Oh yes, the sweet feeling of panic. The heart racing, the limbs shivering in their willingness to flee, the penis deflating like a balloon just stabbed with a pin. The complete understanding that one’s life was going to sink like a ship that just rammed into a reef in rough weather seemed to act like a rope around my neck.
“I can explain everything dear!” I babbled, while gesturing at Kathryn to do something, anything, but to stop playing with herself.
My wife just stared at me and my stepdaughter kept fingering herself. Neither seemed to understand the reason for my red-faced reaction. It did not help that Francine had decided to pick that moment to start talking dirty.
“Oh I’m so wet and horny,” she said with a moan. “Please let me cum!”
“Are you feeling well, love?” asked Francine. She did not seem to notice anything wrong with finding her husband jerking off to a private sex show held by her daughter.
I tried to clear my head. What commands had I given her in the past…? A few of them had been direct orders but a few had also dealt with her behavior. Oh yes, something about me being Lord of the house. Had she taken that to mean I could do anything I wanted WITHIN the estate?
“Yes, dear,” I replied, as Kathryn moaned and groaned, dripping all over my desk’s marble top. “Just having…private time with your…er…our daughter. She enjoys making me happy. Just like you enjoy making me happy.”
“I want to cum!” pouted my stepdaughter as she started to squirm and shiver, her eyes looking at me like a child staring at candy. She seemed to sense that I could command her to orgasm if I wished it.
My cock, as you could guess, was starting to perk up again. Maybe it was having both women in the room, one naked and acting like a slut; the other dressed from throat to ankles in a velvet gown and acting like a proper Victorian. However, I found myself close to exploding and as I got closer to climax, a nasty, kinky idea slipped into my mind.
“Dear,” I said to my wife, “kneel before me and try to catch my cum in your mouth.”
“Of course, dear,” she said as she moved, carefully making sure not to protect my view of Kathryn’s wet, over worked pussy.
I shot my load, as they say in the adult stories, quickly after that. Much of it got into her mouth but a few strands escaped to land on her chin, checks, nose, and some even got into her eyelashes.
I moaned at the sight. A wonderful cum shot. If I owned a camera I would have had her hold still so I could take a picture.
“Both of you will orgasm when I cum,” I said, leaning back with a sigh. “It is your reward for making me cum.”
As the room filled with the moans and screams of two women reaching their climax, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the aftermath of total control.
They helped clean me up, which involved lots of licking and sucking of my manhood, then I dismissed them. I was so much in the afterglow that the thoughts that wandered about my mind were not monitored or edited. I thought of Francine in a teacher’s outfit punishing Kathryn with a ruler. Of course, Kathryn would be in a school uniform. I could take photos.
My thoughts, moving about like a butterfly drunk on too much ale, landed on my daughter Erika. The odd girl out. She had the look of those smart princesses from bad children’s books. You know the ones. They always try to tell you that appearances do not matter, that the inside is what really counts, but near the end the girl gets married and turns into a pretty princess or something like that. I mean, really, if the outside didn’t matter, why use magic to have the ugly girl changed into a pretty wife?
Sorry, off track again. I just could not help but wonder if my wife and her daughter could not help my flesh and blood. I am sure they would be willing to help her. Once I pushed them in the right direction. Indeed, she would pretty much do anything they told her to do in her current state of mind.
I chuckled, rubbed my hands together, and leaned back into my chair. I held back the evil laugh but there was that chuckling. I am not sure my head was as clear as it could have been. I can say, with some honestly, that I really did screw up the next stage of my plans.
Oh, nothing bad happened, but it was one of those moments where I really did not think things through. Not all the way through. I mean, here I was planning to tell my wife and stepdaughter to help Erika be a better daughter. To dress better, act better, and, maybe, work a tad on her face.
How stupid was I. How dimwitted. After making them both my willing, loving, sex partners, did I really understand what they were thinking? Did I not realize what they defined as a ‘better daughter’ and my own definition might not meet? Two ships, passing in the night, not even noticing each other!
As you could guess, I had a long talk with them before retiring to the master bedroom. As they stood in their sexy sleepwear I explained I wanted Erika to act more like them. To care more about her appearance, to be a good, loving daughter. I said nothing about sex or being a horny slut or the sexy swaying of the hips. Nevertheless, I also failed to tell them what I truly meant by good daughter.
That night I was so busy showing Francine how to talk dirty, with the terms and tone I liked to hear, it completely slipped my mind that I had given them a project. I was so busy enjoying myself I totally forgot even the wording I used for the instructions.
Breakfast the next morning was a fine one. I had a great night’s sleep. After the sex, of course, and really enjoyed the spread. My wife had finally gotten the French cook to understand that, while she could get fancy with the other meals, the morning meal was to be good, plain, and filling. Toast and lots of it, preserves of all flavors, bangers, fruit, and, of course, orange juice.
