Holiday Family Fun

Last year I published a story in the Mature section titled "Princess." This story, my submission for this year's Holidays contest, picks up those same two lovers a year later. It's not necessary to read that story first, though it is a good story, because you can pick up the essentials as you go with this one.

I hope you like this one enough to give me five glowing stars.

*

Our first weekend together was nine days before Christmas, which fell on a Sunday that year. We'd made love on Friday night, then again on Saturday morning in the shower, Saturday afternoon on the living room couch and armchair and finally the floor, and then again that night.

I called her 'Olee' that night, and 'Princess,' because her father had. But after that first night, if I didn't use her full name, I called her 'Liv.'

I was not quite shocked, but very surprised that I could do all that at my age. Olivia inspired a virility in me that Eileen never did. Perhaps it was Liv's uninhibited enthusiasm. My ex-wife was a dutiful and usually eager lover, but had certain inhibitions she would not even challenge.

If Liv had any inhibitions, I've never discovered them. That's not to say we've done everything you might read about in porn stories or see in porn flicks, it's just that neither of us has wanted them enough to suggest them.

She'd been invited to a few Christmas Eve parties and she attended at least one of them. She rang my doorbell around eleven o'clock. She'd been bored with the party. She had expected to hook up with at least one of the young men there. But, though she'd been approached by a few, she'd declined. She told me that evening that when she declined to leave the party with one of the handsomest and sexiest men she'd ever met, she realized what she wanted instead.

She wanted me.

She got me. And I got her and we enjoyed each other till well after midnight, and then again on Christmas morning.

As we had the week before, we confessed that we loved each other, at least right then. We did not promise love even as far as the next day, but while we were having sex, we were in love.

Every weekend for four weeks we'd be at my house, gloriously and joyously fucking, giving cunnilingus and fellatio and earth-shattering orgasms. Then Sunday she would return to her lonely house while I stayed in mine and we'd see each other at work and smile and wink and tease and wait for the weekend.

On Sunday of the fourth weekend we were relaxing on the couch, kissing and just being close. We were naked. Since our first weekend we'd discovered a preference for nudity, at least with each other.

When we'd started, moments like these were short and infrequent. She'd wanted me for sex, like she'd had with her father. What she received was, in her own words, much more and far more orgasmic...and loving in a different kind of way.

As we spent more private time together the minutes of contented relaxation and quiet happiness became longer and more frequent. Although she'd told me most of her personal history even before our first time, and more during, there was still much to learn. I was happy to learn it, and just as happy to let her learn as much about me as she wished...which turned out to be everything.

That fourth weekend, while we sat naked on the couch, my arm around her shoulders and her head on my chest, we both spoke at the same instant.

"Greg—"

"Olivia—"

We laughed quickly, then I insisted ladies first.

"Greg, do you think this is arrangement is kind of stupid?"

"What? You want to sit on the other side? Or share the recliner?"

She swatted me on the arm. "You know what I mean! Isn't it stupid for the two of us to be happy together on the weekends, and then be lonely all week by ourselves?"

"Yes. Liv, I've wanted to suggest a change for two weeks, but I don't want you to think I'm trying to tie you down. You're still young, beautiful, horny, and I don't want you to feel you're attached to an old man."

She was quiet for a while. Then, "What if I want to feel attached to a man who is not old, but simply older? An older man, but one who is beautiful in heart and spirit, and who is just as horny as I am?

"Greg, I haven't suggested the change for the same reason, but from my point of you. I didn't want to disrupt your day-to-day life."

Then she grinned and reached down and began rubbing my cock. It grew, slowly but surely. She bent forward and took it in her mouth, tonguing the head and then the underside. She always delighted in the growth and firmness her attention produced.

She changed her position and knelt on the floor in front of me, between my legs, and began bobbing her head up and down, her lips forming a tight seal around my erection. Her tongue was always caressing it as she went up and down. I put my hands on the sides of her head and she stopped, encouraging me to move. I did. I fucked her mouth and she made happy gulping noises. She opened her mouth a little and saliva dribbled from her mouth and lips, moistening my pubic hair and the skin around it.

