My need for Weed began in late August. Weed was her nickname, and had been from when she first sprouted upward as a young girl, taller than all her classmates of any gender. She’d stayed rail thin over the years, though active and successful in volleyball and track.
Weed’s mom, Eva, was my wife’s best friend. Eva was tall like Weed, but buxom in a way Weed would never be. Last August, Weed matriculated at the local university, the same school where an innocent, nerdy me had met two lovely girls, one tall named Eva, one quite short, named Carrie, a couple decades ago.
Since Eva and Edith (No wonder the poor girl used a nickname: what parent in the second half of the 20th century names their child Edith?) lived hundreds of miles away, when the university notified them of a last-minute repair needed to Weed’s dorm room, on the day she was to move in, Carrie insisted her best friend’s daughter stay with us.
We were happy to have Weed stay the week with us until her dorm room would be ready. I agreed before I realized Carrie saw Weed staying in our basement spare room – the closest thing I had to my own man-cave. My combination office and smoking lounge, no tobacco allowed beyond a rare cigar with a friend. The basement was where I smoked pot. Weed.
Now, I had a tall gangly-gorgeous nineteen year old was inhabiting the space, inhibiting my most private habits. Getting high and masturbating.
Now, a curious, too-mature young woman kept me from my stress-reducing, engrained habits.
Now, a willowy, waify, wonder wandered my home, with a face that went from pensive pout to room-brightening grin in an instant, wearing increasing more revealing clothes.
Day one had been a whirlwind of decisions after the burst pipe made her designated room unlivable. Weed was a grumpy, frustrated teen in sweats, stuck off-campus at night while her new classmates explored dorm life.
Day two she’d been gracious. Gone most of the day for orientation, she returned bright-eyed but tired, in skinny jeans that exaggerated already long legs and slim hips and a white t-shirt which bulged in two overly rounded mounds that seemed obviously all-bra. Carrie received a hug of thanks first. Pulling back from mine, Weed – my height, or a hair taller – looked me in the eye and said, “I know I took over your space. If you need me…if you need access to anything, please let me know.”
By day four the bra was gone, at least when she ‘got comfy’ in the evening. Loose shorts left miles of smooth shining legs exposed as she helped clean up after dinner, then curled under her when she joined us for a movie.
Day five, I learned how her legs got their shine, after Weed came home early and surprised me blowing a hit of smoke into the ventilator fan of her basement bathroom. Fifteen minutes earlier than that and she would have caught me pumping my cock, my computer screen filled with an image of a tall, thin model with open, pouting lips and inviting eyes that reminded me of our young guest.
“I wondered how you were getting along, without your weed. And your space.” She made a small frown, her brows knitting. “I really do appreciate the sacrifice. Thank you.”
“It’s no problem, We…”
“But, you know what else I’d appreciate?” She cut me off. “A hit of whatever I smell right now.”
Hands on hips, she tilted her head, waiting my response. She was young, but an adult and I had heard Eva comment that she trusted the girl to be moderate with drugs and alcohol. The way Weed held the lighter to the pipe, the deep inhales held without coughing, made it clear she had smoked at least a few times before.
She chattered on about school, her tongue loosened by the pot. She used the bathroom to change into her comfy clothes after ushering me out, raising her voice to continue her monologue through the door. She wore the same loose shorts from yesterday and a longer night shirt that covered them. When she first opened the door, I thought she was naked under the top; all I could see below were those long, toned legs.
“Would you hand me that lotion, please?”
I found the large pump bottle on the shelf that doubled as a nightstand.
“Thank you.” He eyes had an extra twinkle that might have been just the weed. She propped one bare foot up on my desk and began applying the lotion to her leg, moving up from the ankle with long, smooth strokes. The position revealed the shorts underneath, ruining the illusion that she might be naked under the thin shirt, but adding a thrill to glimpsing the shorts as underthings now, where they had been pajamas the night before.
Day six, Eva would return. Carrie was picking her up at the airport. We would have at least another day before the dorm was scheduled to be repaired.
Late on Day Five, or possibly very early Day Six, I stared into the dark above our bed. My hand touched my very erect cock as I wondered if I could beat off without waking Carrie, sleeping beside me. Images of long legs being lotioned, parted puffy lips threatening another smile, and equally puffy nipples, pushing out a thin nightshirt, all kept me far from sleep.
Carrie rolled over to face me, mumbling. My wife’s arm wrapped over me as she snuggled closer. Her forearm bumped, dragged across my aching hard-on until her fingers found it. They explored.
“Mmmm.” She nuzzled in against my shoulder. Her voice was cloudy with sleep. “Honey. You’re so hard.”
A leg slid up over mine. I could picture the toned, tan limb I knew so well. I had been immediately attracted to Carrie, her blond hair swinging in a ponytail from the back of her cap, muscles creasing her legs under a short white skirt, flexing as she planted her back foot before a two-handed return down the sideline of the college tennis court. Even though the school paper wanted photos of all the team’s matches, I had given only the barest attention to shooting anyone other than the short, almost muscular blond playing second singles.
Exploring fingers wrapped around me, began a slow, slow jacking of the skin up and down my shaft. “I know why my hubby’s hard.”
Pump. She kissed my shoulder, leaving a flick of tongue before her lips retreated. I groaned and pushed into her hand, a guilty flash of Weed, and slick hands sliding up long bare legs.
“My glamorous old roommate is going to be here tomorrow.” Pump. “She’s teased you for years.”
It was true, but it was more true that my wife teased me about her tall, exotic friend. Teased, but danced away from any attempt on my part to steer her toward actually including Eva in our erotic menu. Carrie liked to talk, to role play about sharing me with another woman, but nothing beyond talk.
Pump. “You like the idea of her sliding into the guest bed, naked, that tall, gorgeous body, so long and slender, and those big, impossible tits. ”
Carrie still refused to believe that I preferred small, or next-to-none, breasts. She had been insecure about her own figure, and the attention her tall, full-chested friend received only reinforced it. Instead, I found my future wife’s nearly hard-bodied, athletic body irresistible, especially after I learned how responsive it could be, how it could be sent into one massive climax after another.
She pushed the covers down to my thighs, bending closer to her hand’s work. I felt silky hair before her cheek came to rest on my stomach. Pump. “Such a hard, hard hubby. Bet he’d like to feel Eva’s full lips wrapped around this fat cock.”
Pump. Pump. My hips moved into the pleasure. “Yeah. Fuck those fat lips. That’s it. I’d probably have to show the bitch how to suck my man’s cock, though.”
Pump. I groaned again, not by choice. “Uh huh. You want me to show her how you like it?”
Pump. “Put my hands on the back of her head and teach her to be a good cocksucking slut for you?”
My hips shoved up when Carrie followed up teasing words with her own hot lips wrapped around me, sucking above her fist. She pumped faster. She slurped further down the shaft. I felt her hips now, grinding against me.
The slurping sensation of her lips disappeared as she clambered above me. A hand dragged my swollen head between her thighs, finding slickness there. Carrie whined as the first drop of her weight forced most of the head in. I was slick with her spit, but her body was still awakening.
“Come here.” She knew exactly what I meant. In an instant she was crouched above my chest, pushing her hips closer to my mouth. A hand clapped over her own open mouth stifled the cry when I began to lick. No teasing, this was to get her as ready as I was, to get her wet, open. A long stroke of my tongue pushed in between her lips, the next forced them wider, wetter.
“Enough.” Her whisper was harsh as she climbed back down to my waist in the dark.
“Uhh!” She dropped down on me again, over guiding fingers. I liked it when she got hungry like this, eager, wanting my cock inside without delay. I also liked teasing her, taking my time to let pressures build in her. I had never been with anyone who could explode with orgasm after full-body orgasm like Carrie could, when properly stimulated. Sessions could take well over an hour and leave us both exhausted. This was not the time for that.
Her hips rocked and she shimmied me further inside, began to fuck herself on me. I heard a long hiss from above on the final stroke down that buried me in full. My hands found firm small cups, rolled and pulled on two erect nipples. It was her turn to groan and her motion switched to deep circles, keeping me deep.
“Don’t hold back, baby. Fuck her ’til you cum. Fill her full of your cum for me, baby.”
This was an old, favorite and reoccurring fantasy. Another woman, most often Eva, and me pumping my release inside her with no time or concern for anything but my own climax. I think part of her attraction to the idea was my own delight in extracting every last orgasm from her quivering body before giving her my own. The idea of me being the one cumming out of control seemed central to her fantasies.
