Irresistible Girl Ch 02

Chapter 02: Plan A

It wouldn't have looked good for me to miss the dean's annual New Year's Eve party, so even though we would have preferred to be home in bed with our daughter, my wife and I showed up and did the mingle thing. Melissa said she didn't mind and that she'd use the time to catch up with some of her old high school friends. She did, however, make her mother wear a bullet vibrator inside her—and gave me the wireless remote. "If you see her getting all flirty, give her a buzz," said Melissa before we left the house. "Or, hell, just give her a few random buzzes. See if you can make her hike up her dress and flick her bean."

Melissa flashed her evil grin and Anna tsk-tsked. "Such a twisted mistress."

"You love it, cuntmeat. Daddy? Bye-bye kiss?"

I took Melissa in my arms and Frenched her deeply—and just for good measure I clicked the remote button and held it, causing Anna to close her eyes and bump up against the easy chair. "Oh god—we'd better go or I'm going to need a change of panties."

And with that our wicked daughter sent us on our way. Anna and I both have good friends in the administration, so we both got caught up in the evening and enjoyed ourselves. I only buzzed her a couple of times, once when she got cornered by an elderly professor emeritus known for his tendency to ramble. I pressed the remote control several times in quick succession, causing her knees to buckle so that she had to clutch the old prof's shoulder. I could read her lips from across the room: "Oh golly fuck." The professor laughed heartily. "He told me I had a delightful sense of humor," she confided later.

With an hour before midnight Anna and I were shooting pool with the dean, the president, the director of financial aid, and the head of the math department. The topic turned to our children and what they were up to. The dean's son had just made junior partner at a Chicago law firm. The president's twin daughters had both been accepted into med school. The financial aid director noted that her son had landed a speaking role in an upcoming action flick. The math prof's son and daughter-in-law were new parents and couldn't be happier. "How about your daughter, Woodson?" asked the dean. "She's out east, right? Princeton?"

I drew a blank for some reason. I stood there with my mouth open and could not remember where Melissa was going to school. Fortunately, Anna rescued me. "Yes, Princeton," she said. "Sophomore philosophy major, three-nine."

The president laughed. "Did John forget he had a daughter?" Anna smiled and said her dear husband must be getting old. On the way home she asked me what had happened.

"I spaced out. All I could see was Melissa going down on me—and in my mind I thought you were going to say 'Yes, she and her father are lovers and they both dominate the fuck out of me."

Anna stroked my thigh. "Well, I can't say it didn't cross my mind," she smiled. "I'm surprised you didn't hear the flood in my panties."

* * *

A little background: I'm director of marketing at a small private school in New Gothenburg, Minnesota. Anna has her own real estate firm, and you can see her pretty round face all over town—on billboards, bus signs, kiosks, and whatnot. "Let Anna sell it"—and she does a damn good job selling it. The fire had gone out of our marriage a couple years ago, but we were content living a platonic, friendly life with the occasional (rare) coupling—until last summer, when our daughter Melissa made a play for me and I responded like a horny teenager. We kept up a phone and email affair when she went back to school, but then in fall Anna's sex drive came back to life after she began reading a series of best sellers about a submissive woman. She asked me to try out some of the scenes from the books, and the next thing I knew I had an obedient little wench on my hands. What I didn't know was that the whole thing had been orchestrated by Melissa, who had found a way for her and her mother to switch places in the family dynamic. When she came home for Christmas break, Anna started submitting to her too.

I mention all this to set up some context for what happened when we got home after that New Year's Eve party. It was one in the morning and we found Melissa naked and watching porn in the family room. When she saw us, she whistled for her mother: "Here, cuntmeat—finish me off." Anna stripped to her undies, took her position on her knees, and buried her face in Melissa's bare pussy. Melissa moaned and caught my eye: "How many times did you buzz this horny bitch, Daddy? She's eating me like she's starving." I moved behind the sofa and leaned over to tweak Melissa's nipples and watch my wife suck ravenously on our daughter's pussy. Melissa yelped and instantly Anna's face was obscured by a clear spray, a splash of sex-droplets that glistened on Melissa's tummy and thighs and matted her mother's hair. Anna lapped up as much as she could and rested her cheek against Melissa's thigh, looking up at us dreamily. "I love your squirt, baby. Did that feel good?"

