Rachel woke from a pleasant dream. There had been a sound. Again. Someone was knocking on the door of her cabin at the hot springs spa.
"Who's there?"
"Hi, sorry to wake you, it's Susan."
Susan. Susan had been in her dream. Rachel had left the door unlatched.
"Come in," she said, sitting up and pulling the blankets around her.
"I'm sorry, Rachel, we thought--oh, don't you look wonderful?" The scent of coffee floated in with Susan's youthful energy and filled the room. Rachel felt her skin get hot.
"I just woke up, forgive me," Rachel said, smoothing her hair.
"No, I'm sorry. I hoped you'd be awake. Mom and I wondered if you'd like to come over and have your coffee with us. We brought a thermos over from the dining hall."
Rachel's mind created an image of Susan and Joan in bed together, holding coffee mugs with fingers that smelled of each other's juice.
"Sounds wonderful. Just let me pee and I'll be right over."
"Hurry!," Susan turned and ran out the door.
Rachel threw back the blankets and stepped into the bathroom. When she wiped herself, she was already wet. She stepped to the mirror, brushed her hair, and her teeth. She looked at herself. Was this really happening or was she still dreaming?
It's just coffee.
(No it isn't.) You are a pervert who is letting her imagination run away with her. (They invited you.)
Rachel thought she looked both scared and happy. She wasn't sure if she wanted to look sexy. What if she were wrong about these women? She just meet them. (But you heard them having sex.) Maybe she was a pervert, obsessed with a kinky fantasy and seeing it everywhere. Pervert? Perhaps. But she would wear her silk robe again, and if they were perverts too, she was among friends.
*********************
Susan had jumped back into bed and cuddled down next to me before Rachel arrived. We both shouted "Come in!" at the same time, and then smiled at each other. We were so excited, and hopeful. Rachel's hand, and then her head, entered our little cabin. Her cup of coffee awaited her on the bedside table. There was nowhere to sit but the foot of our bed.
"Here's your coffee!," my daughter said, "We noticed you took it with cream, no sugar." Rachel smiled and visibly relaxed at her courtesy, which was a relief since the expression on her face when she saw us in bed together, naked, was a little hard to read. If she had guessed already, she must know now. But I wasn't sure how she felt about it. I think I saw her shiver, and the room was warm. We had made sure the room was warm.
Rachel approached the bed and seemed unable to look at us directly. She picked up her coffee, and looked around for a chair.
"There's no where to sit, dear, you know how these little cabins are all bed. Can you make yourself comfortable with us?" I asked her, and tried not to sound salacious. I handed her one of the too-many pillows the resort supplied.
"Love to," Rachel said gamely, and climbed up. She was wearing that pretty silk robe I'd seen her the day before, the one that didn't hide her little nipples. When she sat on the end of the bed, her robe opened, and I could see the curve of her breast. Just a few more minutes.... I hoped. I hoped.
Rachel settled in, and took a sip of coffee. "Oh, that's good, thank you."
And she smiled at me. Good, now she could look at us, and really see that yes, her new mom and daughter friends were naked in bed together, and what she thought we did was what we did. I looked back at her and tried to say it with just a look. But it was the moment where either something had to be said, or done, or else we would lapse into small-talk and never do what we all three wanted to do.
Susan did it, of course. My daughter's timing for smoothing social--or sexual--awkwardness is perfect--the way that we became lovers is a perfect example of it--and this was another.
"Oh Mom, " Susan murmured, and she snuggled even closer to me under my arm and held me closer with hers, "I wish we didn't have to leave today."
And then, in a gesture that still gives me rushes when I remember it, she moved her hand from my waist to my breast, and boldly and tenderly squeezed it. I looked down at her--how I love my daughter!
"Mom, your breasts drive me crazy!"
And then she turned and took one nipple between her lips and began to nurse, like a baby, but her hand on my other nipple was just like a lover. She thrilled me, and I gasped, and then looked at Rachel.
She was watching us, of course--what could be more beautiful than an all-grown-up daughter sucking the breasts of her mother, a perfect picture of love, intimacy, and desire stronger than any taboo.
"Rachel," I said, with tenderness, "You must have known we were lovers?"
"Yes," she said, then swallowed. "I heard two women making love...."