Even as aroused as I’d been when she discovered it, I knew I wasn’t going to cum quickly with her riding me. Carrie squealed when I swept her up with an arm around her waist. I levered our weight up and twisted, landing her on her back, under me. Strong, lean thighs wrapped me close, even as half a breath was forced from her lungs as the move dropped me onto her, forced my length deeper.
“Yes, baby, yes. Fuck her for me.” I knew she wanted me to cum in her conjured large-breasted friend, but I plunged into my own image of Eva’s daughter, Weed’s long legs and arms clinging to me. Weed’s tight pussy pulsing around each thrust in the dark.
I couldn’t suppress my cry when I came. The intensity surprised me. Afterwards, Carrie held me as twitching shivers subsided. Before long she rolled away, pulling my arm around her waist. Her breaths slowed, evened.
Sleep still alluded me, chased away by thoughts of Weed and how hard I had just cum inside – in my mind – our young guest. I pulled my arm free and slipped out of bed. I knew Carrie was out for the night now. Leftovers -Chinese takeout -might distract me enough for sleep. I pulled on flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt to test my hypothesis.
I almost dropped the square paper container of General Tsao’s as I jumped. By the light of the open refrigerator, I could see Weed standing with a half smile, leaning against the doorway. The thin sleepshirt covered her to near mid thigh, which still left a mile of tan, slim legs. Her pretty face was scrunched up, squinting against the light. She sounded groggy. The microwave clock said 2:08. Morning indeed.
She shuffled across the vinyl floor in oversized slippers I hadn’t seen yet and wrapped her arms around me in a hug. Her body was relaxed, almost collapsing against me, still sleepy. My wife was petite, but my arms seemed to reach almost twice as far around Weed’s skinny frame.
“You smell like sex.”
She was my height or a hair taller, much taller than my wife, so my face buried against her neck, chin to her shoulder and nose under her ear as she leaned into me. She smelled like pot. Weed. My pot. Mixed with a sweet, girly musk. I had no idea how to respond to her.
“Damn. You really smell like sex.” She drew a slow sniffing breath in my hair, then along my jaw, repeating the exact words, stretching them out with more deliberate emphasis. I shivered. It felt electric. Her pixie nose dragged up to the corner of my mouth, still tracing the scent. Her mouth was close to mine, the sweet, pouty lips I had fantasized about so many times recently. Fantasized about those lips kissing mine, about them wrapping around my cock like they sealed around the end of my glass pipe.
The tip of her tongue flicked out, sampled the skin near where my lips joined, where she had last sniffed. I held myself motionless.
“Yes.” She whispered, lips vibrating against my skin. “Pussy.”
I moaned. Weed leaned in, her thighs and stomach hard on mine. My arms responded without permission, wrapping even further around her. Lips kissed, tasted along my jaw, feather light, weighty with promise. “Mmm. Nice and fresh.”
She pushed her tiny hips in harder, found my swelling shape. I hard button of nipple pressed against my chest. “I always wondered how Aunt Carrie tasted. I wanna another sample.”
Her body dragged lower against me, her clinging hands walking down my back until they found my ass, until her slim, silky body slipped below my arms. Dropping to her knees, she sucked my swollen head through the thin fabric of my pants. Air hissed in between my teeth at the feeling of heat that radiated around my cock through the light flannel.
One hand scrabbled to find my waistband and tug it down. Early training kicked in and I started to close the open refrigerator door. I realized it was the only light in the room, left it where it was, and turned so the light cast over one side of Weed’s face, showing the concentration there as she fished a hand through the open fly and pulled me free.
She cradled my length in delicate, long palms and fingers, allowing hot breath out between lips, she hovered millimeters from the sensitive, heavy head.
Then her tongue was out, sliding up the tender underbelly as her big eyes came up to find mine. Carrie’s juices, mixed with my own cum, wouldn’t have had time to dry.
I shuddered at the sensation of her first bob down, taking half my length past her stretched-open lips, compounded by the humming vibration of her appreciation. Slim fingers squeezed my cheeks, pulling me deeper. I could still feel her tongue laving me, inside sealed lips. Then the pulsing contraction of her swallowing, and again, taking in the residue she cleaned from me, the co-mingled residue of my recent sex, my cumming so hard inside my wife while picturing this lithe young waif.
This was Weed, the thin beauty who had kept me awake, tormenting my thoughts. Who had teased me the way she had slid lotioned hands up long bare legs, putting on a show for me. Weed, now sucking, stroking, swallowing the combined fluids of my recent fucking, smelling like the weed she must have smoked just now, from my stash.
She made a small gagging sound when she pushed her head down, trying to take all of me in. To my surprise, she didn’t retreat. She pushed again, and gagged. Her head tilted, rubbing my head against the back of her mouth, pushed again.
I stopped my urge to grab her head, force her down on me. Her third try, without my help, brought her nose close to my stomach and a warm, tight new pressure surrounding my head. Then she pulled back, gasping as full, wide lips released their seal and opened wide.
Her eyes shone bright up at me. A ‘C’ of thumb and forefinger pumped up and down my shaft. “Cum in my mouth. Please.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The hand I placed on the back of her head did little more than encourage her back down. Her mouth felt hot after the cool morning air, the leaking refrigerated air, on my wet cock.
Her lips stretched around my, muffling soft, slurping sounds from within Weed’s mouth. I had never cheated on my wife. I had never thought any sexual contact with this gorgeous waif would ever leave the realm of the imagination. I had never experienced a mouth doing what this one was doing to me.
My thighs began to shake. It must have taken no more than 90 seconds and I was exploding, with groan after shuddering groan, erupting streams of cum into her mouth as least as hard as I had earlier into Carrie. First time, I pictured myself plunging into young Weed. This time, I watched the thin beauty suck and swallow, suck and swallow, working fingers and thumb up my shaft to extract the last drops of seed.
Weed stood, dragging her slight body up along mine. Both nipples were obvious now through the thin shirt. Her long, lean back arched, pulling her face away from mine as she reached full height. She grinned, eyes down and suddenly shy.
“Thanks for letting me…do that.” Her eyes came up, big, vulnerable, restless. “I’d really like to kiss you, but if I do, I’ll fuck you.”
I moaned at her words. Slim fingers traced my tingling shaft, still standing out with only a slight droop beginning. Her other hand tugged up at the hem of her shirt, exposing slim thighs and nothing but her. No shorts, no panties, no hair. Almost. The lightest dusting of short-trimmed shading darkened her lowest belly before it disappeared between her legs, away from my sight and the refrigerator’s light. I moaned again, a lost, helpless sound.
She dragged my cock up between those thighs, hissing as she parted her own slick, bare lips with my sensitized head. I saw her eyes roll up before her head tilted back, exposing a long, graceful throat to me.
My focus locked on a thick white drop of my cum, under one corner of her mouth. It glistened in the light when she smiled. “And I won’t fuck you without Aunt Carrie’s permission.”
Weed made a face of surprise, as though she had just had a thought. “Isn’t your birthday coming up? Maybe this could be your present.”
She dipped her fingers between her own thighs, large front teeth scraping back over her lower lip, narrowly avoiding pulling the single drop of cum into her mouth. My mind spun at the suggestion, especially at the notion that sweet, sexy, young Weed might want to go further than she already had with me, with a man twice her age.
“Now.” Weed caught my eyes, held them with her own. A single finger rose and scooped the white glob from her lip. It shone, shimmering on her fingertip between us. “I’m going downstairs and think about your birthday present. This finger is gonna push that little bit of cum as deep as I can into my very wet pussy. Another finger’ll start little circles, a little closer to my quivering, flat, sexy belly. And when the pressure in that belly gets to much, thinking about your birthday present – thinking about you pumping as much of your seed into my pussy as you just did into my mouth – I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum hard, thinking about your cock inside me, in your office, staring at your ceiling, smelling your smells and whispering your name. Sweet dreams, sweet man.”
She spun on bare feet and was gone. I wasn’t sure if I heard a final trailing giggle or not. I wasn’t sure of much, other than that I was unlikely to sleep well at all.
Back in bed next to Carrie, I stared toward the ceiling again, picturing Weed looking up at another ceiling, cumming hard with her finger and my seed inside her. Eventually, I did sleep, because I awoke to full daylight, my wife’s spot empty. I remembered she was heading to the airport early, to meet Eva’s flight. The two planned on lunch and shopping before the drive home.
Weed had more orientation events today, so I should have the house to myself, starting with my stash downstairs. I heard the distant grumble of thunder and noticed the grey light of threatening summer rain.
