For the second time already that afternoon; I needed to ask my nineteen-year-old daughter to let me have a few minutes alone, because I was picturing in my suddenly warped imagination, visions of Christy naked and writhing on the sheets as we cavorted in a depraved bi-sexual romp and was dangerously close to fulfilling that incestuous affair. This would be frightening as is, but it was compounded by the fact that, known to us both, not even 24 hours before, I had fucked her brother. Why was I sliding so easily into this obscene scenario where I am actually contemplating not just one, but a second sexual bout with my own child? That last look that she gave me as she reluctantly decided to walk to the library was a sultry mixture of kittenish allure signaling that she was willing to play any role to help me understand my passions in this sexual liaison and the vampy, snide leer that says, "you don't know what you're missing."
Just moments ago, she had lulled me into a divine dream-like state as she described in shockingly vivid detail, her arousal and then semi-reticent participation in her sibling's decadent tryst. More than once, she brought me to the brink of ecstatic paroxysm, where I was forced to squeeze my thighs together and push down hard on my swollen clit to stop the spasms and eruptive flow that would have driven me into her seductive arms.
She seemed to be a kindred spirit, alluringly bewitched by the taboo thrill of a little harmless incest and sensually seduced by the exciting, new benefits of sexually-free partners adaptive to any contingency. An "innocent" voyeur swept forward by the rush of deviant sexual yearnings. I found myself laying in her crotch, cradling the sultry figure and feeling the warmth and sensing the arousal of this beautiful vixen but unexpectantly forgetting for the moment that she is my teenage daughter. Or perhaps not forgetting! Our thumping hearts and inquisitive fingers acted with a joint purpose. Christy was reciting kinky, lascivious artifices of an erotic interlude while also teasing me with very precise details of an extremely private assemblage engaged in certain sordid, aphrodisiacal romps. Maybe it was just that lurid, debased proposition that enticed me with these lewd, incestuous implications.
So then, was that my excuse for last night? Knowing that it was my son- my first born- that had slunk naked into my bed, fondled my breasts and slid his big cock into me from behind, then made me suck my own fluids from his straining tool and allow myself to be flipped like a big-boobed pancake and fucked a few more times, I staged a brief denial and feeble protests but soon, simply obeyed his commands and practically tendered my services to his perverse whims for the rest of the summer. How do I explain to myself... or to anyone else, that after an initial shock, I deliberately permitted my son to defile and then to take virtual ownership of my horny body, and that my reflections are not of the sacrilege or illegalities of my vile actions but of justifying to my wicked self that having once bitten the apple, why not finish the whole thing? What do I say, "The devil made me do it?"
Christy was recounting her tale about that first occasion secretly spying on Jason and Linda having sex, and how it affected her. From that moment, she could not sweep away the lewd image of illicit sex and masturbated every night to images of the two of them, and then, how possibly she could be included and indoctrinated. As her story progressed to the point where slipping along silently and pretending innocence, morphed into being confronted by more exhibitionistic displays and a carefree attitude toward sexuality and her chances of being exposed, her heavy breathing and low, guttural moans became much more pronounced. She closed her eyes as if seeing the sensual scenario replay in her mind and her body went limp and eerily still. Her fingers slithered over her supple form and her voluptuous torso writhed seductively, drawing my rapt attention.
As I observed, sweat broke-out on her supple form casting a golden sheen on her tanned, lithe frame and the frilly blouse she wore began to slowly and steadily rise and fall with her descriptions of the illicit sexual exploits she was "seeing." I could feel her body tense-up at the moment where she was "persuaded" to permit her brother to ravish her naked body. She shook on the couch- the same article of furniture that she mentioned in her narrative- as the ripples tingled her flesh from neck to knees. The dampened clothing clung to her writhing torso, clinging to her perky nipples and her long, lean, legs slowly parted to either allow some cooling air to ventilate her roiling pussy or to subconsciously allow easier access to it.
I semi-innocently tried to soothe her agitation by cuddling and caressing her. Crude thoughts streaked through my head that this was just how Jason's seduction/rape began, but I shook it off by affirming to myself that I'm her mother. But then I got conveniently carried-away with her depictions of so much bare skin and raw emotion. My eyes closed too, to minutely visualize the debauched scene that she built up to, while my own body heated-up and the familiar tremble began to stir in my swampy cunt. My shaky fingers acted as if they had a mind of their own, and deep inside I wondered if, since Christy was already aware of my sordid nighttime fling with her brother and had engaged in threesomes with him and Linda, she might be receptive to an inquisitive digital probing by her mother.
I swear that I never intended to engage or penetrate my daughter simply for my benefit. But the sensual imagery and maybe the alcohol that we had been swilling, led me over the bright red line that should have halted my guilty assault before it ever got started. I kept flashing back a few hours, to my 25-year-old son startling me with his abrupt presence in my bed, waking me from a confused daze and at first, warmly kissing and stroking my shivering body and challenging my defenses. His hands also, first slowly caressed my quivering breasts, then emboldened by my tepid, almost compliant response, he shifted to my yearning pussy and within moments he had his seven solid inches in my mouth.
I felt almost helpless yet exceedingly ashamed, as my thin fingers with the shocking-red nails silently crept up her moist thighs, through the cottony leg-hole of her dank shorts and sliding aside the satiny material of her moistened undies, I brushed the warm, tender skin of her cleanly-shaved pussy. I'd never been so close to another woman's vagina and the silky-smooth skin on an adult female, clearly displaying the flared lips with their dewy coating of vaginal fluid drew me in. I hesitantly brushed the warm flesh, not wanting to startle or disturb my daughter from her reverie, but as she just twitched more, I resumed my tactile examination of her lovely loins. From the small, hooded cleft, I saw the rounded tip of the straining nubbin that was stretching towards my comforting digits.