I pulled her up, gently, and urged her forward. Without words she impaled herself on my erection and wiggled her hips, seating me comfortably and deeply into her soft warm and very moist vagina.

Then she kissed me, hard and wanting, and said, "You are not an old man, but I sure do love being attached to you this way. And other ways too."

Discussion stopped at that point and we made love. I fondled and kissed her breasts, tonguing and loving her nipples like they were my favorite gumdrops, which they are.

She started moving faster, twerking on my hips and caressing my hard-on with the velvety insides of her vagina. She shifted her position just a little as I slumped down on the couch, getting more horizontal. She bent forward and from experience she easily found the position and movement where the end of my cock stroked her G-spot. She threw her head back and repeated an action I found endearing. She began to hum. There was no tune to it, it was just a happy sound of vibration that grew in volume as she approached her climax. Her hip thrusts became shorter and faster as the insides of her glorious love tunnel stroked and soaked the outside of my erection.

"Oh, God, Greg, I'm coming. I'm com-com-coming! Fuck me now, Greg! Please, love me and fuck me and take meeee....."

That was one of her most intense orgasms. It was more than just the physical pleasure. It was the emotional surrender she finally allowed herself. I had not realized before that she was holding back her devotion-her full commitment to our union.

I realized right then that I loved her not just during sex, but all the time.

I wrapped her in my arms and stood up, keeping her impaled on my erection, and I put her on her back on the couch, with me on top. Even as she came she gasped and put her legs back and up on my shoulders.

I pounded into her, harder and faster, extending her orgasm again and again, and then finally thrusting into her as far as I could go, wishing I could put all of me into her warm pink velvet, and I came so hard I wanted that feeling to last forever...I would gladly die right then if I could feel that erotic ecstasy continue until my heart stopped.

I kissed her a hundred times, on her lips and cheeks and forehead and neck and shoulders and breasts. She kissed back frantically, loving my lips and tongue with her own. She moved her quivering legs down and wrapped them around my waist, holding me inside her.

We lay there for a short blissful time. She'd closed her eyes after the pinnacle of our post-orgasmic kissing. She opened them, blue eyes that revealed not only her soul, but mine as well.

"So, Lover, do you want to continue to have this only on the weekends, or would you like to share this during the week, too?"

I grinned. "Is that a trick question?"

She didn't answer. "Plus, I do know how to cook. I cooked for Dad for a long time before he got sick."

"You work harder on the job than I do. No way will I have you as my kitchen maid too."

"But I cook for myself every day anyway. Well, three days a week and then I eat leftovers."

"Good point. I cook for myself too, though it's usually out of a can or the freezer.

"If you truly want to shack up together, we'll figure out something fair."

"I do. Not only is the sex too damn good to keep it just on the weekends, but I enjoy sleeping with you. I like having a male body to snuggle up to."

I kissed her. "And I like having your desirable body snuggled up to me."

I kissed her again and stood up, allowing her to gain a vertical sitting position. I sat down next to her and put my arm around her shoulders.

"So, my beautiful young girlfriend, your place or mine?"

There was no hesitation.

"Yours."

We were quiet for a while until she spoke again.

"I've thought about this, Greg, hoping we'd live together. I don't have any attachment to my house. I only lived in it for four years. But should I sell it, or rent it out?"

"Being a landlady can be a real pain. As often as not, if you're a pleasant person, as you are, many renters will take advantage of you. And to make sure they don't or won't, you have to be a hard-ass, which you aren't. And you have to be responsible for any repairs to just about everything. I would not recommend it."

"You sound like you were a landlord for a while."

"Nope. A renter. When Eileen and I were first married we lived in an apartment for about a year. We were good tenants, but a lot of them weren't and I saw how much of a pain it was for the owner.

"But if you want to try that, I'll help you out however you want."

"Nope. You've convinced me. I'll sell. Will you help me with that?"

"Liv, really? Is that another trick question?"

After she sold the house we had our only real disagreement. She wanted to use the money to pay off my house. I said absolutely not.