"Of course it did, cuntmeat. Now move aside—I'm going to fuck my man."

I was naked and ready. Melissa lay back on the sofa with her legs open and I watched her watching my cock disappear inside her. "Fuck me hard, Daddy. Slam it in." She wrapped her legs around me as I drilled her tight wet box, and soon Anna walked over on her knees and began caressing Melissa's left breast. "Can I help you get off again?" she asked.

Melissa clutched a handful of her mother's hair. "What you can do is go stand in the corner."

This was one of Anna's favorite punishments. She nodded and scrambled to her feet. "May I masturbate, Mistress?"

"You may not. Keep your hands behind you, on your ass where I can see them. Do not bump up against the wall, do not rub your nips on the wall, and do not even think about your husband over here sperming inside your daughter."

"Of course not, Mistress." Anna hurried to the corner and stood there like a disobedient child with her hands clasped behind her. Melissa and I shared a grin: We both knew Anna would be over there pressing her thighs together at the sound of our sex. I buried my cock in to the hilt and unloaded a torrent of cum as Melissa stroked my face and whispered that she loved me so very fucking much.

We made Anna crawl upstairs between us. I think we let her get off that night. I'm pretty sure we did.

* * *

On the last Wednesday of her Christmas break, Melissa was giving me a lap dance while her mother was off showing a house. She seemed distracted, though, and when I mentioned it she said "I'm concerned. I'm concerned about you two being here without me."

"It's only for a semester. Or are you worried about me falling in love with my wife while you're gone?"

"Stop it," she said, sitting sideways in my lap. "I know you love both of us and I know you're going to fuck your little cuntmeaty wifey piece of property and I know we'll have three-way video spank sessions. But Daddy, let's face it—Mommy is going to be craving girl parts while I'm gone."

"Should I get her a hooker?"

"Have you seen the local hookers?"

"Actually, no. Have you?"

"Trust me, Daddy. They are not Minnesota's finest."

"All kidding aside, I don't think it's a good idea to bring anyone else in—what we have here isn't exactly something we want everyone to know about."

"Duh, Daddy—I'm not going to call everyone I know and say 'Hey, I'm fucking my dad and making my mom my sex slave—wanna come over?' Relax. I have a plan—although Plan B was the local hookers. Trust me?"

"I do, baby."

She straddled me and rubbed her tits in my face, then whispered in my ear: "When Mommy gets home, let's take turns fucking her in the ass."

I do remember Anna getting off that night. A lot. We ratcheted up the humiliation angle, so that when I had my cock deep in Anna's butthole, Melissa was holding her mother's phone, going through her list of clients, pretending to call each one: "It's ringing, cuntmeat! Roger, hi, you don't know me, but your real estate bitch is my mom, Anna Woodson, and she loves it in the asshole. Chances are, when she's showing you a house, she's got a fat buttplug up her ass. Yeah, ask her about it next time. Ask her to show you—she'll bend right over for you cause she is a nasty anal slut."

Anna came hard from the fake calls, moaning like a cat in heat. She and I had gone 23 years between buttfuckings, but as soon as Melissa told her to get her ass lubed up, she jumped.

We were both going to miss her.

* * *

Watching my daughter and wife sleep that night, Melissa on her side with her arm thrown across her mother's massive jugs, with her leg between her mother's sturdy thighs, both of them nude, comfortable, bound by love and lust—for now. How long could such a relationship last before someone caught on, before someone suspected something? How long could such a relationship last before one of the partners decided he or she didn't want to go against the norm anymore?

I spooned my daughter and pulled her tight against me. She stirred and smiled and turned her face to mine. "I love you too, Daddy."

* * *

We celebrated Melissa's last night at home with a session that lasted long into the night. None of us were ready for it to be over, but there were kisses and hugs and a certain amount of tears that weren't caused by the paddle. The mood in the house was fairly glum the next morning. Anna went off to work, but not before dropping to her knees, kissing Melissa between the legs, and letting us know that in honor of their new relationship, she was wearing a buttplug. Melissa shot her an evil grin and said "I hope it hurts, cuntmeat," but then leaned over to give her mother a sweet and tender kiss.

