Bastille Day Ch. 07

I nodded and spread my towel out again. We exchanged smiles, and I left her, wondering if I had interpreted her smirk correctly; if Anna would be expecting me to join her; also wondering about Marge's apparently suggesting - agreeing - that we two should be alone together. But she also had been with her the first afternoon. It was all about not too much one-on-one - maybe too much threesome. We sure had done that the night before! Did she think - know? - that Anna still wanted something after she had given her three intensive G-spot orgasms? I had conceded that my cock couldn't do that, not that all Anna's orgasms with me hadn't seemed completely satisfying for her.

With these thoughts, I walked the rest of the way to our place. Maybe she wouldn't be there, just gone off somewhere in the shade. Hmm? Maybe to where she could be with younger men; we had told her that we wouldn't mind if she did. But I did! No, she had said that she had told one of them that she was with us, and she could understood that that would complicate things. Okay, if she wanted to do something with Sans-culotte, also if Marge did. Would she be in our place, and expecting me?

I suddenly felt a little like I remembered feeling when I went to pick up a date as a teenager, not the first or second date, but the one that could end with more than just holding hands. Crazy “old man,” suddenly recalling that feeling after so many years - decades! You know, if she is there, she will be pleased to see you, even if she hasn't been expecting you. Shit! She always has been pleased, more than you first knew last year, and she's wanted to sleep with you every way two people can - hmm! - every way three and more people can! And Marge invited her to join us, knowing that we both - well, she too, all three of us - wanted to have another erotic vacation together. I still felt a teenager's uncertain butterflies in my stomach - damn, now with space for too many of them!

I pulled it in as I opened the door saying:
“Marge said I should also get my bottom out of the sun.”
“Oh, that's good. I'm in the shower. You can still wash my back.”

My stomach had relaxed, but there were still a couple of butterflies fluttering; nice, pleased ones. I replied:
“Of course. I want one too.”

When I entered the bathroom, the shower curtain was drawn back, and a shapely, wet, young woman was smiling at me. Funny, how one sometimes suddenly sees something familiar with new eyes - and very pleasant when it is the renewed recognition of how attractive a young woman is, despite one's having been so completely familiar with every part of her body.
“That's good too,” Anna agreed with an impish smile, adding:
“And Marge suggested it? I was about to say something like that, but thought it impolite to suggest it, that it could be misunderstood.”

I was already in the shower with her, closing the curtain, replying:
“Tactful of you, but I guess you were both right.”
“Um-hmm, but if she suggested it …?”
“I was wondering if you had maybe smirked at her, when you did, like she did to me.”
“Hm-hmm! I don't think so, but it doesn't matter now.”

We smiled, and I started to wash her back. I rather doubted that she hadn't already, but that didn't matter, and we both knew that I would finish by washing her asshole, chuckling together when I did. I thought that she would offer to wash me - my cock was already anticipating a little that she would. But she didn't, remarking:
“I want to shave, and I can do that better sitting on the toilet.”
“I guess so. Want me to, too?”

She rubbed my cheek - with another impish smile - and shook her head, replying:
“If you want to, … but I don't want to do that.”

We both snickered at her so obvious implication that she wanted to do something else, confirming unnecessarily that we would. She slipped past the curtain, and I began to wash myself. My cock still thought that was nice. I was curious to see how she shaved her muschi, but didn't, thinking that she might not want someone to watch that kind of female hygiene. When I pulled aside the curtain, she was finished, smiling at me as her fingers slid up and down on the closed lips of her muschi.

“I thought you might want to watch.”
“I thought that maybe you wouldn't want me to.”
“He has, but I guess only after I told him I didn't mind.
“Of course, I was also curious.”
“He was too. Oh, it didn't have to happen; I could have shaved before I visited him, but forgot once, two weeks growth.”