Leaning back in my office chair ten minutes later, I exhaled again and shook my head in disbelief. Weed – adorable, wonderful Weed – had sucked my cock and offered much more. I saw her face as she slid a thin finger and my fresh cum inside her still-teenage little slit.
Normally, Eva’s visits stimulated fantasies of the ex-roommates threeway that Carrie teased me with, and helped fuel our sexual banter. Now, even knowing the flirtatious object of those fantasies would be here soon, my mind wouldn’t leave her daughter. I packed a second bowl in my glass pipe before the doorbell rang.
I headed upstairs. My loose shorts, with no underwear, would be fine to sign for a package or say no to a canvasser. No one else was expected. The bell rang again, insistent.
The third ring, as I reached for the deadbolt, was too much. Irritated, I swung the door open wide, heard a quiet, fervent, “Please be there. Please please.”
“Weed?” Since she had her own key to the house, I didn’t expect the young girl to ring the bell. Or to look this way.
“I got muddy.”
“I can see that.” The girl looked lankier than usual, sweatpants and formerly-white t-shirt clinging to her, soaked and filthy. “Tug O’ War?”
She nodded, eyes down, after I remembered the school tradition. “I didn’t want to get the carpet dirty. Can I go through the garage?”
“Good idea. Carrie’s new carpet appreciates it.” I saw Weed shiver; she seemed to almost wobble off balance. “Go on around. I’ll open the door.”
After pressing the button to raise the big garage door I hurried downstairs and started water running in the shower to let it warm. Back upstairs, I began speaking as I opened to door between the kitchen and garage. “I started the shower for…”
Weed balanced herself with one hand against the wall. She had already stripped off the t-shirt, leaving only a thin, spaghetti-strapped camisole, askew and stained, clinging to her top. The sweatpants tangled between her ankles, caught up on the muddy sneakers she still wore. With one knee bent, lifting a long, very bare leg, she needed the supporting hand as the raised foot stretched the pants upward but failed to slip free.
The wet camisole highlighted the tiny rounded cup of a breast and its proud, hard cap. It had ridden up enough to show most of her smooth belly, ‘flat’ in the sense of no bulging at all where it disappeared into her waistband, but without any truly flat places at all among a multitude of subtle curves. But a even an erect nipple in a wet shirt couldn’t hold my attention from its target.
The waistband at the lower edge of Weed’s lovely tummy topped a pair of tight, flowered boy-short panties. The top half of the thin, stretchy material was dry. It was the lower half that held me, speechless and spellbound.
Soaked, almost translucent, somehow the panties managed to cover a wide swath of space between slim thighs that seemed almost too far apart. With her leg straining up to escape her sweatpants, the gap between her legs looked wide enough for me to slip my hand four fingers-wide, up and against her. I could see a clear central dip cleaving the center of the space.
My mind saw my hand filling that space, my middle finger, the thickest and longest, pushing wet fabric deeper into the cleft.
I didn’t move, until she stumbled after a more violent tug against the hobbling pants. Two steps and I caught her by an arm. Weed probably would have caught herself but she smiled, a little sheepish, and leaned into me. I was very aware of her skimpy wet top against my bare chest. “I’m stuck.”
“I got muddy.”
“You mentioned that.”
“And a little drunk.” Her lips had gotten closer to my neck to where I could feel her breath. She shivered again. Without thought, my arms went around her. “Mmm. Keep me warm.”
I held her close for a slow breath, maybe two. “Let’s get you out of these pants.”
Not what I expected to be saying to a drunk girl this afternoon.
“Yeah. Get me outa these stupid pants.”
I kneeled down to where I could work the wet heavy cotton over one sneaker. She had managed to get both shoes wedged inside the legs of the pants. When she stumbled again, almost falling over me, I settled on keeping one hand on her hip while I used the other to free her.
I didn’t hurry, enjoying both Weed’s inebriated giggles and the feel of her almost-nude body in my supporting hand, my palming the thin boy-shorts, my thumb stroking the bare skin of the lean valley above her hipbone.
“Aren’t you too young to drink?”
“I was early. One of the frats had a pre-Tug O’ War warm-up. They asked me to be part of their team.”
“I’ll bet they did.”
“Hey. They’re nice.”
“And they want to make sure you stay nice and close when there’s going to be wet, muddy action.”
Even though she could balance better once I had freed the first foot, I kept my hand at her waist. The pants finally released their second prisoner and I stood. Weed’s big eyes were level with mine and focused, inches away. Her hand found mine on her hip. “Do you like having me nice and close, when I’m dirty…and wet?”
“Wobbly.” I compromised. “And it’s time to get wobbly girl into the shower.”
She squealed when I scooped her up into my arms. “Can’t let you muddy up the house.”
Long arms wrapped around my neck as I carried her inside, down the stairs. She nuzzled in under my jaw, against my neck. I stopped to ease the bathroom door open with my foot, releasing a flood of steam. I felt a soft kiss on my neck, and a tongue’s slow swirl inside it.
I carried her into the shower’s spray, letting it hit us both with almost too-hot water. Weed’s lips continued to nibble under my ear as we stood that way, her slim long frame in my arms. When my shorts were as soaked as hers I let my grip ease.
“Okay, drop your legs. Time to stand up on your own.”
“Do I hafta? It feels good here.” She nuzzled closer, holding tight around my neck. “Alright.”
Weed made it a process. An intimate, slow process, dragging her wet body down against mine, keeping as much bare skin in contact as she could, both arms still behind my neck. When her feet reached the fiberglass floor of the shower, her bare toes rested on mine. Slick, wet legs and belly pushed against mine. I was stiff and hard and caught between us, pressed fast to her, unmistakable.
The tip of her nose brushed my own. “I like you.”
“I like you too, Weed.”
“No. I really like you a lot. I’m not sure I should tell you how much.”
“Well, wait ’til you’re sober and tell me then.”
“Really?” Her smile was wide and bright. “I can tell you? I’ve been too nervous to.”
Her arms wrapped lower, around my chest in a hug. “Thank you.”
The strength of her reaction to being able to tell me started to make me nervous. She distracted me with a wriggling motion where our lower bodies met before pulling back enough to look down between us. My shorts tented out, pointing at her sopping boy-shorts and what they barely hid. “Does it hurt?”
I shrugged. “At first, but after enough foreplay most girls say they can take it.”
Her head snapped up, mouth open. I watched realization dawn in her eyes, slowed by the alcohol. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” I needed to change the subject away from sex, especially with her current drunken boldness. “Are you ready to rinse off, muddy girl?”
I eased back out of her arms, leaving her alone in the spray. She pouted. “What? You don’t like me when I get all dirty anymore? You liked it when I got all dirty and sucked your cock last night. It’s okay. I’ll rinse off for you.”
She stood before me, a vision of a nymph under a cascading waterfall. Camisole and panties hid nothing, accentuated small parts into featured roles. Her breasts were tiny, rounded, perfect under sopping cotton more revealing than most swimwear. The darker ring surrounding each raised nipple was clear through the thin, clinging wet fabric. When my eyes returned to her face, I found a knowing grin. She knew how much I wanted her.
“I better soap up.”
I hadn’t even considered soap, suds, on her. It was time for me to leave her to her shower. Weed reached down for the bottle of liquid body soap. I reached for the sliding glass door.
“Woop!” Sober, she would have caught herself from the small slip. Drunk, the young girl over-compensated for the first slip of her foot, causing both feet to lose any traction on the slick fiberglass. I reacted, dropping down as I reached out, as soon as I saw her fall.
I caught her, one arm ending up between her legs, the other around her waist. It was a precarious position, leaning together against one tiled wall. “Are you okay?”
She scraped upper teeth over her lower lip before she answered with a slow forward grind of her crotch along the arm that held her. Slowly back. “Feels pretty good.”
I ignored that. “Can you stand?”
She nodded. “If you hold me.”
I sighed, eased us up to a vertical position. She spun, facing away from me and retrieved the soap. My hands fell to her slim hips. “Just keep me from falling. I can soap myself.”
Weed applying lotion to her long legs was nothing like this. Now she was soaked, nearly naked, and letting soapy hands travel seemingly at random over her body. While I had to keep her upright.
At first she washed places with mud, places where my hands weren’t. After squeezing out more body wash, both her hands made a quick swirl of suds over her belly before sliding up under her camisole. She leaned back against me, giving me a view over her shoulder of foaming suds massaged into twin tiny handfuls, her top pushed up and out of the way. Again, lower, I was trapped hard between us, this time with my rigid length separating her round little bottom.
I watched a hand leave one breast, my eyes caught on the abandoned nipple, dark above a sea of foamy flesh. The hand disappeared from sight, her arm stretching down. Her hips in my hands, her motion against me, told me where her hand had found itself, what it was now soaping. Weed’s moan near my ear confirmed it.
