Marilouise

Well, Gentle Reader, I seem to have become a bit obsessed. Well, I'm always obsessed with sex, but I seem to have become obsessed with the specific idea of a three-way romance. As you know, if you have read any of my work, I have no respect for the incest taboo, so this story was, I suppose, an inevitable culmination of my two favorite fetishes. I'm pretty sure this will turn into a book. I like the storyline too much to let it go.

Chapter One

"Thank you," I said for what seemed like the hundredth time, "you got me."

"Hey," my best friend since high school said, "you only hit the big five-oh once and my best girl here," he laid his hand on my wife's hip in that overfamiliar almost possessive way only two couples who have shared a few wild weekends over the years can make look natural, "thought we should make it special."

"Besides," Bonnie, his well-enhanced wife said in that cigarette and whisky coarse voice of hers, "the look on your face made it worth all of the effort." She stood on tiptoes and kissed me, a kiss that suggested she'd like another of those weekends before she released me, took Chuck's hand, and they left.

"Were you really surprised?" Andrea, my wife of 20 years asked. She had that slightly glassy-eyed look that came with a screwdriver or two too many and the red eyes from the excellent pot someone had brought.

"Yes, Baby," I said, "you got me good."

She smiled, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed me.

The half-dozen beers and the pot were working on me and I started tugging at the hem of her T-shirt, this one made especially for the day with "Married to a Half-Centenarian" across the front in that stencil font anyone who ever watched an episode of

M*A*S*H

(and who hasn't?) recognized.

"Nuh-uh," she said, pushing my hands down, breaking my grip on the shirt, and stepping away. She had a good grip on my wrists and although I knew I could break it, I didn't want to hurt her.

"You still have a present to open," she said, smiling and darting forward to kiss me quickly before pulling me toward the bedroom.

I couldn't remember the last time a birthday meant anything to me, and this surprise party had been, well, a surprise. And there were presents. Most of them focused on my hobby of building electric guitars. The centerpiece, with a card labeled "From: 'Drea and Lulu," my wife and my daughter, the daughter with whom I shared a birthday and who was out now with friends celebrating after she had gone to the county courthouse and got her voter registration card, was a kit for a Gibson ES-335. Minor gifts had included a new fret file, a fret leveling tool, and a coffee table book of vintage guitars. A new T-shirt, the one I had on right now, let the world know that "I have a split personality. Sometimes I'm electric and sometimes acoustic" over an image of a guitar split down the middle, half, you guessed it, electric and half acoustic.

But she was leading me to the bedroom and I felt a sudden swelling low in my belly.

Oh, don't get me wrong. As I hit the half-century mark I am not Superman. Those heady days of puberty, when my dick would get hard, as Eddie Murphy put it in a movie with Nick Nolte I think it was, "in a stiff breeze," are behind me. But the first time I, you know, "failed" in the bedroom I made an appointment with my doctor and have been on

Daily Dose Cialis

since. Soooo, while it took more than a "stiff breeze," it didn't take a hell of a lot more.

I felt the swelling as we started toward the bedroom but, well, I AM 50 now, and with that age, it seems, comes responsibility. I stopped, holding her back, and said, "What about the mess?" gesturing to take in the mess of our finished basement. The partygoers were mature, so it wasn't like a frat house after the mid-term party, but there were plenty of empty red plastic

Solo

cups, paper plates, and plastic silverware around, not to mention a table with the remainders of snack trays.

"Later, Birthday boy," she said, giggling and kissing me, "Lulu and I have one more present for you."

I wondered, for a second, what my daughter had to do with a "present" in the bedroom but then my eyes worked down to my wife's hips as she started walking ahead of me and the little head between my legs took over my thinking.

If you can call what was going on in the big brain inside my head, "thinking."

Andrea is one of those delightfully pear-shaped women who is almost two women grafted together at the belly button. From her belly button up, she's the slender gymnast who was the all-around state champion in a very competitive gymnastics program as a 12-year-old. From the waist down she was an overweight-bordering-on-obese peasant with lipedema. Her shelf hips exploded from her twenty-eight-inch waist and her bubble butt made her look like a little girl who had put on some sort of innertube floatie before putting on the skirt that swung so prettily with each step. 'Drea's hips had spread enough when puberty struck that it ended her gymnastics career but, in my eyes, took her from being an attractive woman to the gorgeous creature who attracted my attention two decades ago. When Lulu was born, well, my lovely 'Drea exploded into the goddess she is today.