We both chuckled at this revelation about her visits to her father. She put aside her razor as I finished drying myself, and we left the bathroom. She flung back the covers on the single bed and gestured for me to lie down, murmuring:
“You know what I want to do.”

I nodded, lying down, suddenly recalling that we hadn't fucked the previous nights, that we hadn't fucked together since last year. I spread my legs as she started to get on the bed between them. She looked down at my slightly engorged cock with a smile, and then up at me, then back down, as her fingers raised it up. “Mmmm!” I hummed as her lips slipped around it, all the way down around it. Her fingers slid down and held my balls.

Very soon, she had to let an inch of him slip out, and then another inch, but humming at her success, as her fingers massaged my balls. Lucky father, I thought, being able to enjoy this every two weeks; lucky me, that he had accepted that she wanted to let me enjoy this, too! Her hum almost sounded like she was agreeing with me; for sure, she was also enjoying it. She chuckled in her throat. I raised my head, seeing her other arm move, letting her other hand find her muschi. Of course, she wanted to arouse herself, wanted her muschi to be moist and ready to fuck, whenever she thought that my cock wanted to - knew that it did!

It twitched; it did! She hummed with a nod, but let it twitch a couple of times more. I assumed, because her muschi wasn't yet aroused enough. But then she gave a deeper, longer hum and raised her head, hardly smiling at me, as she began to move her legs up past mine. Resting on one hand, she reached back and guided it to her opening.

“Mmmm!” we both moaned as it slipped easily into her moist, tight muschi, her hand disappearing as her hips sank down on mine. It surged, and her muschi squeezed it. She dropped down on me, and I embraced her. When my cock twitched again, it was squeezed again. She nodded, but murmured:
“Hold still, just wait.”
“Um-hmm,” I nodded, and we let our arousal subside.

Anything she wanted; anyway she wanted, I thought, respecting that she had had more experience than I had had since we had last fucked, remembering then that she didn't like to use that word. Her muschi squeezed again, but my cock didn't twitch.

“Um-hmm,” she hummed softly, as though she were pleased that it hadn't. Then she murmured:
“I want to do it like he likes.”
“I will too,” I replied, as it occurred to me that the squeeze of her muschi had not been a reflex, that she had done it intentionally; I knew she could.

If she wanted to do it with me like she did with her father, I had no problem with that; it would be good. And her telling me …, well, she didn't need a surrogate father figure, since she did it with him, and sharing it with me was the nicest thing she could do - sort of a compliment.

“Um-hmm,” she responded, but I wanted think that she had read my thoughts and was agreeing.

She sat up. My cock twitched as it slipped deeper in her muschi. She smiled with anozher “um-hmm,” without her muschi tightening. It couldn't have been deeper in her, her hips resting on mine. She smiled again and murmured:
“He just loves this.”
“I do too.”
“I'd hoped so.”

We both smiled. Her muschi squeezed me again, and I made my cock twitch. She nodded:
“Like that, just not to forget where it is. I love it too, yours too. It just feels so good in me.

Her muschi tightened again. She grinned and said:
“My doctor, woman doctor, says it's good to do that. Hm-hmm! She didn't say anything about having a man in me to do it.”
“Hmm! I hope she knows herself that it's better with one.”
“Me too! … Probably; she could hardly be a virgin.”
“They're getting rare.”
“Lucky girls, now. … Oh, he asked when I stopped being one.”
“I hope he wasn't shocked.”
“Just a little, more that he and Mom hadn't ever met the guy.”
“I would have been too; lucky that I only have sons.”

While our conversation continued, Anna remembered to practice what her doctor recommended, making me respond, also rocking her hips a little: to and fro, sideways, fucking in the mildest way, not letting my cock forget that it was. When it twitched, we would both smile slightly, the one or other of us continuing to speak. I had become accustomed to talking about sex and talking about what I enjoyed with Marge and Anna - also Petra and Liz. Hearing Anna talking about what she did with her father was something new. If she wanted to share with me what he liked to do, I was delighted to hear what she told, especially the way she kept reminding me what she liked to do with him.