The second breast was soon abandoned. A hand traced down her side, spreading soap over her hip. I allowed it to knock my hold on her aside, and lightly moved my supporting grip to her arm. It was only a moment before she brushed my hand aside again. I returned it to her hip as she giggled.
Soon, both slim hands, ostensibly soaping her body, were busy chasing mine off of her, so they could land elsewhere on her. As the giggling increased, so did her motion against me, grinding back, raising and lowering along my length.
I moved a chased hand up again to where I could settle it on her upper arm. Weed twisted. My hand cupped full over a breast, and was immediately covered by her own hand, squeezing. The nipple was a pebble in the center of my palm.
“Oops.” She twisted back, smiling. Her hand pushed mine back to her hip. “Hold me. I need to take these off.”
She pulled the camisole over her head in a quick motion before bending forward almost double. I held her waist on both hands, pinning her now to me. I suppressed a groan at the sight of her bent over, the long expanse of sleek smooth naked back, and the feeling as I pressed deeper, lower, into the hollow where her bottom ended.
“Give me a little room.” She wiggled on me, her fingers slipping under her waistband. I eased back. In a instant, the sopping panties were down around her ankles. She slipped them free of feet still in soaked sneakers. The shoes were now all she wore. I groaned again, pressing close once more, my hands gripping.
“Hey. This is a shower, remember?” Her lilting tone was a playful tease. She stood and twisted to face me. “I think I have the mud off, now I just need to finish up.”
More soap, and her hand again plunged between her legs, scrubbing. Her other hand produced a razor. “Keep me steady.”
She leaned against the tiles, to stabilize herself. Still, I kept my hands on her naked body. I watched as she first shaved down the thin shadow of hairs above her slit.
And watched, awestruck and silent, when she brought one foot up to brace on the far wall. She was open and on display, fingers performing a familiar dance as she held herself stretched wide and smooth for shaving on one side, then the other. She worked as much by feel as by sight, adding soap as needed.
After a final rinse, Weed slid one hand between her thighs, feeling carefully. Her eyes were closed in concentration. Her inspection seemed very thorough. I could hear the rapid beat in my arteries even over the water’s spray. “Feels smooth to me. Now you check.”
My face must have shown shock at least, because she laughed at my reaction. “What? I just want to make sure I’m nice and smooth. I might just end up someone’s birthday present, ya know.”
Her fingers entwined with mine, dragged the hand down. I have never felt anything smoother. “That’s it. Make sure I didn’t miss anywhere. Yes. Check it all.”
Once I gave in, once I was touching her there, the purpose didn’t matter. I was still exploring, slowly tracing finger tips over every spot that might have possibly seen a hair, when she leaned into me. I felt a vibration of rising tension coming from her before the first bigger tremor, shudder of nervous energy.
“Yessss.” She encouraged the one finger, again the middle one, that traveled in a long soft passage the length of her central opening.
“I’m not finding any hairs you missed.”
“Keep checking.” Slim fingers gripped my wrist, held it low against her. Swollen, tender lips parted at the next stoking touch. My finger eased a small ways inside. The shudder that answered was deeper.
An arm encircled my neck. Her lips found my jaw, kissing at my own rough razor stubble. I pushed in.
“That’s it. Check there.”
I held her to me with my free arm snug around her waist. The rapid subtle vibration and the deeper, periodic shudders became one and the same as my touch deepened. I was making no pretense of checking her shaving prowess. I was no longer teasing along her folds. I held her to me and fucked her with my fingers. First, the middle one. Then, its index companion, curving up and into her together, massaging, retreating, retaking.
Weed made no more sounds that could be called words, until after the shuddering shakes rose to a writhing climax. She cried out as she released, after a series of more and more anxious mewling sounds announced my second finger joining the first inside, then their inward massage accompanied by outward circles of my thumb over a sensitive nubbin just above.
I held her there, truly supporting her now, my fingers squeezed by a series of deep contractions. I held her close to me, my arm tight around her waist, the water spraying down on us. I held her until the shaking stopped.
Not sure how much effect the alcohol still had, I wrapped Weed in a large towel and used it to both dry her and hold her upright. Then I scooped her into my arms again and deposited her on the bed. Her eyes were closed when her head hit the pillow; face like a content angel. I left her there to sleep.
Not long after, I must have nodded off on the couch in the living room. I awoke to Carrie and Eva’s voices, and the jarring sounds of keys and doors. Both hopping onto the couch, they made me the center of their threeway hug. Wrapping my arms around both reinforced the difference in their height, even seated.
They were both laughing and interrupting each other, and it took several minutes for them to tell their adventure of the trip, when they encountered a group of drenched, bedraggled and disappointed attendees leaving the annual Nude Day event at a park outside town.
‘Officially’ Nude Day is in July, but local organizers had hoped that the view would improve if they scheduled their celebration when college students were more abundant. The sudden rain, lightning, and unseasonable chill had ruined nudist plans.
“The weirdest thing was the hair.” Eva’s face was animated with excitement. I could feel a full breast against my side and one slim calf rested over my lower leg. “Too much, or none at all.”
“Either bald or dreadlocks?”
“No, silly.” Eva snuggled in closer. My wife followed suit from her side. “Well…kind of.”
“She means pubes.” I jumped at Weed’s voice. “And maybe armpits.”
“Baby!” Eva used a hand high on my thigh to push herself up. It only lingered an instant longer than necessary before she dragged long fingers toward my knee, then turned to wrap her approaching daughter in a hug. Weed’s bare feet and lower legs showed below her bathrobe. Eva wore a light flowing dress, probably silk, that ended just above the knee. “Why aren’t you dressed?”
Weed looked like Carrie and Eva’s loud entrance had woken her up too. I sympathized, because I knew she might be a little hungover. “I got muddy. We had to do this Tug O’ War and…”
“Tug O’ War!” The former roommates sang it out in unison.
“…so I needed to take a shower. I was filthy dirty and soaking wet.” Weed’s eyes flashed over her mother’s shoulder at me.
“A shower. Carrie, didn’t I say I needed a long steamy shower after that flight? And our nudist friends reminded me it’s time to clean up a little down there too. I’m not to the dreads stage yet but it’s close.”
Yeah, right.” Carrie had always called Eva on her BS, where most people gave the glamorous woman a pass. This time her knowledge surprised me. “You’ve got a cute little landing strip.”
“What?” My wife reacted to my surprise with a shrug. “Changing rooms. Trying on clothes. You see things. She used to have a heart carved in.”
Carrie sat up. She managed to drag her fingers in a pretty good imitation of Eva’s tease down my other thigh before heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll get a bottle of wine, and some extra towels. I’ll take the tub; you can have the shower and steam.”
Weed made a face at me, somewhere between amusement and disgust. The two friends had been more than casual about nudity with each other since their days as roommates. Eva finally released her daughter, with a final kiss on the cheek. The younger of the two tall beauties flopped down in the recliner, opposite the couch.
“Careful in that robe, baby girl.” Eva flipped the hem corner back over exposed leg. “It’s easy to show more than you intend.”
“Thank you, Mother.” Eva had turned and didn’t see the eye-roll.
Eva dropped back down next to me. The slit in her dress showed much more leg than her daughter’s robe had. A wedge of bronze skin ran more than half way up a long, slender thigh. A whiff of her scent, almost musky and promising entrancement, hit me when her head tilted close to rest on my shoulder. “Do you want me to keep the landing strip, or go full pool ball?”
She had teased me like this for too many years for me to be overly surprised. “And this is my decision because…?”
“When you finally get around to putting your collar on me and keeping me chained in the basement as a love slave, I don’t want to displease you.” I had twisted to look at Eva when I asked the question and now I saw her face, her eyes, transform into the soft doey innocence of a naive schoolgirl for an instant. Then laughter burst forth, almost too enthusiastic, as Carrie called from the kitchen.
“Are you seducing my husband again, you hussy? I thought you were going to get naked and steamy with me.” The petite blond appeared, with an open bottle and two glasses. This time, when Eva stood, her hand started higher on my thigh and stayed there. It forced her to bend at the waist, the silk dress molding down along the sway of long lean back and over a Capitol-B hind end. A final push on my thigh brought her up to full height.
Eva turned to her daughter before following Carrie. “You didn’t hear that, right, innocent daughter?”
“I didn’t hear anything, and what I did hear, I couldn’t understand at all. Complete gibberish with no point of reference in my universe.”
Weed and I sat in silence looking at each other until we heard the water begin to run.
