompted by any angst, he had somehow felt calmed. Indeed, this new knowledge made him swell with pride. He spun in his mother's arms, burrowed his nose and cheeks into her doughy bosom and wrapped his small arms as tightly as he could around her thick waist. "I love you, Mom," he mumbled. His little voice, muffled in her robe, moved her to tears. She pressed him hard against her. "I know you do, Johnny, and I love you, too," she had answered with a deep sigh, reluctantly ending their embrace and replacing the envelope in the desk.
Now, on Sunday morning, in the main bedroom of his Nederland cabin, John thought about his mother, and the two young naked mothers-to-be, curled up under the sheets, between him and Claude James. His daily pre-dawn hard on twitched against the nude flanks of 18-year old Nel Martin. She snuffled once and pushed her hip against him without waking. John's 19-year old daughter, Megan, faced her best friend, Nel, draping her right arm over Nel's side, with her hand resting in the small of John's back.
When Nel shifted, Megan, in her sleep, moved her right hand up, across her father's shoulder, to stroke her friend's boxy haircut. She pulled Nel's face close to hers and inhaled deeply. Her elevated 38DD bust and touched Nel's areolae with her own. Megan sighed with peaceful satisfaction. Megan's stirrings woke Claude who was spooned against her bare bottom. His morning wood lay trapped between her sturdy thighs with its engorged head nestled at the base of her fat moist pussy. He eased his torso up, leaning on his left elbow, and peered through the utter darkness of the room. As best he could tell the girls and John were fast asleep.
John Taylor had the advantage of facing east. The incipient twilight silhouetted Claude rising above Megan's shoulder. Silently John reached his left arm out, past his daughter's gravid hips, and touched Claude's right elbow as it lay bent on the teen's waist under the sheet. Claude's eyes were adjusting to the increasing half-light peeping through the east slider and windows. He saw the girls' eyes, still closed in slumber, and watched his host hoist the covers back, exposing all four naked bodies in the queen bed.
John raised his left index finger to his lips, signaling Claude to be quiet, then he carefully rolled to his right, away from Claude's niece, opened a drawer in the small bedside table, and turned back to the center of the bed, holding a tube of K-Y jelly. He winked at Claude, uncapped the lube and laid a liberal track in a circular swath over Nel's ass cheeks, before handing Claude the jelly and pointing at Megan's butt. Claude nodded knowingly and likewise expressed a thick line over John's daughters' plump behind.
Nel was far away, standing, incarnated as a wood-elf coercer, at the shore of a vast fiery lake. Her quest required she cross the molten surface but she was at a loss for safe passage. Turk, her faithful turquois guardian dragon stood mute by her side. Suddenly Nel felt Turk applying a soothing protective balm to her body. She looked at his scaly paws as they worked the ward deep into her muscles. Turk hissed a flame through his nostrils. It licked at her flesh but, rather than sear or singe, it merely coursed, most pleasantly, over the gel. The experience made her confident she could swim through the fiery lake as easily as taking a warm bath. Nel moved her legs and felt the heat rise as the water covered her hips. She ducked her head below the surface and opened her eyes.
Sun rays pierced through the window lighting Nel's face. She woke fully and saw her Uncle Claude massaging Megan, as she lay prone, legs spread, with her bottom humped up over two pillows. Nel looked over her shoulder and realized the protective ward was not being applied by Turk, but by Megan's dad, and in a very localized fashion to her buttocks and ass crack. She smiled and said, "Good morning, Uncle John!" Then, rotating her face, she added, "And you, too, Uncle Claude and Megan. Looks like I am the last one to wake up." She laughed lightly and rolled over, pulling her and John's pillows down beneath her bulging stomach, cushioning her cunt which oozed its happy response to John's attentive anal probes.
Nel widened her open legs, crossing her left ankle over Megan's angled right ankle. She flexed her cheeks and said, "You're tickling me to distraction, Uncle John... Do you have something to stop the itch?" She turned her face to Megan, who was already twerking her ass under Claude's strong hands. "Meg," she whispered, "are you ready, too?" Megan just grunted as she felt her pussy puddling on the pillow.
Claude chuckled and looked over at John. Both men were positioned, flags flying, between the teens' legs, poised over their young prepared assholes. "Race you, Johnny... Last one to come wins!" He guided his steel cock's soft nose to Megan's back door and teased it gently, feeling her push back against his steady pressure and gradually consume his bell.