The first two days back at home I must have jerked off a half a dozen times. April had bought me a burner phone, loaded it up with pictures of her (in lingerie, naked, fingering herself, sucking on a dildo, covered in my cum) so that I could both call her and have something to think of her with. She'd given me a pair of her used silk panties too, and I wrapped them around my dick for friction.
It wasn't enough. My sisters were annoyed that I was using the bathroom so much, and my mother worried I had come home with some sort of illness. I came out of the bathroom after shooting a massive load into April's panties and found my mother waiting on the other side of the door. She pressed her hand to my forehead.
"Are you ok, sweetie? It sounded like you were moaning in there and your face is all red. Were you throwing up?"
This close, and with my eyes now opened to the world April had shown me, I took a close look at my mother. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a bun, just like always, and the conservative blouse and calf-length skirt she always wore covered a lot up, but I noticed two things at the same time. First, my mom was really beautiful. I'd always known that in the way lots of boys feel about their mothers, but now I saw it for real, as a man looking at a woman. Her eyes had a few smile lines around them, but her skin was smooth and healthy, and her features (wide eyes, a dainty nose, pursed red lips) were actually pretty stunning. She never wore the make-up I'd come to love on April, but she didn't need it. She was a fox, and having married my father young, she was still in the prime of her life, not yet even forty years old. The second thing I noticed was that my mother's conservative clothing couldn't actually hide a couple of things about her body--namely, her tits and her ass.
Mom was stacked. I guess in my focus on righteousness growing up I'd never seen her as a "woman"---hell, I hardly saw the girls my age as women---but now that I had awoken to the pleasures of the flesh, my mother's sexy figure was undeniable. She was tall, nearly 5'10", just a few inches shorter than me, and the curve of her ass and roundness of her breasts was even more impressive than April's (something I hadn't thought possible). Her waist was narrow, and if she had a little more thickness overall than my skinny sexpot girlfriend, it was in all the right places.
"I'm ok, Mom," I said, instantly wanting to go back in the bathroom and jack it to fantasies of my mother, spread eagled, her cunt open to receive my dick.
God, these were incestuous thoughts! I should have been sickened, but I wasn't. I was turned on. I had descended so fully into the world of sin and lust that I barely even paused at the idea of fucking my mother. Of course, I didn't say that to her.
I left my mother and sought out my sisters. If mom was such a sexy babe, were my younger eighteen-year-old twin sisters as annoying as I'd remembered, or had they been transformed with my new fuck-vision too?
I found them in the basement, playing a board game, stretched out on the floor. I looked them over carefully.
"Fuck me," I whispered to myself.
They were knockouts too. They were both shorter than Mom but taller than April. They were identical twins, Lily with her dark hair in pigtails, Rachel with a single ponytail, both of them with smooth olive-colored skin and full, pouty lips. I couldn't totally get a sense of their bodies under their baggy clothes, but I could tell they weren't as curvy as April or Mom. They had smaller breasts, but I imagined sexy, firm figures underneath all the same. Their faces were stunning, and I just sensed that they had bodies to match.
"What was that Paul?" Rachel said, looking up at me and batting her long eyelashes.
"Oh, uh. Nothing. Just wanted to see what you guys were up to," I said.
This was going to be a long summer.
There was hope, though. When I arrived at church on Sunday I made my way into the congregation and noticed bright red hair in one of the benches. April had come to church. I slid into a pew next to her and whispered, "What are you doing here?"
She squeezed my thigh surreptitiously, her fingertips brushing against my crotch, and whispered back, "I missed you. I missed your C-O-C-K."
I laughed at the idea that spelling out what she wanted would stop nosy neighbors from knowing what she said. Fortunately no one seemed to hear. But how would this work? I couldn't bring her home; my parents would never let us be in my bedroom together. I thought through a plan quickly while I caressed her thigh.
"I have to go sit with my family," I whispered. "Then I have to help serve coffee at the mixer. Meet me in an hour in the storage room. It's behind the chapel. I can't wait to stuff you full."
She licked her lips. I stood up and walked back to my family, very aware that just being near April had caused my soldier to start to stand at attention. If anyone was looking at me closely they would definitely see the outline of my half-thick cock in my slacks.
The sermon was almost tailor made for irony. I don't know if my dad was distracted by April in the audience, her tight green dress and fiery hair somehow drawing more attention to the deep valley of cleavage in her low cut top, or if he had planned a sermon on the temptations of the flesh from the beginning, but it seemed like everything he said was about the wickedness of the world and the lusts of the devil. I wondered if I would feel guilty, but all I could think about was April's round little ass and how my cock was going to feel deep inside it. I spent most of the sermon with a hard-on. And was it my imagination or did Rachel's eyes keep darting to the rising tent in my pants? I held a hymn book over it. I may have become a depraved fuckbeast, but I wasn't quite yet ready for a full flagpole in the middle of my father's parishioners.
I got control of my cock by the end of the sermon so that I wasn't too embarrassed to stand up and serve coffee, greeting the old ladies of the congregation politely, telling them how much I had enjoyed college. I could see April out of the corner of my eye, watching me and laughing--I was acting like the naive little virgin she had so utterly destroyed in the mountains. I'm sure it gave her a thrill to know how the little churchboy was going to ravage her in a few minutes.
That was one distraction. The other was to realize that, for every six or seven stuck up old people and middle aged prigs, my father's congregation also had some serious talent. Mrs. Jones had lips that looked custom-built to be wrapped around a cock. Jane McGee was no older than my sisters but already had cans that rivaled April's. And Widow Harrison had one of the ripest bubble asses I'd ever seen wrapped up in a tight flowered skirt. I envisioned her with the skirt shoved up around her waist, bent over at the table in front of me, my thick dipstick plunging deep in her fuckbox.
These were waters that had been waiting for me to dive in if only I had noticed. And on the serving side of the table with me were the best looking women in the room--my mom and twin sisters. Dressed for church in knee-length dresses, I finally got a better idea of their bodies. My sisters were thin, with tiny waists and a nice curve at their hips--nothing like the absurd hourglasses of April and my mom, but certainly goddamn sexy all the same. Their chests were smaller too--a large B or small C cup, but their taut little bodies still were incredibly inviting, especially when paired with their gorgeous, angelic faces. Rachel was a little thicker than Lily, but both of them could have been models.
And mom--she was the real prize. Her shirt wasn't even tight, but her breasts strained against the fabric, the effect even stronger by how her belt cinched her waist in tight. She was a bombshell, no doubt, and since Dad encouraged them to wear makeup to church (the only time he encouraged it), her lips and long eyelashes looked even sexier. How did Dad keep his hands off of her?
And I'm pretty sure he did. The thin walls in our house meant I could overhear most conversations they had in that room from my bedroom, which shared a wall with theirs. I heard them pray and read scriptures and talk about church functions, but I never heard any sounds of passion. What the hell was wrong with the old man? Had church repressed him so much he wouldn't even fuck a grade-A piece of ass like my mom? If my sisters could have been models, my mom looked like she should have been a porn star. Why weren't they fucking like animals?