My reaction to her, well, to the beer and pot too I suppose, was that I had to stop and adjust my growing erection.

I was surprised when she stopped at our bedroom door.

I was even more surprised to realize the door was shut.

'Drea turned and kissed me, one of those kisses that said, "Yeah, Baby, before I'm done with you you'll be begging me to stop."

When I reached, ready to turn this kiss into foreplay she giggled, slapped my hand, and stepped out of reach.

"Slow down there, Killer," she said, and the grin on her face said she had something new for me.

She reached behind her neck to find the catch on the fine chain she wore. As she pulled it from her cleavage I saw that there was a tiny brass key on the chain.

"Here," she said, reaching behind my neck and hooking the chain, "You'll know when to use it."

I smiled, visions of bondage in my head.

I reached for her but she stepped back again.

"Close your eyes," she said.

My erection jumped. When Andrea said "Close your eyes," it ALWAYS meant a new sensation.

In my head, that commercial for

Chewy

, the online version of

PetSmart

ran through my mind and I started singing, in my head, not aloud, "The peanut butter box is here."

You don't know that ad? Well, there's a great big dog, like an oversized boxer, and a small dog, maybe a chihuahua mix speaking in a British, I think Cockney, accent. The big dog says "The peanut butter box is here." The little dog explains that there's no peanut butter in the box, it's medicine and the peanut butter is the treat for taking the medicine. They go back and forth and the ad ends with the big dog singing, off key of course, "The peanut butter box is here."

That became my equivalent of, "Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy."

I closed my eyes and "The peanut butter box is here" ran through my mind.

"Keep them closed now," 'Drea whispered in my ear, "or you'll have to wait for tomorrow for your present."

"I will," I said and I meant it. I'm not one of those kids who hunted the house for the Christmas present. I liked the surprise.

"You'll know when to untie the ribbon," she said, leading me by the hand.

"THE PEANUT BUTTER BOX IS HERE" sang louder.

"Oh, Christ," I thought, "She's set up a threeway."

We talked about such an adventure since about a week after we were married but I always assumed it was just the kind of sex banter in which married couples engage.

But here I stood, eyes closed, cock throbbing, feeling that rush you get when your adrenal glands squeeze down and your body gets ready to react, the "fight or flight" reaction kicking in.

As happens when one sense is lost my others took over, trying to keep the gestalt going. Unable to see, I listened hard and heard a faint rustle, almost below the level of audibility. My face felt the lightest touch of moving air, not enough to be called a breeze. I could smell that wonderful mixture of woman, the light scent of shampoo and conditioner, that almost medicinal smell of makeup and lipstick, mascara and eyeshadow, a hint of some perfume that was probably called

Ecstasy

or

Forbidden

, or some such, and under it all, that most perfect of all aphrodisiacs, the womanscent of arousal.

I stood still, savoring the anticipation.

I knew she was close, well, I was pretty sure it was a "she." My nose and ears told me that much.

That didn't stop me from flinching a little when I felt fingertips on my cheeks.

My knees went weak and my eyes flew open when she spoke.

"Oh, Daddy," she said, "I would never hurt you."

Now listen.

I was always aware of my daughter as a human female. Hell, I changed her diaper and then crew chiefed her to championships in her quarter midget racecar when she was 5, 6, and 7, and then sat through weekend-long gymnastics meets where her participation could be reduced to a three-minute video while she followed her mother's footsteps and became state champion (all around) through Level 9 in a very competitive program. I taught her to drive when she was 15, took her picture before her first date the same year, and worried EVERY time she was out with other teenagers.

I knew when she and 'Drea had

the talk

, and agreed when 'Drea took her to the doctor and had the

Nexplanon

long-term birth control implant put in.

And yes, I watched her develop. When she was born I joked with 'Drea that I hoped our daughter got my mother's boobs and 'Drea's hips. In the end, I got my hope.

I watched her through childhood. I counted over and over as she called "Time me, Daddy" when she was trying to learn to do a handstand. I nursed her skinned knee when I taught her to ride a bike. I crew chiefed for her quarter midget and attended those gymnastics meets when my stick-thin girl defied gravity.