She raised an arched brow. “A chained-up love slave? Kinky. I mean, you’ve kept me drugged in the basement, but not tied up or anything. Yet.”
With slow, deliberate motions, fingers tugged open the belt of her robe. She leaned back and let both sides fall away, exposing herself to me. She wore nothing under the robe. Endless legs vanished into a shadowy cleft that I knew well was as smooth and hairless as a razor could make it. Above, a soft, lean stomach ending in the arching curve of her ribcage which was in turn punctuated by twin nipples. They crinkled in, hardening and standing out from her chest as I watched.
“Whadda ya think? Would I look better in a collar?”
“Weed, you’re perfect. There is not a single square inch of you that would be improved by being covered up.”
“My god, that’s so sweet. I think you really mean it.” She looked genuinely touched. “So you don’t want to make me your love slave and keep me in chains?”
“It has its upsides, I guess. What do you think?” I had learned when a girl turned a conversation to the kinky, it was best to let her tell me her opinion first.
“I don’t think I want to be tied up. Not for real. I couldn’t stop you from doing whatever you wanted to me.” She trailed fingertips down her belly, slipped them between her thighs as he knees opened a little wider. “To my exposed, helpless, naked body.”
I watched a single long finger disappear inside her. She bit down on her lip, eyes rolling up, exaggerating. “No, I wouldn’t like that at all. Don’t. Stop. Please don’t.”
“Weed. If you don’t stop, I might not be able to. You got to cum today.”
Her eyes widened, the finger stopping its slow pistoning. “You didn’t? Oh my god, does it hurt?”
We both laughed at that question, asked twice today. She sat up, pulling the robe loosely around her. Both nipples were hidden, but barely. “You were so hard in the shower, I was worried about you. And then my mom teasing you like that. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
She pulled the robe closer.
“Weed, it’s okay. I’m horny as hell, and the next load of cum I shoot is going to be huge, but I neither need nor want any apologies from you. You have no idea how delightful it has been to even catch glimpses of your sexy body, let alone the rest of what you’ve shared. You honor me.”
Weed was blushing. She stuttered. “I should go …ah, th-thank you….before they’re done. I should go. Go get dressed. I should really…”
She almost jumped out of the chair, suddenly a nervous fawn. I thought about grabbing her hand as she fled the room. The nearest hand was the one with a finger that would be covered with her juices. I still hadn’t tasted her. If I grabbed that hand I would want to suck her finger clean.
If I got a taste of her, I would want more, need more, and I knew the source was smooth, bare, and unprotected under a simple robe.
I didn’t grab her hand. I let her flee. My head tilted back on the couch enough to see the ceiling. I sighed and wondered if I could relax, get my mind off my maddening need to finish what Weed and I had started. I had no idea what finishing it would even mean, couldn’t imagine that having her, taking her completely, would make me somehow want her less. My thoughts continued to circle around her, swirling with images of the last few days. Images distracting enough that I hardly gave any attention to the thought of my wife and her striking friend, bathing, drinking wine, naked as intimate parts were groomed.
“Where’d she go?” I jumped, attention torn back to the present.
Eva stood, hands on hips. The robe she wore made a mockery of her warning to her daughter. It covered less than half of Carrie’s thighs. A soft plush pink, the borrowed robe concealed the tops of Eva’s thighs, but so much long leg was showing it must have been a near thing.
Higher, the light pink showed two small dark shadows, each a centerpiece on its own full, mounded softness. The tall buxom tease began to play with the hem, with the corner in the front that could be no more than inches from exposing her shaving choice. Landing strip or shorn clean, my imagination filled in a rapid series of possible visuals.
I must have been staring, because I didn’t see or hear my wife approach. Not until toned, feminine arms slipped low around Eva from behind. Carrie’s two hands covered Eva’s one, at the center of my focus. “Good thing my husband isn’t a cat. That much curiosity on one face could kill. I can’t believe you actually wore this down here, you skinny slut.”
“I couldn’t resist. And his face makes it all worthwhile.”
My wife agreed. “Who could resist that eager face? Or…this?”
At ‘this’ Carrie flipped up both sides of the pink robe Eva wore. The corners were held aside for much less than a second. An instant. And plenty of time to see the complete absence of any hair – landing strip, dreadlocks, heart or otherwise. To see pink robe through a gap between long, lean thighs.
The taller woman gasped, spun out of Carrie’s grip. Giggling, she grabbed my wife and tugged her longer, thicker robe aside.
It was my turn to gasp. Carrie jerked away, covering up. “You bitch! That was supposed to be a birthday surprise.”
What I had seen was a fantasy come true. Carrie had trimmed her own hair down. Cut short, she had shaved in three stacked chevrons – like tiny sergeant’s bars pointing up toward her navel, and apparently dyed them black. It was a reference to a favorite, sexy old comic character. Now she looked shy, clapping her robe too tight around herself.
Eva’s arms were crossed, pushing her chest up and out. She tapped a bare foot as she looked at me.
“What?” She looked like something was expected of me.
“Well?” Her tone implied she agreed, but I had no idea what the expectation was. I said nothing.
“Whose is prettier?”
“Eva!” In my head, I thanked my wife for saving me from coming up with an answer. “You know mine is. Anything else he might say is just being nice to a guest. Polite. Right, honey?”
I’d thanked her to soon. At least she had told me how to answer. “Right.”
“Right what: mine is obviously the more lovely coochie, or right you’d be polite and not upset our guest who is obviously so insecure about her appearance?”
Damn. “I would, of course, always strive to be polite to our guests, while finding it hard to believe that yours – even before those beautiful little adornments were shaved in – would ever be in the presence of one lovelier. So I guess it would be for the best, if my expert judging skills are required, to allow for a more prolonged and thorough display before I render any decision.”
“Ha!” Weed barked out the laugh, leaning against the arched entry to the kitchen. “You two thought you had him cornered. The birthday boy turned it around.”
Carrie looked at me. “Skinny bitch with the tits already ruined my birthday surprise. Now I have to come up with something good for tomorrow. Ya wanna look some more before your sure? Maybe we could have a special birthday beauty pageant. How good a look do you need?”
“Look?” Weed was laughing as she said it. “If you two are going have a tastiest taco contest, he’s gonna wanna do more than just look.”
I was a corked bottle in a stormy sea, battered this way and that. I stayed silent, praying the waves merely tossed me onto another cresting swell and not onto rocks.
Weed went on. “And it will have to stay a two way contest. I know my entrance would make it the best birthday present ever -” she looked at me with a smile as she said it – “but it would just leave you two cougars competing for the silver medal.”
“Cougars!” Both roommates turned on Weed. Eva went on. “And how much does my innocent daughter know about taco tasting, huh?”
It was more reflex than plan, but I knew what I needed right then. After the teasing, the flashing, a muddy shower and a young beauty clenching in climax around my fingers, I needed it bad. “Carrie. We should let mother and daughter talk about these things alone. And I have something I wanted to show you. Come upstairs for a minute.”
It sounded so reasonable. I felt as though someone else was speaking through me, doing the job for me. My wife followed as I took her hand and led her up the stairs. I kicked the bedroom door closed. Carrie turned, puzzled. “What did you want to show…”
“This.” I spun her in place, to face the large mirror. I pulled her robe open, my eyes immediately going to new, dark chevrons. My hands guided the robe to the floor and my wife to the bed, on her back. Her face was flushed red, her eyes bright. I shoved down my shorts.
“Damn, boy!” She watched the stiff bounce when I cleared the elastic band. “Has somebody been teased too much?”
I nodded slow agreement. Carrie saw something of what I felt and responded. My need aroused her. Maybe a reddening flush of the skin; I can’t swear I saw a measurable dilation of her eyes; her lips opened, showing the merest white of teeth; her legs eased wider. All subtle signs, but simultaneous in their occurrence, they said ‘I am yours. Fuck me.’
Soon, I would bury my face between those legs and stay for a while. Enjoying the view, the loving effort that went into creating it, and just below, the wonderfully responsive key to sending my sexy wife into a series of explosive climaxes. Soon, but not now.
Grabbing her hips, I lifted and turned her over, kneeled between her legs. She cried out when a freshly licked finger slid up against her from behind. My fingertip found a matching slickness there. I could have pushed in, but continued up. Carrie followed, her round, firm ass, rising with my hand.
Now I tasted her, licking deep, sucking, licking deeper yet, the new chevrony out of sight. Carrie squirmed, but maintained her position, middle up, one side of her head pressed hard into the mattress. I sat back up on my heels before aiming myself against her.