“But he really didn't mind, I think,” she replied.
“I wouldn't have, if you had been my daughter - like this.”
“Hmmm! Lots of 'like this'. Oh, the first time, he came like a teenager. That was the second weekend. He was embarrassed that he had, but that was good; he rolled us over and, … well, there's only one word for it, and I did, and he did again.”
“That's good. … You want me to do that?”
“No. Oh, it was good, for both of us. He was surprised and very pleased that he had again, and so was I.”
“Of course!”
“Um-hmm, but the best part of it was that he wanted to make it good for me. Oh, it had been till then, but he had just let me do what I wanted - not that way before. Oh, he wanted to, like I wrote, but after that he didn't have a problem with showing that he did.”
“Taking more initiative?”
“That's what I meant. I felt better about having started it all after that, both of us equally open about enjoying whatever we wanted to do.”
“This especially?”
“Sometimes. I always do it to him first. After that, he was just waiting for me to, knowing that I love to and how much I want to taste him.”
“And wants to kiss you?”
“Like you do! Of course! And to know that what we then do, it will take longer.”
“For you both.”
“Or sometimes twice for me then, but he loves that it's that good for me.”
“Of course. And this way, after that first time?”
“Hmmm! Every weekend. Hm-hmm! Once we did it for half an hour, maybe other times, but that time was Sunday morning, hearing the church bell on the half hour and then on the hour.”
“Oooh! And then?”
“It wasn't really that good; too much accustomed to the sensations.”
“Don't want that to happen.”
“No.”
“That's good. And his showing initiative?”
“You like this, my telling you about him while we do it?”
“Why not? If you want to, both ways.”
“Guess I do. … Yes, I do, and like that you do, too.”
“Kind of funny, I was thinking before, but I do.”

Anna smiled down at me very sweetly and replied:
“Really kind of funny, but I like telling you, wanting to tell someone; it's so good … with him and with you.”
“And with you, … a lot better than I had hoped.”
“Um-hmm.”

We both smiled, and for a few moments she did more about making it also feel good. When her moving hips and squeezing muschi had made my cock twitch a few times - and more of our smiles - she remembered my question and said:
“His showing more initiative? Oh, he did. Once, when my period was on our weekend, the following Friday he drove down and surprised me. Oooh! We almost tore our clothes off in my room. We had never been in such a hurry to do it, and then do it again. He told me to pack a bag so that we could go to a hotel. He couldn't stay in my room. We drove to the next town, had no trouble checking into a hotel, and went to restaurant. I said that we should speak English. He has an accent, but I don't think I have much of one.”
“You don't.”
“Thanks. I told him to order, pretending that I didn't speak German. Then I began to tease him, well, make it more interesting, asking him in English if he had ever slept with an English girl, as though we had just met.”
“Hmm! I hope you didn't tell him that you wanted to get something straight between you both.”
“Hm-hmm! Wish I had, but that didn't occur to me, but I think something was. Oh, it definitely was by the time we left the restaurant, and he had as much fun talking to me as though he were having to show around a niece, the daughter of his sister in England. The story just evolved, really fun, especially that he so wittily participated. We both agreed later that it been one of our most delightful experiences together.”
“Better than before, or whatever you then did?”
“Hmm! Oh, we did, as though we hadn't twice before. If the hotel thought we were father and daughter sleeping in separate beds, the maid knew better - saved her remaking one bed. But you are right; we agreed that the story was just as delightful - in a different way, of course.”
“Of course, like it is delightful listening to you tell. Oh, did you tell him - like this - all about last summer?”

