It's Another Family Tradition

We pulled the top sheet over the damp bottom one, and pulled a blanket over the three of us. I felt so satisfied, lying on my back, with a beautiful and sexy woman snuggled on each side of me. I whispered, “Sleep well, Sissy and Mary Pat. You Powell women are every man’s fantasy.”

When I woke up the next morning, I was alone in the bed. The pillows on either side of me still had a faint fragrance of Sissy’s and Mary Pat’s colognes. There was also the musky scent of sex permeating the sheets. But even stronger was that wonderful aroma of morning coffee, and I could hear a woman’s voice singing in the running shower. I stood up, did some morning stretches to unkink my muscles, and put on a new Japanese style silk robe, purchased especially for this occasion.

Following the trail of the coffee aroma, I went into the sitting room. Behind the sofa was a tea trolley, loaded with a silver coffee server, a glass pitcher of orange juice, and a plate of baked breakfast goods. Mary Pat was sitting in the easy chair, buttering an English muffin. All she was wearing was a royal blue silk shorty robe. She had loosely tied the robe at the waist, which exposed all of her legs and pussy when sitting in the chair. It was tempting, but I wanted coffee more.

“Good morning, Sam,” she said brightly. “It appears that Sissy and I really did wear you out last night. You were out like a light. I’ve been up for an hour, and ordered room service. There was a very nice young man who served us. I put his tip on the room tab.”

“If you showed him what I can see right now, Mary Pat, that would have been sufficient gratuity.”

Mary Pat giggled. “No, I was standing and all covered up, Sam. All he saw was a little cleavage and some bare legs. He did seem to appreciate it, though.”

We continued our light conversation while I rejuvenated myself with juice, a croissant and coffee. While I was buttering a second croissant, Sissy came into the room, wearing a towel like a sarong. A second towel was wrapped around her damp hair, and draped over one shoulder. Sometime I must ask Callie to show me how women do that trick. Mary Pat and I said our good mornings to her while she went to the trolley and buttered a croissant for herself. She sat on one end of the sofa, and I refilled our coffee cups before sitting on the other end next to her.

To make pleasant conversation while nibbling and sipping, I remarked, “You know, I think that a woman looks her most beautiful when she first gets out of bed after she has had good sex the night before. There’s something about the look in her eyes and the softness in her movements at that time. It’s different for guys the morning after. We need to shower and shave before we look presentable.”

“Well, you do need a shave, Sam,” Sissy replied. “But that robe is pretty sexy. What do the Japanese letters say?”

“Good question, Sissy. I have no idea. I picked this one out because I liked the pattern and color.”

“Then let’s pretend that it says ‘after a shower and a shave, what’s underneath is prime stuff,” said Mary Pat. We all laughed at her joke.

“Okay, Mary Pat,” I said, “I can take a hint. Give me fifteen minutes in the bathroom, and then let’s get dressed and go exploring the island. It looks like it’s going to be a fine day.”

By 10:30 we were dressed and in our car, ready for a day on what I consider one of the real jewels of the state of Georgia. Near the end of the nineteenth century, some of the rich New York moguls pooled their money and bought the entire island to build opulent “cottages” that they called hunting lodges for their families’ late winter vacations. The Jekyll Island Association lasted until the Fifties, when the island became the property of the state of Georgia, which assures that it will not be overrun with high-rise condo developments, or similar God-awful corruptions of the environment.

This was Mary Pat’s first visit to Jekyll Island, so Sissy and I showed her our favorite places on the tiny coastal island. We began by taking the tram tour of the historic district, which is a collection of restored mogul cottages, some of which are open for tourists. The centerpiece of the district is the Grand Hotel, an old white, yellow and green wooden multi-storied structure built in the Victorian grand resort hotel tradition. I felt like J. P. Morgan, as we dined on its sunny, wooden-decked veranda. That particular Saturday, the hotel was busily prepping itself for an afternoon wedding and reception, and the three of us engaged in people watching.

When we had finished our deli sandwiches and sweetened iced tea, we drove down to the South Dunes beach. The tide was just receding, so the few beachgoers that were coming that day had not yet arrived. We took off our shoes at the stairs going over the dunes and walked on the beach. This was the first really warm spell of the season, and the sun felt especially good as we waded in the cold ocean water and searched for shells in the sand. The three of us all felt in high spirits, like colts let out to pasture after a long winter in the barn.

“This sun is too nice to pass up,” said Mary Pat. “Let’s get a jump on our tans this year and go down the beach behind those dunes, and lie in the sun for a while.”

Sissy protested, “But we didn’t bring our bathing suits, Mary Pat.”