Carrie pushed back, trying to take me in. “Good girl.”
Instead, I dragged the taut head down. Down and under, a passing massage over a hooded, hidden nexus. A soft moan, barely audible, rose into a near-scream cut off short. I brought the head back up to center, to sink a little in between moistening lips. “Now, good girl. Push.”
I’m not sure which of us enjoyed this more. Watching, feeling, experiencing Carrie impale herself on me, on her knees, head down, seeing the palpable tension build in her as she forced me inside her, never failed to seize my whole attention.
It took five, six pushes back and the cries that marked each. It took my encouraging hands and whispers and all my force of will to hold my own hips still despite her unspoken ardent invitation to meet her with thrusts of my own, grabbing hard around her waist and yanking her onto me. It took her close to her first climax as the last push sank me fully within.
But this wasn’t about building up tensions in my wife, or releasing them. This was about release of a different order. I had to fuck, I had to get off, right now. My hands found her petite athlete’s hips. I pinned her to me, pinned myself inside her, grinding. I mimicked her actions: holding still, I pulled her off, letting my shaft ease out until only the head was hidden. Carrie let my hands control her body. I pulled her back until I was seated deep inside again.
Then I lost control. I pulled back, slammed hard into her. I heaved into her while yanking her back to meet each thrust. Carrie howled before she grabbed a fistful of sheets, biting down to silence herself. Out of the cage I had been straining to hold shut, the animal let loose, thrusting again and again.
I knew I wouldn’t, did not want to, last long. A growing straining tightness expanded down my spine. From behind my eyes, tightening my nape, then descending until it reached my core. I looked up at the large mirror, knowing the sight of Carrie in this position, taking my pounding thrusts, would push me over the precipice.
It did. But I also saw something else in the mirror. As my body released, as I pumped my first blast inside of my wife, I saw a flash of pink though the narrow gap of the door. I had kicked it closed, but never checked to see if it latched. Above the pink, Eva’s eyes found mine as I emptied myself in her best friend. If anything, knowing we were being watched only increased the force of my release. Then the pink was gone from the doorway.
When we returned downstairs, mother and daughter both failed at holding back knowing grins. The teasing, mainly from Eva, continued throughout dinner and the evening. The soft brush of a full breast on my arm. A hand on my thigh. And, of course, the conversation. But it all stayed short of any more flashing of intimate parts. The subject of my judging any freshly-trimmed areas didn’t come up again, and I wasn’t going to be the one to broach it.
I turned in early, worn out, while the women continued to talk and drink wine.
Later, in pitch black, I awoke with my naked wife snuggling against me. I was stiff again. Carrie felt it.
“Really?” Her hand pumped a slow rhythm up my shaft, her voice thick with sleep. “You really want her, don’t you? I saw the way she flirts with my husband, the too-tall slut. Your probably thinking of tomorrow and seeing that smooth bare puss again. Yeah, you do like that.”
The pumping hand began to move with more enthusiasm. I groaned, pushing my hips up into the pleasure. I hadn’t realized she had seen Weed’s flirting, between her own drinking and Eva’s over-the-top attention.
Carrie snuggled closer, kissed my bare shoulder. She yawned. “What time is it, horny husband?”
I twisted enough to see my alarm clock. “12:32.”
“Mmm.” She kissed again. “Happy birthday.”
We were both silent. The hand continued its steady stroking. Looking past the dark ceiling, I kept seeing the deep arch in Weed’s slim body, soaked under the shower’s spray, clenched in tension around my fingers, crying out, lost in her release.
“Do you want your present early?” She sounded half-asleep. And a little drunk.
“Depends. What’s my present?”
“Besides having three nude beauties on display?”
“If you want to start that early, I’m okay with that.” I wondered if the girls had discussed the contest after I left for bed. Three? That meant my wife was onboard with my inspecting both mother and daughter.
She squeezed my shaft directly under the head. “I mean your extra present, from me, for being such a good sport this week.”
“And I can have it right now?”
Carrie giggled in the dark. “As long as she’s agreeable. And I think she will be. Probably lying in bed thinking of this nice fat cock right now.”
My wife laughed again. “It’s okay. I can tell how much she wants you. And I know you want to fuck her. Who wouldn’t?”
Her hand slid up over my head, pumping a slick leak from the tip. Her fingers spread it down, massaging slippery circles under the raised, tender ridge. She had to feel the shudder pass though my body as I drew in a deep breath, too stunned and aroused to trust my voice.
“It’s okay.” She repeated. Another kiss lingered on my shoulder. Frictionless finger circled. “Go fuck her. Take the skinny slut. Fill her up with your seed for me. You know she wants it.”
I twisted toward my wife in the bed. I could hear her shallow, rapid breathing. Her second hand found my balls, stroking me below her first circling, pumping one. “Are you serious?”
It was too dark to see her, but my eyes still struggled to find her, find confirmation for her words in her face. Instead, her lips found mine, opened to force a hungry tongue past my teeth. She pulled back. “Yes. Happy birthday, baby. Go. Go fuck her for me.”
I kissed the invisible mouth, both our tongues frantic. I could taste a hint of the alcohol. Then her hand was on my naked chest, pushing. “Go. Before I get jealous and change my mind.”
I stood, pulling on my pajama pants. My hard-on tented them out. “I love you.”
“You better.” Her voice was already even sleepier, but I could still hear her satisfied smile.
I had permission. Weed had told me I needed it before she would let me fuck that incredible, slim young body, feel it explode in rapture squeezing around my cock. Now I had what I needed, to get the Weed I craved.
I padded silently past the guest room door, where Weed’s mother slept. If she heard footsteps and decided to see who was awake at this hour, it could ruin everything. Still, I couldn’t help picturing Eva’s body, naked under the covers, her soft, full breasts that she had pressed against me so often last night, exposed and ripe to squeeze. I needed no lights to find my way through the kitchen and down the basement stairs.
“Weed?” I whispered it as I eased open the door to my studio-office, now the young beauty’s temporary bedroom.
I started when a metallic sound broke the silence. Orange light sparked out of the pitch dark, a couple feet above the low bed. A lighter, and a flash of high cheekbones defined by the harsh, sudden shadows. She was cross legged on the bed, my glass pipe to her lips, now drawing the flame down to a glowing ember, sucking smoke into her lungs. She was naked, I thought, but still enshrouded by the multiple shadows thrown by the single flickering flame.
I pulled the door closed behind me and locked it without looking. My finger around the round dial of the rheostat, spun it to low before flipping on the light switch. On its dimmest setting, the light seemed close to too bright. Weed drew in, expanding her narrow chest to its full extent before offering the pipe – my pipe – to me. Her voice was tight, holding in the smoke. “Wanna hit?”
Her offer, extending her arm out to me, exposed her bare, flat chest. I stepped close, looking down at her as I took the offering, our fingers lingering over each other. I lit the bowl again, drew in smoke.
“Wow. Somebody is happy to get some weed.” I looked down, saw her staring at my still-tented pants. Her eyes came up to mine. “May I?”
A hand slipped into the fly without waiting for an answer, fished my length out and into view. She leaned close, full lips opening as they drew near the head. A pink tongue slipped out, dragging a lingering tasting lick up the underside. A shiver passed up my spine. “Hmm. Doesn’t taste like pussy this time.”
“Not yet.” Her eyes widened at my response. “Move over.”
I tapped her shoulder, nudging her back on the bed so I could sit, join her. Join this stunning and stoned, nubile and naked teen. I marveled at where I found myself.
Weed responded by flopping onto her back. My breath caught. She was entirely exposed, legs open to reveal the smoothness I had explored in the shower, tiny breasts vanished except for two raised dark nipples pointing to the ceiling.
I knelt between her thighs, one knee on the bed. Reaching down, I let the mouth piece of the glass pipe – a hollow bulbous swelling the size of a large marble – drag up along the crease splitting her flawless shaved center. Weed whined, a half-protest, and the split opened. Damp petals showed themselves before they too opened, at the next pass of the pipe. I watched the mouthpiece disappear.
“Wait a min…”
“Suck.” I cut her off, pulling up from between her legs, I pushed the pipe past her lips. “Taste.”
Her eyes stayed fixed on mine, looking up enough that white showed under both dark, intense centers, while she did as she was told. Weed took her time to clean her own juices off the glass.
“That’s the pussy I’m going to taste like soon.”
She shook her pretty head. “No.”
“Yes. Now move back.” This time, she did scoot enough that I could kneel on the bed, close between her legs.
“Oh yes.” I leaned over her naked body. “Kiss me.”
“Yes you can.”