And yes, I had noticed the summer that puberty came raging in. On Memorial Day, playing on the lake, water skiing, and riding the tube, she was a little girl, fretting about starting middle school in the fall, all coltish legs and arms. By September, when I watched her walk away to her new school, she was a young woman, her hips and ass looking, well, "womanly" enough that I was already preparing the lines I would use on the boys that were sure to start swarming around, her waist tiny, cinched by the belt she wore to enhance her figure, and already overflowing the B-cup bra with its straps peeking out from the top she wore.

Yes, I noticed all of that but never had an incestuous thought. Even as I watched that woman walking to middle school, it was still my little girl.

And now my little girl stood, a woman grown, dressed in gossamer.

The red peignoir she wore was so sheer that as far as covering up went, she might as well have been wearing

Saranwrap

. The effect was that she stood in a red nimbus, maybe a halo, hell, maybe I was dead and this was an angel come for me.

But she touched my cheeks with her fingertips and she was real.

She moved close and I felt firm breasts and hard nipples touch me and she was real.

When she breathed, "Happy Birthday, Daddy," the faint residual scent of

Pepsodent

accompanied the words, and she was real.

She took a little shuffle step and arched her back, her belly and hips joining her breasts to touch me and she was real.

"Are you saying 'No' to me?" she asked, her voice so soft I wouldn't have been able to hear her if it hadn't been so quiet in the room.

"Lulu, I," I started but she touched my lips with a fingertip.

"Are you saying 'No' to me, Daddy?" she asked again, looking up at me with those brown eyes I knew so well.

"STOP THIS," my grandmother's voice, the voice of my conscience yelled.

But I couldn't.

"Never," I said, looking into my daughter's eyes.

"Then touch me, Daddy," she said in that almost silent, breathy voice, "touch me like a woman wants to be touched."

My hands moved without my mind being involved and I touched her shoulders with my palms, for the first time touching her as a woman. And Jesus Christ, she was all woman. The roundness of her shoulders was no longer the hardness of the gymnast with Olympic dreams. It was the soft yet firm feel of a woman. I moved my hands slowly down her arms, feeling softness over firmness as I held her eyes.

She met my eyes, her lips parted in invitation, and my mental image was the drawbridge being lowered to allow access over the moat that was the taboo.

My kiss was tentative at first but she threw up the portcullis when she kissed me back.

Our mouths fit perfectly. It was like the little lines in our lips met like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. When our tongues touched and we shared each other's tastes, it became close enough to the perfect kiss that the difference doesn't matter.

We held that kiss, her fingers in my hair and my hands slowly moving down her back.

"What the," I broke the kiss and took a small step back, my fingers tracing the hard line they encountered.

Lulu was smiling up at me.

"I'm a virgin, Daddy," she said, "That's my chastity belt to make sure you were my first."

"What the," I said again, my erection softening as the head on my shoulders took over from the head between my legs.

"Daddy," she said, letting the space between us grow a tiny bit but keeping her hands on mine, "I've known you were the one for me since that summer these," and she dropped my hands long enough to lift her breasts, "came in. But I guess I got my horniness from Andrea," hearing my daughter call her mother by her name caused a loud KLANG in my head, "and, honestly," she giggled and blushed a little, "I didn't trust myself."

She stopped, looked up to meet my eyes, and giggled again.

"The look on your face," she said and kissed me quickly before going on.

"So I told 'Drea," KLANG, "what I was feeling and she said 'Well, there's only one way to be sure,' and she took about a dozen measurements, embarrassing me terribly, and about a week later she gave me this," she lifted the bottom of the peignoir quickly and I saw the shiny steel belt she wore.

She kissed me again, this time holding and finishing her story in my ear.

"I wore the belt every time I went on a date, Daddy," she said, the words warm puffs in my ear, "and I'll keep wearing it if you want me to. But you'll be my first unless you decide you are going to say 'No' to me now."

"You'll know when to untie the ribbon," 'Drea had said.

I reached out, slowly, not fighting with the taboo anymore, just being dramatic, and used my thumb and forefinger to start gently pulling the bows on each shoulder that held the peignoir in place.