She was a little hurt. She felt it meant that I wasn't going to share everything with her, including debts. I agreed. If she wanted to share all expenses we accumulated after she moved in, fine. But what was before staid with the original person.

She got over it. Having over $80,000 in her bank account helped. But she kept working, though she did reduce her hours to part-time. That let her spoil me at home a little more with cooking, cleaning, and even the dreaded (by men) redecorating.

We were both happy, healthy, and dedicated to never allowing the other to suffer from horniness longer than half a day.

Then came the next Christmas, and the inevitable complications.

Although we never mentioned it directly, I knew that one reason Liv willing attached to me was that she had no other family. It was an odd circumstance.

She was the only child of two people that were themselves each an only child. Her only family was a grandmother with dementia and two great aunts, all of whom lived several states away.

My brother and I were not close and our parents were deceased, but I still had a family: an ex-wife and two grown children.

Eileen was not family anymore, I guess, but our divorce was amicable and we still talked over the phone on occasion.

On our second weekend together, while enjoying the post-coital and pre-coital relaxation and affection, Olivia asked me about my kids.

I told her that my daughter was close to her age, my son a year older, and that they were in a committed relationship.

"You mean relationships?"

"No, relationship. They are committed to each other, and have been since Diana turned eighteen."

She looked almost shocked.

"I told you. Consensual incest is more common than most people believe. They started with illicit kissing and groping and mutual hand jobs even before they were eighteen. They were very discreet, but their old man caught 'em one day when I came home from work early. They were supposed to be in school."

"Uh-oh. What did you do?"

"I scolded them for skipping school. Then we talked about what was going on. They were embarrassed, but they are really good kids. They did not try to lie their way out of it.

"Their mother never caught them, but after Diana came of age the two of them made it clear to her they loved each other, and they intended to live together like husband and wife.

"Eileen surprised me. I thought she'd have a cow, but she barely birthed a small calf. Once she understood how committed the two were to each other, she decided not to begin a fight she couldn't win.

"She begged them to be careful. She expressed her misgivings to me later. I agreed with her, but also said that there was no sense in making a stink about it. We needed to keep their secret and help them stay out of trouble.

"I did have an idea the other three liked, and we put it into action. Yeah, it's illegal, but only if they get caught."

I paused for a moment until she insisted I tell her what idea?

"In Colorado, marriage between first cousins is perfectly legal. A little careful forgery on a copy of her birth certificate showed she was my brother's daughter. That way Diana could claim to be Kevin's paternal cousin, which explained the same last name, and their marriage certificate was legal as an eagle."

"Except for the forgery."

"Enh. Details.

"There is one other thing. They may be in a committed relationship, but it's not an exclusive one. They swing, they enjoy the occasional threesome or foursome or fivesome. Even an orgy dozen for all I know.

"What they've told me is that they never have sex with another partner unless the other is similarly engaged. They prefer to be in the same room, but will do different rooms if they really trust the others."

"Wow. I've heard about that, but never gave any serious thought to doing anything like that. Is there any girl-on-girl or guy-on-guy in their exercises?"

"If so, they have not shared that detail with me, just as I have not shared the detail of their extra-marital fun with their mother. If they have, I haven't heard."

"Greg, if I may ask—"

"You know you can ask me anything."

"Did you ever swing?"

"Eileen swing? That would be on my list of never in a million years. But that was before she traded me in for her sister. Now, I don't know. But no. Why? Curious?"

"Mmm...not right now, no. Maybe sometime in the future. I'd have to think about it. Would you consider it?"

"Consider, probably. Beyond that, I don't know."

The point of rehashing that conversation is that this Christmas the kids were going to visit their mother for Thanksgiving, then spend a few days with me for Christmas. With us.

During the year Liv and the kids became real good friends over the cyber waves. Video chatting on her laptop, laughing, sometimes whispering if I was in earshot, which made me wonder what little secrets or plans they might be sharing.

I'm pretty sure at least some of their conversation was about sex. I have no idea how much they spoke, or what about, when I was at work and Liv wasn't.