“No. If I kiss you I won’t be able to stop.”
“You don’t have to stop.”
“Really?” Her smile was bright, eyes twinkling. “Auntie Carrie gave us permission?”
I shrugged, deciding not to think too much about the extra little thrill I felt when Weed called my wife that. “It’s my birthday. Now kiss me. I’ve gotta a good wife, and I get the present I want.”
“Dude, this is the best present you will ever get.”
Long, thin arms wrapped around my neck and shoulders, pulled me down onto her with surprising strength. Carrie was petite and lean, but Weed was tiny under me. I felt like I might crush her, but her arms still pulled, asking for my weight on her.
My lips found hers. An immediate roaring filled the space behind my eyes. That incredible, sexy mouth, so hungry on mine. Those wide, taunting lips, not as full and plump as Eva’s but with an alluring deep drawn-bow curve I had pictured so many times.
Soft, needy sounds escaped as the kiss continued, deep and wet, a playful, needful blend that stayed short of frantic. Hard nipples poked up into my chest; still protruding from my fly, I ground down against her bare, fresh-shaved smoothness. I felt a slickness under my tip, rubbing above her opening. My body, doing its part to aid the lubrication efforts. My hips increased the motion, spreading the harbinger of future seed further lower down.
Her lips were still on mine as she gasped out. “Take these. Pants off.”
I savored her mouth for another moment before pushing myself up. Her eyes stayed at my waist while mine roved over her slim, naked splendor. I felt genuine awe.
“Oh yes. God, I want you inside me.”
Kneeling over her, aroused and naked now myself, I paused. “Weed, why do you want me?”
A stupid question at the wrong time, which her look of surprise confirmed. I continued in a rush. “You’re young, gorgeous, smart, and could have any man, boy – or girl, probably – you want. Are you sure…”
Her hand reached up to cover my mouth. She seemed to have a habit of cutting me off.
“Of course I want you. You’re the gold standard men are judged by.” Weed said it as though an obvious fact.
I must have looked bewildered. She continued. “You seriously don’t know? Mom is so damn sexy, so elegant and everything; I grew up watching men of all ages turn into drooling idiots around her. Pushing their chests out and practically humping their hips like a terrier with his little balls bouncing around. And she stayed so cool, so…nonplussed.”
Her brow wrinkled, considering. “Ploosed? Plust?”
“Plust.” I smiled. “And I know what you mean about your mother.”
“Do you?” She eyed me closely. “Because you were the exception among my adult male role-models growing up. A drooling penis on legs running after Mom was more typical.”
She looked down between us and grinned. “Looks like we’ve got another drooler.”
I watched her reach down and catch the shiny string that stretched the scant inches between my wobbling head and her leg. She studied the slick shimmer on her fingers, holding it between our faces, then pushed them into my mouth.
It caught me by surprise. Her smile was wide, and saucy. “You made me taste mine. You taste yours.”
I sucked on her fingers, laving my tongue over them longer than necessary. Her lips parted as an unfocused glaze crossed her eyes. She shook her head to clear it.
“I think I compare other men to you because you’re one of the few that seem immune to Mom’s charms. And the only one who makes her…like that.”
“Makes her like the humpy little hounds sniffing behind her, or squirming on the ground in front of her until they’re ready to piddle all over themselves.” Weed rolled her big eyes upward in an arc. “Except around you, she’s more of the terrier bitch herself, dragging a shiny snail trail behind her, trying to scratch that special itch. She’s the one that’d be rolling over to piddle if you rolled up a newspaper. Put her in a training collar and she’s probably cum.”
“Nah. I’ve known Eva forever. Seen her in all…”
“Dude.” She cut me off. “Believe me. You make her wet and wiggly. And I totally get why.”
With that she dragged me back toward her lips. The kiss was slow, familiar and promised the world. Pulling back, she looked at me. “Do you remember the last time we stayed here? When I fell asleep in your lap?”
I did. She’d been a gangly bundle of bones then. Weed tickled at my slit, tasting as it eased open enough to leak a tiny clear drop of fluid for her, before she went on.
“I was just pretending to sleep, most of the time. Mm. I still think about it. Your smell. The stubbly-smooth feel of your cheek. The strength of your arms and chest as you carried me to bed. And then you had to carry me again, all muddy and half-naked, into the shower, and make me do naughty things. Of course I want you. I want you bad. But not without permission. Tell me again.”
I grinned down at her. “Full permission has been granted.”
Weed squealed. Then she clapped both hands over her mouth, eyes wide above them. She pulled them away and hooked her long legs around mine, nipples proud and prominent on her chest as it heaved up with a shallow, quick breath, almost a shudder. “Enough talk. Gimme that cock. Please. You have no idea how bad I want you inside me.”
“It’s my birthday and you said this little bare little coochie would be my present. I’m going to slip down here and make sure it’s all prepared the way I like it.”
Her legs unlocked from around me after only brief resistance and a sigh. “I think I’m pretty wet already.”
I chuckled as I settled in between her thighs, my padded by the rug on the floor. Grabbing her slim hips, I hauled her closer. She squealed again. “This isn’t about getting you wet, Weed.”
Her brows crossed in confusion. “A little spit makes it easier.”
“Poor deprived girl.” A leaned in and ran the soft center of my tongue in one long, slow lick up along her opening. Those wonderful lips opened wide, but she didn’t make a sound. “This isn’t about a little spit.”
Another long lick, this time waggling my tongue side to side near the top of the slit, beginning a general massage. “Or making things easy.”
I explored the glorious smoothness I had witnessed being created. The occasional tiny hints of missed hairs, shaved but not quite flush with the skin, only exaggerated the frictionless marvel of the rest. I took my time, licking, then sucking. Slurping, then flicking, then sucking again.
Her sounds, her willowy body’s increasing writhes, her fingers gripping tight in my hair: I was no more than dimly aware, lost in a deeper, radiance I could almost see glowing from her core. I had seen a hint of it in the shower, but the build up and release both had been too quick.
Like then, two fingers pushed her over, off the edge. This time, the pressure had been allowed to build, to simmer, to wind tight, and the fingers entered her as a complete surprise.
I had to latch an arm around her waist when her hips heaved upward, two fingers rising with her, held tight between clenching, spasming slick walls. Her slender form convulsed under my lips and tongue, around my sunken digits, massaging and stroking against the inner surfaces threatening to force them out.
Muffled by the pressure of her legs squeezing against my ears, a tortured growl escaped her through clenched teeth. I heaved my weight off my knees, hauling her long, light body up with me. Her legs slipped down from my shoulder to my hips.
The growl became a whine of complaint when my fingers eased out, then a moan when that hand guided my head to her, pushed in slowly, but without hesitation. The whine returned. When the first push stopped any sense of loss from the exiting of fingers had been overcompensated. I caught a trace of a wince, almost hidden by a tight smile. I held myself still inside her, neither pulling out nor pushing deeper.
The strain, or most of it, left her features. She blew out a long, focusing breath through pursed lips. “Okay. More please.”
I pulled back, watched her eyes widen when I stopped there, the head barely hidden within her lips. I lowered myself until I could reach one hard nipple. Weed was tall enough that I could suck it in, flicking my tongue over the tip in a rapid-fire, sudden assault, and still shove my hips close between her thighs.
I groaned, drowning out any sound she might have made, as I felt reluctant walls give in, surrender deep internal grounds to my invading lance. Defying reason but making complete sense in the moment, I felt Weed relax and tense, resist and give in, simultaneously, under and around me.
My unexpected attention to her nipple, swollen now between my devouring lips, brought on a straining arch that raised her back off the bed, lifting my weight with her. Still, intimate muscles seemed to welcome more of me in even as other groups squeezed tight.
My last plunge of my hips found me buried as deep as deep as I could go. I took advantage of the arch she still held, jamming both arms under and around her skinny frame. Hands worked down her long back to the flexed and shuddering cantaloupe halves of butter-smooth, flawless buttock.
She watched me, for the first time her eyes showing a little of the wildness I had seen in the shower, as I tugged the nipple up way from her chest, stretching the tender flesh. My lips held the erect crinkled-in nub while my tongue tip renewed a rapid flutter behind them. Weed gasped when I released it.
My weight and her response to the release of her up-stretched little breast dropped us back onto the bed. Weed’s gasp grew. My hands were pulling her lower body up onto me, grasping perfect little globes of ass. They did nothing to catch me as I fell on the girl.
A long grunting groan escaped as the air was forced out of her and I was forced in, hard, by the same motion. I felt as though my body heard that last groan and understood: my brain’s translation services were no longer needed. Hands and hips had this one, thank you very much.