We smiled at each other as the ribbons slowly came tight and then suddenly released in that way a bow does.

I held her eyes as I opened my hand and let the garment drop to form a red pool at her feet.

Then, I took a step back and just looked at my daughter, seeing her as a woman for the first time.

And Christ, she was ALL woman.

Her hair, dark and curly and wild made a frame for her cute round face. Her shoulders were still the broad powerful shoulders of the gymnast she had been. Her breasts were big. Oh, not huge like those silly macromastia porno videos that are out there, but she was a legitimate D cup. They sagged from their own weight and she wouldn't be able to pass the pencil test although, honestly, I doubt if she could have passed THAT test by the end of that summer when she blossomed. Her areolas were big and pink, tight now with her excitement and bumpy with the love bumps some lucky women share, the love bumps she inherited from her mother, and her nipples were a shade darker like dark pink tiny hot dog ends atop the cones of her areolas.

Her belly was no longer the eight-pack of her hard training days, but still flat with a deep innie belly button centered on her small waist.

The shiny steel of the chastity belt framed her wide, womanly hips while the crotch strap bisected her with shiny stainless steel. The upper corners of the dark, curly triangle of her pubic hair peeked out from the sides of the belt.

Her legs were thick, not fat, thick with the powerful muscles of a gymnast and a runner.

My mind was doing flip-flops like a politician.

She was my little girl, so cute I just liked looking at her.

She was a beautiful woman, offering herself.

She was a virgin, asking to be deflowered.

She was a woman.

And evolution demanded a response.

I lifted the necklace over my head, eased to my knees, and looked at the tiny brass padlock that held the belt together.

"Oh, yeah," I thought as I inserted the key into the keyhole, "you will wear this every time you leave the house you little tart you."

The belt came loose with a little "sproing" sound and I traced the lines where it was so tight.

On my knees, before my daughter, I buried my face in the thick curly muff of her pubic hair and inhaled her delicious womanscent like a hit from a pot pipe.

"OH DADDY," she cried, her fingers twisting in my hair, pulling me hard against where she wanted me.

Where I wanted to be.

I laid my hands on her ass, finding the roundness right where she sits, and pulled her to me, pushing my face forward. In part, I wanted to make sure she was ready for her first time, and I believed that this

would

be her first time. In part, though, I wanted to inhale her, taste her, feel that coarse, curly hair against my face.

Okay, I wanted to claim her in that way, in the only way really, a man can claim a woman.

But for now, I wanted her to know she had a claim on me, as I was on my knees like a supplicant worshiping her body.

The blow job I gave her didn't take long. I guess when you're a virgin, you can be pretty hair-triggered.

I enjoyed her voice, the way she was saying, "Oh, Daddy, oh, Daddy, oh, God, Daddy, OH JESUS, DADDY!"

She was hot and wet against my lips and cheeks, and thick and salty in my mouth.

When she came I felt her knees unlock and supported her weight with my hands while she got her breathing back to normal.

I stood then and held her hand, steadying her while she got onto the bed.

She watched as I undressed, not making it a strip tease but taking my time, holding her eyes as I did.

I actually felt a bit of a blush when I pushed down my boxers, the last of my modesty gone now.

I actually FELT when control of what was going on transferred from the brain in my head to the little head of my one-eyed friend.

It was a WOMAN on my bed, A woman who wanted me.

And a woman I wanted very badly.

She spread her legs and held out her arms as I crawled up onto the bed.

God, she was ALL woman. Her desire was almost as obvious as mine the way her pubic hair was smeared with the thick white sign of her need.

I inhaled her sweet womanscent in passing, but the time for oral sex was past now.

I crawled up brushing her belly button and then her breasts with my lips, but just in passing, the time for foreplay was past too.

I supported myself on my arms and looked down into my woman/daughter's eyes.

"Are you certain?" I asked, not, at this point, because she was my daughter but because she was a virgin and I have always believed that sex, especially the first time, is more special to a girl than to a boy.

"Yes, Daddy," she said, all breathy voice and bedroom eyes, "More certain than I have ever been of anything."

I pushed forward with my hips, just touching her at first, our bodies lined up perfectly without any need to guide myself.

God, she was SO warm, SO slick, my control almost failed.

But I hung on.