But when I was home, inevitably after Liv closed her laptop she would be all over me, giggly, affectionate, and horny as a rabbit after forced celibacy.

She was hungrily oral and almost desperate for skin-to-skin contact. If I was dressed, she corrected that situation in seconds and began kissing me everywhere and urging me—begging, almost—to return the favor. I was glad to oblige.

Those occasions provided some of the most enthusiastic and orgasmic sex we ever enjoyed. It seemed like I barely needed to touch her to make her come.

Those were also the times when I, at least, felt the age difference. She would literally wear me out. We could go for forty or fifty minutes of frantic horny exercise until we're both sweaty and out of breath. Then I'm ready to relax and rest, but she's still revved up and eager for round two.

No heart attack yet, but I'm afraid sometimes I disappoint her, despite her assurances to the contrary. One time, after just such a session, I committed a major sin.

It was a week after Thanksgiving. Kevin and Diana had called earlier in the day to confirm that they would definitely be here on December 22, late, and remain until the twenty-sixth.

I was excited and happy, and Liv was too, even though also a little nervous. But mostly she was excited and horny and we made love for a long time, interspersed with sessions of ecstatic porno sex.

We lay on the bed, embraced, wet with sweat and love juices and saliva, slippery and sticky at the same time and in some of the same places, chuckling and gasping and kissing, and I knew she wanted an encore. I'd come twice in that hour and a half and I was clearly done for about that long.

Olivia, after just a short rest, began giving her whole attention to my deflated penis. She stroked, and licked and tickled and sucked and caressed in every conceivable manner.

My poor used up almost fifty-year-old dick barely grew.

Liv really lives for dick (pun intended). She enjoys oral sex, giving and getting, but having an erection buried in her love tunnel is far and away her favorite thing of all time. I asked her once why she didn't use a dildo. Her answering facial expression was one of distaste.

"No thanks, Greg. It's not just the shape or the size or the solidity. It's the warmth, the movement, the male body that's attached to the erection.

"I know a lot of women use them. Some of my friends swear by them. But I'd rather have a one-come fuck by a small guy with a small dick than a three-come session of dildo diddling."

So this time, when I committed my major sin, I exchanged places with her and worshipped her pussy with as much intimacy as my fingers and lips and tongue could manage. She had two more orgasms and then relaxed and told me contentedly that she had been thoroughly and convincingly loved.

But after a very few minutes she started trying to entice growth where it would do the most good. She was not successful, and a bit later she gave up, with a sigh.

"Olivia my sweet," I murmured, "I'm sorry that I sometimes disappoint you. But you know I've never suggested that you are mine and mine alone. If you'd like to go out some nights, or a weekend, and find a young stud that has young stud stamina and the constant virility of youth, I completely understand."

I knew I'd fucked up almost at once. She did not gasp or cry or curse. She went tense, though, and managed to move away from me without changing her place on the bed. She did not speak for many minutes. When she did, her voice was tight, like a taut bowstring with the arrow pointed right at me.

"Greg, are you suggesting I should find someone else? You know that since I've known you I've turned down dozens of offers from those young studs you mentioned. And you know why."

"Yes, I do. And I count myself amazingly lucky. I would never suggest that you find someone else for anything more than, as you used to call them, a fuck date. If you told me you wanted to end this wonderful arrangement, I'd probably cry myself to sleep for a month after you left.

"But as your lover—your devoted lover—it is my obligation to make sure you are satisfied. If that means giving you my blessing to find someone that can do that better than I can, then I so do."

Without another word, and without looking at me at all, she went into her room (she had her own room with her own closet even though we slept in the same bed.) There was another bed in there, a full-sized one. She was dressed and out the door in about ten minutes. She took her laptop with her.

I got dressed, made myself a sandwich and a drink, and sat on the recliner and watched television and worked on my apology.

She was back in a little less than an hour. She went into her room for a few seconds, came back without the laptop, and climbed into my lap like a confident cat. She kissed me quietly, with a tenderness we seldom enjoyed. Usually passion and lust were the order of the day—or night.