“So we strip to our bras and panties,” Mary Pat argued. “If anyone does notice us from the beach, it’ll look like we’re wearing bikinis. And Sam’s boxers will look like his trunks. Come on, don’t be a coward.”

We found a secluded spot behind the first rise of the dunes, sheltered from the ocean breezes but still in the sun. I spread out a hotel blanket I had taken along, and we all stripped down to our underwear. The girls began by lying on their stomachs to tan their backs. After about five minutes, Sissy got up on her knees, satisfied herself that no one else was around, and took off her bra.

“No tan lines this way, except for a thong,” she said. “You ought to try it, Mary Pat.”

Which she did, and I was treated to admiring two lovely female bodies. Both sides, since Sissy commanded that she and Mary Pat roll over every ten minutes to assure an even tan. By the second rollover, I was dozing on my back, and the idea of breasts and bellies next to me on a beach triggered lustful thoughts until my boxers were raised like a tent from my erect cock.

Mary Pat noticed my condition and changed her prone position so that her head was above my groin. She gently kissed my sun-warmed belly, and kneaded my hard cock through my shorts.

“Sissy, this hunk has got his equipment armed and ready for more action,” she said. “We’ve all had enough sun for the first day, so let’s go back to our hotel room, and have some playtime.”

The two women didn’t bother to put their bras back on, just slipping their dresses over their slightly pinked bodies. Once back in the privacy of our room, Mary Pat immediately unzipped her dress and stripped off her panties. She beckoned Sissy and me into the bedroom.

“Sissy, let’s both of us suck Sam’s cock, and then I’m going to let him fuck me doggie style. I’ll eat your pussy at the same time.”

This idea had two eager participants, and Sissy was out of her clothes in a flash to join Mary Pat in helping me struggle to get my pants and boxers off while I had a raging erection. They soon succeeded, and I was rewarded with the double treat of having my cock licked by two tongues at the same time, while I lay on my back in the middle of the bed. I groaned with the pleasurable sensation. All at once, Sissy stopped her stimulation, and pulled Mary Pat away from my groin. Her eyes were bright with excitement, and she wore a mischievous smile.

“Mary Pat, I want to see Sam jerk off before we let him fuck us.” She grinned at me. “You’ll have to do it, Sam, or no more pussy for that good-looking cock.”

Sissy and Mary Pat pushed me onto my knees, and then they sat up, propped with pillows against the headboard to watch me. The open jar of Albolene was still on the nightstand, and Sissy slathered some on my cock, which was now fully erect and swollen.

“OK, Sam, start thinking of something really exciting, and shoot a load at Mary Pat. We both want to see you come while we turn ourselves on.”

I had not expected this, and my initial reaction was one of inhibited embarrassment. But the eroticism of the moment, with three naked bodies each masturbating, captured me. It was a real ego trip to observe two women staring at my erection, desire crackling in their eyes, while their fingers played with their clits and labia. The whole scene had my cock and groin throbbing with sexual tension, demanding any form of release.

I began stroking my cock, and I visualized the time last summer at the cabin when I watched Cat and Sue Ann getting it on together. After the first half-dozen strokes of my hand, I was wholly into this unusual scene. All you guys reading this will understand that there is that certain moment when you are masturbating, that your whole being is transported to a level of excitement from which there is only one way to return. All I wanted at that moment was to make myself come, and for these two women to be pleasured by it. I cupped my balls with my left hand, and began jerking off my cock with my right.

I tried to keep my eyes open, to see Mary Pat’s expression, but the nerves in my body would not permit it. The throbbing in my cock grew with each stroke of my hand, and I began to breath heavily and moan with excitement. I could hear words of encouragement from both Mary Pat and Sissy, but it was unnecessary. I moaned loudly, and felt my balls tighten. With my cock pointed straight at Mary Pat’s face, I erupted, shooting several streams of semen. The first landed on her neck and breasts, while the second splashed her open mouth and chin, as she leaned forward toward me.

I continued to kneel in front of Mary Pat and Sissy, recovering my breath and composure after my orgasm. Mary Pat grinned at me and wiped up my cum on her face and chest, offering her fingers to Sissy for licking clean. Then she knelt in front of me to lick my now softening cock. Her tongue felt wonderful.

“That was a total turn-on, Sam,” said Mary Pat. “Now you catch your breath and watch me eat Sissy’s pussy until she comes. Feel free to join in and fuck me when you’re ready.”

