'Drea was busy as we walked into the kitchen.
"Good morning, Baby," she said, turning away from working the bowl of eggs she was whipping with a fork, taking the two steps to me and kissing me, a kiss that would have promised things to come, and to cum I suppose, if she hadn't been wearing a steel belt.
"Good morning, Honey," she said, turning away from me to take Lulu into a similar kiss.
I watched as my wife molded her body against my daughters and ran her hands up and down Lulu's big back to wind up on her ass, squeezing a little before releasing her and saying, "Sit, now, let 'Drea feed you."
We sat then, Lulu and I, facing each other across the kitchen table.
"No," 'Drea said, smiling and pulling out the chair in the middle of the long side of the small table, "You sit here, Master of the House."
I moved as she directed, and recognized from my occasional forays into erotica that she had set it up so our threesome would be in the FMF configuration with the male, me, in the honor position between the two women.
It hit me, and I chuckled.
"What?" Lulu asked.
"I was just thinking how amazing it is to be sitting here with you two and the only stitch, if it can be called a stitch, of clothes between us is a steel chastity belt that my wife says will stay on until I knock my daughter up," I said, snorting between words because the humor, the insanity, the surrealism, and the pure fantasy of the situation was getting to me.
She giggled.
'Drea said, over her shoulder as she pushed the lever to start toast toasting, "Should I get dressed?"
Before I could say, "No," Marilouise asked, "Should I get dressed?"
I laughed then. Residual alcohol and pot were part of it, of course, but down at its core was the pure, unadulterated joy as I looked into the future.
I stood and went to 'Drea, smiled, got to my knees, kissed the roll of her muffin top where the belt cut deeply, looked up and said, "Please, don't get dressed."
She giggled, patted my head, and turned back to her cooking.
I knee walked to my daughter, took her hand, turned it over, kissed her palm, looked up, and said, "Please, don't get dressed."
She giggled and said, "Welllllllllll, if that's what you really want."
"Sit," 'Drea said as she started setting breakfast on the table.
I chuckled, sat, and had what has turned out to be the single most interesting conversation of my life.
Without trying to recreate the dialogue, it was this -
Andrea had always wanted children. When we were dating and starting to get serious about our future, one of the things that had cemented our, well, our bond, was our mutual interest in a big family. I had started with a basketball team as the goal. She upped it to a baseball team, and then we settled on a football team with some substitutes as a distinct possibility. But then, when Marilouise came along, there were complications. A placental abruption almost had me burying both of them, and only our proximity to the local hospital saved them. The emergency Caesarian Section brought Marilouise safely into the world, all eight pounds, nine ounces of her. But afterward, in one of those accidents that happen from time to time, an infection developed, got away from the staff, and when we left the hospital, my bride had a hysterectomy scar to match her C-section scar.
So, rather than a team, we had a solo star.
Marilouise, it turned out, shared her mother's maternal instinct. She knew, from her first period and the budding of her breasts that followed, that she was born to have babies. "I'm a natural brood mare," she said, standing and doing a slow turn showing off her big tits and wide hips, "and I want the best man I know to be the father of my children," she finished, kissing me. Lulu and 'Drea had talked about it in that serious way of mothers and daughters, and when 'Drea knew Lulu was set on this course, she accepted and supported the decision.
Here I was then, bracketed by two women, and both wanted me to start fathering children on my daughter. It struck me as a mighty fine idea.
But more than that, they read the things I wrote under my
nom de porn
, David Witheld, and said they were anxious to try it all.
My dick stirred, thinking about it, as I wiped the final residue of bacon grease from the plate with my triangle of toast as the blotter.
I grinned, stood, my incipient erection showing my interest, and held my hand to my daughter.
"You, Bride-o-Mine," I said, patting 'Drea on the ass, "can join us when you're done in here."
Back in the bedroom, I stood Lulu on the rug at the foot of the bed and just looked. On that level that had taken videos of her in race cars, at gymnastics meets, on prom night, and at graduation, I was still taken with the young woman at whom I looked. She was so different from that bundle of sinew and energy that could make a tumbling pass that defied gravity, it was like I was looking at a completely different being.
And in a way, of course, I was.
This was a young woman, not my little girl. She was, as you might read in one of those romance novels my grandmother had devoured by that shopping bag full, "In the full bloom of youthful womanhood."
She stood, proud and calm, as I just looked at her, taking her in. Last night was still a bit blurry. There had been a lot of pot and alcohol, and this morning I was still a little muzzy with leftover, unmetabolized residue of last night. But now, with a full belly, coffee, and a night's sleep, I could appreciate my daughter.
And she was worth appreciating. Cute rather than pretty, with her round face and her button nose, she had blossomed after she quit training several hours a day. She had filled out, and filled out nicely. There was a hint of a second chin forming, a suggestion of fat pads on the back of her arms, and the tiniest bit of, well, "pudginess" is a good word, to her fingers.
Being a male, though, it was her breasts that drew my eyes. They were big enough that they sagged under their own weight, and as I watched, her oversized areolas tightened, pushing small, almost boyish nipples forward.
I held my arm out, forefinger pointed at the floor, and twirled it in the universal "turn around" gesture.
I wondered how my skinny little girl had become this voluptuous brood mare.
She was right, of course. She was very obviously made to have children. I pictured those big hips as she got well into her second trimester spread, and remembered that Andrea hadn't been as big across the beam, as they say, as she was now until the hormones really kicked in, preparing her to give birth.
"Okay," I said, moving behind her and pressing against her, tracing the shape of her waist with my palms until I cupped the softness of her incipient belly just below her belly button, "you're beautiful and we'll make beautiful children."
"Now?" she asked, giggling, leaning back and tilting her head to the side, offering her neck to my lips.
"Lulu," I said, and she turned suddenly, stopping me with a finger to my lips.
"Let's talk about that," she said, smiling.
"About?" I asked around the finger on my lips, not understanding.
She met my eyes, very serious now.
"Call me Mary," she said, "or even Marilouise. But don't you think Lulu is a bit much for us now? It makes me feel like you should strap me into a quarter-midget or video me at a meet and, Daddy, I don't think I can bring this big ass," she patted her hips, "around on a roundoff/back handspring combination any more."
"Lu..., Mary, I didn't know..." and I trailed off.
She smiled.
"Daddy," she said, and kissed me, one of those kisses on the lips that only a lover, not a daughter, would ever give. "I've thought about this a lot. Try this experiment."
"Experiment?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, "an experiment."
"Okay," I said, curious now, "what's the experiment?"
She grinned.
"Say, 'I want you, Mary,'" she said.
I smiled, gave her my most "soulful" gaze, and said, "I want you, Mary," and I meant it.
She kissed me, that intimate, man-woman or even husband-wife kiss.
"Now," she said, "say, 'I want you, Lulu."
I chuckled because I understood. Lulu was my pet name for her, but it was the name I gave my little girl when she was struggling with things like "basgetty" and had absolutely no chance at something like linoleum or aluminum. Even her name gave her trouble, coming out as something like Mahloo, which I, of course, turned into Lulu.
"I want you, Mary," I said, smiling.