Melissa hadn't said anything more about her "Plan A," so I figured it hadn't panned out and, frankly, I wasn't all that concerned about Anna craving the touch of another woman. Melissa could have just forbidden it, and that would have been that.

But she didn't. Because apparently Plan A was still in the planning stages.

The webcams were on fire during the first two weeks of Melissa's spring semester. Melissa was treated to several evenings of watching me restrain and tease her mother; in return we got lovely close-ups of our daughter's masturbation techniques. As she rubbed or vibed off, she made her mother provide a running commentary in purple detail: pussy worship by webcam. It kept us connected and helped us count down the days till May.

Anna and I had just finished dinner on the first Friday in February when the doorbell rang. I was already clearing the dishes, so Anna answered the door. In a moment she returned to the kitchen, alone. "There's a woman here."

"What kind of woman?"

"The kind who introduces herself as a fuckpig and says we should know what that means."

"Someday I'd like to get through an evening without a woman calling herself a fuckpig coming to the door." I thought it was funny but Anna smacked me on the arm for my trouble and said this was serious. I followed her into the living room and found a tall, slim woman whose long dark hair was streaked with silver. She was 45 or so, quite attractive, and dressed fashionably. "Can I help you?"

She moved to shake my hand. "Mr Woodson, yes, I'm your fuckpig." I spread my hands, hoping for more, and finally the woman added "Plan A?"

Holy crap—our little wench of a daughter had done it. But what exactly had she done? Persuaded a stranger to come into our lives? How could she have done it without betraying our fairly enormous family secret? Anna had no knowledge of Plan A, so the blank look on her face was genuine.

"Ah. Yes. Plan A," I said, going for my phone. "If you'll excuse us for a moment—please have a seat." The woman removed her coat and made herself comfortable on the sofa. I ducked into the foyer and Anna followed me. Melissa's phone was already ringing. "Hello, Daddy!"

"Plan A is here."

"Isn't she pretty?"

"Do you remember a talk we had about discretion?"

"And do you remember me saying I wasn't going to do anything stupid? Her name is Paula Fuller, and she has to be as discreet as you guys—she's her daughter's fucktoy. Wait, no, fuckpig is the term they use."

"What's she saying?" asked Anna.

"Explain it to your mother," I said, handing Anna the phone. I returned to the living room, where our unexpected guest was waiting patiently. "Mrs Fuller?"

"Paula is fine," she said. "And fuckpig will be appropriate when we get started."

"Melissa mentioned something about your daughter—"

"Yes, Courtney. They graduated together. Courtney is in college out in California now, but she, as I assume you've been told, is my owner. I obey her and get off on it—it's as simple as that. I understand your wife is in a similar situation with you and Melissa?"

I nodded, a little dizzy at this sudden turn of events. "She is," I said, "but naturally we don't want that news to get out."

"You needn't worry, Mr Woodson. It sounds as if we all have a good thing going—I'm not interested in anything but obeying my daughter, which until further notice means serving you."

I glanced back at the foyer, where Anna was still on the phone, listening intently. "How did Melissa know to contact you?"

"She caught us. Slumber party, the girls' senior year. Courtney had ordered me to wait till the girls were asleep, then walk through the room, stepping over each sleeping bag—naked. My daughter has a truly twisted imagination, Mr Woodson. I made it as far as the doorway and chickened out—there was too much to lose, and Courtney knew it. Still, she forced me into my bedroom and proceeded to punish me—which that night meant sitting backwards on my face as she used clamps on my nipples. Courtney heard a noise in the hall—it was your daughter, on her way to the bathroom. She confronted her, and your daughter said she'd heard quite a bit. I offered her money to keep quiet, but to Melissa's credit she refused it. She said we were cool. Had you begun your relationship at that time?"

I shook my head. "Not till last summer. But I'm sure Anna will agree that we'll need some time to process—"

Anna came hurrying back into the room and drew the blinds. She crossed directly to the couch and extended her hand, pulling Paula Fuller to her feet. "Get naked," she said, ripping her own blouse open. "We have to serve our master."