Mary Pat slid her body over Sissy’s reclining torso, and buried her face deep into Sissy’s pussy. Sissy encouraged her by running her fingers through Mary Pat’s hair while thrusting her hips up and down. Her groans and murmurs of tenderness revealed how effectively Mary Pat’s tongue and fingers on her breasts were arousing Sissy.

Just as it had at the cabin with Cat and Sue Ann, the spectacle of Sissy and Mary Pat having sex together overwhelmed me with loving and tender thoughts about them. Even though I had been invited by Mary Pat, and my cock was hardening with second desires, I was reluctant to intrude. Sissy and Mary Pat were both givers and takers to and from each other, and it would have been selfish of me to satisfy my own lusts until their intimate communication had reached its satisfying conclusion.

But Sissy had other ideas for the pleasure of the three of us. She smiled at me and said, “Take Mary Pat now, Sam. Fuck her and make her come while she is doing me.”

I did as she directed, sliding my now hard cock into Mary Pat’s wet vagina from the rear. Somehow Mary Pat sensed and understood that there was a bond between Sissy and me, and at that particular moment, it was Mary Pat’s pleasure to communicate that bond. Each time I would thrust deeper into Mary Pat, she would more earnestly suck and lick Sissy’s clit and vagina, as if she were an extension of my cock. I know that this sounds preposterous, but then sexual experiences seldom can be related well to someone who was not involved. You’ll just have to take my word for it – at that moment, there were three sexually excited bodies and mutually bonded minds on that bed, and each of us reached our personal climaxes at nearly the same time. I came in Mary Pat; she climaxed from my orgasm; and Sissy jerked and screamed with hers seconds later.

The three of us continued to have fun and great sex together for the remaining time on Jekyll, and I saw how the imaginative and playful sex had changed Sissy’s and Mary Pat’s spirit, as well as mine. Now I totally got the concept that Callie’s grandmother sought – scrambling actually was a re-creation of that joy of sex for the sheer pleasure of it. Our activities for the remaining time on the island were just like what honeymooning couples would do anywhere; only there were three of us. One of the most amusing times occurred that Saturday evening, when Mary Pat revealed how her Powell genes ran true to form in female earthiness and saucy tongue.

We decided to go to dinner in the Grand Hotel Victorian dining room. The ladies’ dresses were modern sexy and short ones, and I wore my green blazer and slacks, but otherwise you could imagine yourself back in the heyday of the Jekyll Island Club, with ladies in full-length gowns with trains, and the men in formal attire. From the soft plush carpeting to the heavy silver place settings on the starched white tablecloths, the ambience oozed old-time elegance.

After finishing a multi-course dinner, we peeked into the ballroom, where the reception for the afternoon wedding was in full swing. Sissy counted six bridesmaids and groomsmen throughout the many couples dancing waltzes and slow foxtrots played by a seven-piece orchestra. The father of the bride, dressed in tails with black tie, happened to be returning from the Men’s Room, and he noticed us observing the festivities. He was the quintessential glad-hander, and that night he was showing off to any audience he could find.

“Hey there,” he boomed, as he placed his hand on my shoulder and grasped my right hand. “Y’all want to come in? There’s plenty of booze and food. Hell, there oughta be; this spread is costing me over two hunnert big ones.”

By the time he stopped talking, he had pushed me into the room, heading for the bar and buffet. Sissy and Mary Pat trailed along, and Cal (that was what he insisted I call him; all his good buddies do), soon was chatting to them while sneaking peeks down their necklines. He ordered us all champagne, and while the bartender filled four glasses, he asked where I was from, and what did I do. When I replied that I was an attorney from Augusta, his eyes returned to my green blazer. You could tell that he was putting two and two together, and he calculated six – I must be a member of the Augusta National Golf Club, sponsor of the Masters tournament. This made me someone special to Cal, and I didn’t try to correct his misconception. I made every effort not to show the Land’s End label on the inside of my blazer.

Once we got our glasses from the bar, Cal hustled us over ‘to meet the little woman, and my daughter the bride.’ As much as Cal was babbity, his wife, Victoria, was every bit the snob. She immediately mentioned their last names after Cal’s first name introductions.

“We’re the Langford’s, from Savannah, the historic district of course. My maiden name was Dalton, of the Macon Daltons. Hmm, Tonnelli. Are you any relation to the Tonnellis of Beaufort?” (The first syllable is pronounced just like the word beautiful, if you want to be in the know.) “Let me introduce you to my eldest daughter, Eleanor, and my new son-in-law, Trask Dunwoody. Trask is on the governor’s staff in Atlanta, you know, following the Dunwoody family line of state politicians. After the honeymoon, they will be residing in their new home in Fairmont Hills, a gated community in North Macon.”