Sometimes muffins and, yes, even ham may make their appearance but I tried not to encourage it. I mean, who needed muffins and ham when you had wonderful toast and lovely bangers?
We all greeted each other, the females of the house sounding so happy and cheerful. Even Young seemed joyful to see me. Not that he changed the expression on his face but one comes to notice these things.
After finishing off my last sausage and making sure there was no orange juice left in my glass, I announced that I was going to have a spot of golf at the nearby club and I would have lunch there. My wife seemed a tad sad but told me to have a good game. I got the idea that she had planned to be fucked all day.
After changing into proper attire for the game, and collecting my cubs, I hopped into my two-seater and was at the club house in no time. There were welcomes, offers of drinks, and the normal exchange of friendly jokes that one gets at a gold club. Everybody is a friend till they are on the green. Then look out. Jabs at one‘s swing, insults about one‘s dress, people coughing at the worst moment.
My friends, who I dearly love, also cheat. Oh yes, you have to keep an eye on them. Sad, really, when you realize that most of the bets are small ones. Maybe having to pay for lunch. Or pay a round of drinks.
After a few of those drinks I had just mentioned me and three others started a game. It was a friendly game. And when I mean friendly I mean there was the normal insults, breaking of clubs, and cheating. No bets had been made; otherwise there may have been a few fights and a few black eyes.
Shortly after the game, and not scoring under a hundred sad to say, we had a small meal at the club’s bar. Some simple sandwiches, a few pints of ale, and lots of lies about fishing, women we had dated, games we had played, and college years.
Few of my buddies drink milk and, in some ways, it was refreshing not to have to worry about every tiny detail of what I was saying.
But Bob’s wife, Holly, was a milk drinker. I could tell because when I normally say hi to her she gives me that stare. You know the type - when a wife is trying to set her husband’s friends on fire because she hates them, their golf clubs, and everything they stand for. But her reply was civil and shocked some of the others with a total lack of any meanness or anger.
To test my theory, I asked her, when Frank was explaining to the group how he once lost a game of golf because of a cat, to fetch me another pint of beer. Which she did. Sounds small but when you understand how much she hated us you can see how big a deal it was.
You see, Holly was a pretty young redhead. Newly hitched to Bob for only a few years. Slim, fresh, and very much wishing to have a huge family. A family that had yet to start.
Bob on the other hand was neither slim nor fresh. He was a lawyer who used golf to link up with clients and, so he said when panting after a hard, long game, trying to lose some weight. He was older than her. Fatter than her. And had less hair than her. I only assume it was true love because he was far from rich.
The end result was her rage at anything golf or golf related. And that included golf buddies. This is why she came to try to get him to come home early. Always showing up shortly after the game or about the time we sat down for chow. Demanding he leave, begging him to leave, glaring at us and, in general, being a bitch. It could make one ill when you heard some of the things she said about golf. I will not repeat them. I know some of them would cause you great hurt and pain, so let me just say she was very insulting and leave t at that.
Thanking her for the fresh pint of brew I looked her over. Slim. Not at all shapely. Tall, clean, and young looking. She looked a tad underage in fact, due to her smooth skin and the way she dressed. She liked the colors pink and red and purple. She still had ribbons in her hair.
She sometimes seemed to be a little girl trying to dress up as her mother. Even her make up was on the heavy side. A tad too much really. Or maybe her pale skin, the type most red heads had, highlighted what little make up she did us. Maybe Bob had a thing for little girls. I refused to go down THAT line of thinking and focused on her.
As Frank tried to defend the kicking of the cat in his story to the laughter of the other listeners I decided that Holly needed help. She needed to love golf. Maybe even PLAY golf!
Try to follow my logic:
Holly wanted kids.
Bob played golf.
Holly hated golf. In fact she wasted a lot of energy trying to get him to stop.
Bob didn’t play golf because he liked it. And here is the key. He looked at it as part of the business of being a lawyer. See my point?
Let me expand on the idea. She would never get him to stop because he needed to play golf. All lawyers played golf; he was a lawyer, so you get the picture. But if she joined him in the golf, worked to understand and insert herself into his life, maybe she would get him interested in other things? Such as HERSELF!
And within nine months out pop the babies. Holly would be so busy with babies she would stop pestering us and all would be well with the world. Oh yes, what a wonderful plan.
Sounded sound to me.
So, while the group debated about how many animals were on the green and what they could do about keeping them off, I took Holly to one side and gave her a couple of suggestions about how much she loved gold, how she wanted to play it, become her husbands golf buddy and so on. Nothing too strong. Nothing about sex. Nothing that would backfire.