Hands raised her up to hips; hips bore down into her, supported and held by twin cupping hands. She took up almost no room inside my arms, crushed under me. She felt tiny but in no way frail. Long legs wrapped high around me, encouraging me to again and again find room inside her slender little belly for each deep plunge home.
The way her body resisted each return entrance, turning the inevitable surrender into an almost too-tight massage along my entire length when I eased back in, milking me for my own release. Surrounding walls snugged around to deter my retreat with near-equal effort, massaging anew. My hands grasped harder, the pace of my thrusts uneven as my breath sped.
Weed’s sounds were words again.
“Grab my ass. Yes. Give it to me.”
I moaned. She knew what it meant as I heaved down into her, my face buried in her throat.
“O fuck yes, Daddy! Grab that ass and fuck me til you cum!”
Her hands were in my hair, over my shoulders, frantic and scurrying. My hips continued smaller humps down, moving my throbbing bulb at the depths of my reach within her, spraying stream after hot, single-minded stream.
Lost in my own throes, no air or blood budgeted for extraneous thought, I missed the first signs of Weed’s own renewed release. I might have heard it in the strained tone in her last, raunchy command, or the sudden tighter squeeze of the long legs around me. But I didn’t.
When fists twisted two handfuls of hair, just above my neck, and a coarse scream sounded in my ear, I recognized the change in the slender-strong body under me. It was my turn to wince as young flesh clenched hard around me, just as I hit that over-sensitized not-quite-hard moment after my climax. I still forced words out, grimacing. “That’s it! Cum for me. Cum hard for Daddy.”
I crushed her hips up into mine, lifting her to meet me with both hands, grinding us together as she writhed. Her scream lost air until she was murmuring in my ear, lips close. Twisting fists of hair became tender strokes along my brow and temple.
Weed whispered, just a breath, barely audible, “Love you. Always have.”
I twitched inside her when she nuzzled close. My lips teased her ear in answer. “And alway will.”
Not knowing whether my own words were a promise or a prediction, I still sensed their deeper truth, a bond to this radiant, witty, captivating young wonder. This one time inside her, filling her, would not be enough.
She kissed my cheek. “Tell me what Auntie Car said. How she gave us permission.”
I recounted her words as best I could.
“She said she knew you wanted to fuck me? That’s hot. Wait. She called me ‘that skinny bitch’?”
“Ah, yeah, it I don’t think she meant it in a bad….”
“Think a minute: has she ever called anyone else you know ‘the skinny bitch’?”
Oh shit. Weed must have felt the sudden tension of realization hitting me. Small hands pushed at my shoulders until she could see my face. She confirmed my fear.
“You wife sent you to fuck my mom.”
We looked at each other, neither sure how to react. Finally, I grinned, shrugging. “Oops.”
Her laughter was bright, happy, needed. I joined her, both of us continuing perhaps a bit longer than necessary. She spoke first. “There’s only one thing to do.”
“Go fuck her.”
“Go fuck the skinny bitch. You want too. I know she wants too. And your wife expects it.”
“No buts. Talk about best birthday present ever. You get to have a hot mom and daughter both. Carrie expects you to nail Mom, and you know Mom’s waiting for it. They probably planned this earlier.” Weed looked down between our naked bodies. “Well, not this this. But I’ll bet they planned for my mom to finally get some from you.”
I was speechless.
“So go tap the bitch. I’m going to see if I can figure out a way for us to get permission for reals this time. ‘Cause I want more. A lot more.”
She kissed me, hard. I answered, our tongues suddenly all over each other, after being denied for too long. My lower body responded. Weed’s hands were on my shoulders, pushing, before she rolled us onto our sides with one hard shove.
“No! God I want it, but no.” She looked down to where I had slipped out of her, rested heavy and slick against her thigh. Go now. Please. Before I can’t resist. Go fuck the skinny bitch like a good hubby.”
Standing, I grabbed my pajama bottoms. Weed looked so delicious, reclined, exposed on the bed. I leaned down, stole a long, slow lick up between her legs. Savoring the smoothness of her new-shaven slit once more.
“Oh my goddd!” Her hips heaved up to deepen my contact. I pulled back. Her eyes were wild. “Go. Go. Go. Now!”
The door opened wide just as I stepped near. Eva leaned out of the dim background glow of the nightlight. “Where have you been?”
She grabbed my arm and tugged me into the guest room, closed the door. I caught a glimpse of long bare legs below a hip-length shirt, breasts shifting freely beneath the thin material. Eva slipped slim arms around my neck.
Even in the low light, her dark eyes shone. I felt her chest against mine as she eased close. My arms circled her, one at her slim waist, the other diagonalling across to her shoulder. Full lips, plumper than her daughter’s, opened.
“I’ve been waiting. What did you do, go make a sandwich?”
Her quick sniff distracted any answer, brought back Weed doing the same thing in the kitchen, and fueled a rising panic of the mother smelling…
“Pussy.” It was a hissed whisper. “That’s not a sandwich. That’s pussy.”
Eva leaned in, gave an exaggerated, deep inhale. I felt her body tense in my arms. Her voice rose. “And that’s not Carrie’s pussy.”
Her hands shoved against my shoulders. Panicked, I held her tight. Her face grew tight. “Did you…you fucked my daughter!”
“Shhh!” I clamped a hand over her mouth as she arched away from me, still trapped close by my arm around low around her waist. My effort to keep her mouth covered when she leaned away led to a stumble back in the small room.
“Oof!” Her breath, forced out by the weight of my body landing on her on the bed, sounded muffled though my hand. My lower hand held bare, smooth flesh, a slender, soft hip uncovered as her shirt rode up. My own hips pinned her legs wide around me.
I noticed the change in her eyes just before I felt her lower body move, pushing up against me in an easy undulation.
“Mmmmm.” Lips kissed at fingers. Her tongue joined them. “Mmmhmm.”
My confidence returned, her new response to being held down like this on the bed added to what I had taken from repeated teases: Eva liked to be dominated. I pulled her hips harder up against mine, growled at her. “You like that?”
She nodded under my hand, eyes studying me.
“You gonna be a good girl?”
Another nod. I removed my hand from her mouth. Even in this light, I could see red imprints from my fingers. She sucked in a deep breath.
“You fucked my daughter, you…”
I cut her off with my lips, my tongue, kissing her hard and deep. She whined into my mouth, struggling for only a fraction of a second. The whine deepened and she clung to me, tongue frantic to explore mine. Her hips sped up, lost their previous easy rhythm. Her fingers scrambled over me, clinging, searching. I felt nails dig into my back when I shoved hard against her, between bare legs opening wider for me.
The soft but obvious pillows of Eva’s breasts between us felt odd after Weed, almost keeping us apart. But long, smooth legs wrapping around me, pulling me in, spoke a familiar language. Eva’s hips adjusted their angle as I began to swell between us.
A tense shudder past through her body, then another. Her kiss stopped and I paused with her, still pinning her down on the guest room bed. She froze under me,with a third, deepest shudder, body going stiff from her straining face, down through slender, flexing core and along long legs clenched around my hips. Barely, I heard a thin, tight whine escaping her.
“Good girl.” I moved my hips, dragging the stiff ridge of my head over the swollen hood centered just above her slit. Concentrating sensation on a most sensitive spot, I watched her struggle to hold back, to hold in. Her eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering over a thin crescent of white. The soft whine hiccuped, in time to the flutter, full, wide lips straining open.
I forced a hand down between our bodies, finding the base of my shaft. I slicked the head faster and more deliberately through her folds, still focusing on the swollen button hidden there.
Not quite kissing, but painfully, achingly intimate, my lips vibrated against hers as I whispered her own words back to her.
“You ready to wear my collar? You ready to be my slave?” Weed’s wildness flared in her mother’s eyes. The tension under me twisted tighted, to the breaking point. “That’s it. Let it go. Now.”
“Aaaiii..mmm!” I cut off her sudden scream with my mouth, with a deep kiss. A sudden arch in her back, the powerful lunge of her hips pushing up for more of the tormenting pressure, did not stop her hungry tongue and lips from returning my attentions.
Hand still aiming my hardness against her, I guided the swollen head down, between soaked spasming lips as her climax broke free, carrying her helplessly along. The frantic motion of her hips helped and I felt myself slide into her, pulsing walls constricting around me.
I levered myself up on my arms, looking down at the gasping, gorgeous beauty, her full breasts high and spread wide on her chest as she sucked in air. Her huge, dark exotic eyes glowed, wild and almost crazed. I shoved hard, deep, burying my length all at once.