“Yeah,” Cal interrupted. “The down payment on the damn thing set me back three hundred big ones. But that’s OK; Trask’s old man has ponied up for the annual dues to the country club there. Say, Sam, old buddy, you wouldn’t want to invite me up to play a round at your club, would you? I’ve always dreamed of playing that sixteenth hole. Is that green really as tough to read as the TV guys say?”

“Really, Langford,” his wife went on, “It’s rather vulgar to monopolize the talk to golf, that silly sport. We must be boring these lovely ladies to death.” She turned to Mary Pat and gave her a toothy smile. “That is a fetching dress, my dear, ahem, what there is of it. Where in Augusta did you get it? This one that I’m wearing was made especially for me at Boldt’s in Savannah.”

Eleanor, the bride, showed as much snobbery as her mother. She also smiled at Mary Pat, who stood next to me, holding my arm affectionately. “Daddy didn’t say, Mr. Tonnelli, but I assume that this lovely little lady is your bride. How long did it take you to come up to scratch and make her an honest woman? I declare, I sometimes thought that Trask would never pop the question. And since they call you Sissy,” she said, turning to her, “You must be her older sister.”

Sissy stiffened, but to my relief she said nothing. Mary Pat, on the other hand, had had enough of these condescending remarks and boasts. She flashed her best smile at me and pecked my cheek with her lips. Then she mimicked the thickest red-neck pine woods accent that you ever want to hear.

“Wahl, hunnee,” she drawled, “Ah do believe there’s bin a sorta confusion heah. The truth o’ the matta is that none of us ahr wedded to the otha. We each got summon else back home neah Augusta. Sissy an’ Ah have double-wides in the same traila pahk, an’ we only just met Sam, heah, in the WalMaht this week. But he’s been godawful gen’rous, and been so sweet to take us down heah.”

She was a perfect comedienne, who waited for the effect of her parody to sink in before continuing. I could barely keep a straight face, and Sissy was already shaking with the giggles.

“Ya’ husbin surely has bin gen’rous to you, too, ma’am,” Mary Pat drawled on, looking at Mrs. Langford, and then turned to Eleanor. “An’ y’all, too, Miz Trask. Ah thenk it positively ahdohable that both momma and dotta catched theirselves rich men. So tonight, ah hope that y’all both do the right theng to show yer gratitude, lahk Sissy and Ah inten’ t’do with Sam heah.”

“And what might that be?” Mrs. Langford managed to hiss out between her teeth, her mouth frozen in a polite smile.

Mary Pat grinned mischievously at Cal and Trask before turning her eyes on the mother-of-the-bride. “Jus’ get to bed earleh, and fuck his brains out.” She playfully tapped Cal on his arm. “Lan’ sakes, y’all got that much comin’ to ya. Y’all have a good time, y’heah?”

I hustled my two women, now giggling audibly, out of the ballroom before I lost my composure and doubled over laughing. From behind me, I heard Mrs. Langford’s final remarks. “Well, I never! Langford, don’t you dare invite anyone else to our nice party, do you hear me?”

Once outside, the three of us convulsed with laughter, until tears were running down my face. When I finally calmed down, I told the two women that I was holding them to Mary Pat’s pledge, once back in the Holiday Inn.

Sissy tried to imitate Mary Pat’s accent. “Lissen, suh, us double-wide sluts heah in Gawga allus keeps our word. ‘Sides, heah in Dixie, it’s only propah to remove the brains of a Yankee lawyah from Hahvahd.”

And let me tell you, Sissy and Mary Pat put forth their best efforts, until I was beginning to think that sexual lobotomy was a real possibility. I was one tired, but happy puppy that night.

We slept late on Sunday morning. The sun was promising a gorgeous day, and we ordered a picnic basket lunch for another day on the island. This time we rented bicycles at a place next to the hotel, and we pedaled the length of the island on the bike trails until lunch. After sating ourselves with wine, bread, cheese and fruit, we stretched out on a blanket under the early spring sun and snoozed until almost three o’clock. On the way back to our hotel, Sissy got the idea that I should give her and Mary Pat a bikini line hair groom. After picking up materials at the local CVS, we had a silly and fun time in the room with bikini wax, Albolene, and a huge dildo that Sissy had brought with her. Both women insisted on comparing the oversized, but synthetic tool vs. my natural equipment under what Sissy called ‘ideal laboratory conditions.’ My macho pride was salvaged when both Sissy and Mary Pat diplomatically declared the real thing to be superior to the plastic monster, on the basis of my cock being able to ejaculate in their vaginas.