I cocked my head. Apparently Anna had had more than enough time to process. Paula smiled a cool, knowing smile. "How would our master like us?"

"Undress each other," I said. "Paula, you first. Make my wife naked."

"Yes, sir. But please, master, call me—"

"Do it, fuckpig."

The taller woman finishing unbuttoning Anna's blouse and draped it over a chair. Anna stood there, biting her lower lip and breathing harder, watching Paula's fingers glide over her silky flowered bra. "I love big tits," said Paula, kissing my wife's cheek. "My daughter's are just a little smaller than yours. I'm afraid I got short-changed in that department."

Anna turned her face and kissed Paula's lips. "I don't care how big they are—I can't wait to touch them."

Paula smiled and unhooked Anna's bra, freeing those lovely round globes. She bent down to lick at Anna's hard nipples, but I tapped her on the shoulder and said "Not yet." She blushed and unzipped my wife's skirt, scooching it down to the floor, cooing with pleasure at what she found.

"No undies—naughty Anna. And smooth too! My mouth is watering."

"Your turn," I said. "Anna, let's see what Paula has for us."

Paula kicked off her shoes as my naked wife moved behind her to unzip her slacks and pull them down—and her tiny black panties with them. She too had a perfectly smooth box. Anna went for the blouse next, unbuttoning it from the bottom and tossing it aside, leaving Paula standing proudly in just a black bra—B-cup, nothing to be ashamed of. Anna reached around and opened the bra, and promptly got her pinky finger hung up on one of Paula's nipple rings. "Oh wow," murmured Anna. "I always wondered about those."

"Courtney made me get them," smiled Paula. "Very handy for being led around on all fours."

Anna stood beside Paula and they wrapped their arms around each other. "What next, master?"

I took my shirt off and beckoned them forward. "This has always been a fantasy of mine," I said, guiding each woman to a nipple. They sucked like hungry babies, moaning and smacking their lips and grinding against my thighs. I let them suck until I could barely stand up, and gently pushed them away from my chest. "This is new to me," I said. "I think maybe you should just get to know each other while I sort out what to do with two beautiful slavegirls."

"Pardon me, master," said Anna with a wink, "but would you mind expressing yourself a little more forcefully?"

"Cuntmeat and fuckpig—69, now."

The women laughed and Anna volunteered to be on the bottom. She lay on the floor with a pillow beneath her head, and I watched as our new friend climbed on, buried her face between Anna's legs, and lowered her glistening slit onto Anna's eager face. I think we'd known Paula about fifteen minutes at that point, but they munched each other like old lesbian friends. Paula's long black-and-silver hair spread itself beautifully over Anna's thighs; Anna wrapped her arms tightly around the small of Paula's back. Presently Paula asked permission to fingerfuck Anna's ass. "Granted," I said. "Both of you—work those fingers in each other."

I'll never forget the sight of my wife underneath that woman we'd just met: thighs open, hips bucking, a finger deep in Paula's ass and a face wet with pussy cream—a very happy and contented face. They came together—Paula, it turned out, was a major screamer—and then sat back together against the sofa, holding hands, looking up at me.

"Your cock looks even huger from this angle, master," said Anna.

"Thank you, cuntmeat. But fuckpig—how long has it been since you've had some?"

"Real cock?" said Paula. "Not since Courtney's dad left, so—five years."

Anna kissed her hand. "Poor baby."

"Courtney brought home a boy one weekend last year—and she made that poor boy tease me mercilessly. She made him kneel between my legs and touch the tip to my lips. God, you should have heard me begging—but she wouldn't let him put it in."

"I'm going to put it in. On your knees with your head on the sofa—and Anna, get in position where she can keep her mouth busy."

Put that picture in your head: A lovely slim woman on her hands and knees, her face wet with pussy, while another woman, gorgeous and curvy, holds her legs in the air with her eyes closed and her mouth spouting pre-orgasmic gibberish. And the curvy woman's husband, his cock buried in the slim woman and his hands clutching her hips, pounding away in a pussy he didn't know existed an hour earlier. That picture—proof of the success of Plan A—is what I'm going to leave you with.

Except for the text I found from Melissa later, which said "You're welcome."