I rocked my hips to emphasize how I meant “like this,” and for a while we did a little more to arouse each other, snorting with smirks in response to what we were feeling in her muschi. When I felt that it was beginning to feel too good, I repeated my question:
“Did you tell him.”
“Oh, right, you asked before. Yes, like this, eventually, after he asked, after he …, well, I guess, after he felt as comfortable as I did - do - with what we were doing.”
“Everything?”
“Almost, not all at once, of course. I didn't tell what we did that day when we went down to the end of the beach, not that we did anything I hadn't told him. Just didn't want him to think that things were quite that wild. Didn't tell him about the Bastille Day party either.”
“Just as well. Also about the night with you and me and Petra?”
“Oh, I left that out too, not wanting to explain where Marge was.”
“She would probably appreciate that. Hmm? Hm-hmm! Sort of sounds like 'One thousand and One Nights'.”
“Oh, that is good, but I didn't leave him waiting for the next night to find out what happened.”
“I would hope not; rather let the climax - climaxes - of the incidents suggest something.”
“I never thought of that, but you're right; that is about what happened.”

I grinned up at her and rocked my hips again. She grinned back and squeezed my cock, and we chuckled, both nodding slightly. She reached back and fondled my balls, then smirked and asked:
“Want me to make it happen?”
“Hm-hmm! Of course, … but just like this?”
“Um-hmm, you just have to lie there.”
“I will, and you will, too?”
“Um-hmm, and he always does.”

Her muschi squeezed my cock again, and it twitched, and she massaged my balls and rocked her hips a little, smiling down at me.

“And you will too?” I asked again.
“Oh, I am sure I will. You can play with my nipples, but nothing else.”
“Hmm? Why haven't I been all along?”

I reached up and fondled her breasts. She nodded, and her other hand slid down her freshly shaven muschi, her fingers brushing my pubic hair as they began to rub back and forth. She smiled, continuing also to fondle my balls.

Her hips were still, just her fingers moving, also on my balls, but in her muschi …! Her gynecologist had been right that she should exercise the muscles of her vagina; I couldn't remember that it had squeezed my cock so strongly before, a year ago - nor anyone else's. And she had been practicing every couple of weeks with her father - lucky man! Lucky me, to profit from his willingness to enjoy such a mutually satisfying incestuous relationship. And she knew that she could make me have an orgasm “like this.”

If I had doubted it before, I didn't now, my cock slowly throbbing in her clutching vagina. I squeezed and twisted her tight nipples. She nodded, hardly looking at me. Then her fingers left my balls; they could hardly move them in my tightened sack. I was surprised to see her hand appear and that she put two fingers in her mouth, but when her hand with wet fingers disappeared behind her again, I understood what she wanted to do. After a moment, she flinched slightly with a soft “uhn!” Then she nodded slightly, and her eyes focused on me, as she remarked softly:
“He didn't want me to use both hands the first time I started to - hadn't before.”
“I don't mind; anything you want to do.”

She smiled with a nod, replying cheerfully:
“Oh, he didn't mind after that.”

We chuckled, grinning at each other, but only for a moment. When her fingers began to move again, the ones I could see, and also the other ones from the slight movement of her arm, her expression changed as she moaned softly, her eyes half closed, and then mine were too, returning her moans in response to the now even more arousing activity and sensations in her muschi.

Can a vagina “milk” a cock? Hers certainly could! And I thought it could feel the movement of her finger deeper in her, knowing that it was been clutched when my cock was. I tried to hold my hips still, wanting to let her do what she knew would be so good, hoping that she wanted it to be soon, very soon! I was relieved when her hips began to jerk to and fro, as she moaned louder, uncontrolled, pulsing moans.

Under the weight of her hips, mine could only twitch strongly, but my cock didn't need more than the jerking and rippling clutches of her muschi to give me an enormous orgasm, and hers seemed equally good, flooding me with her hot love juice, as she whimpered, and her body trembled.

Her vagina was still clutching, when her body stilled, her eyes closed, as she gasped and moaned. I was about to say something, not sure what, when she dropped down on me and cried out softly:
“Fick mich!”

There was only one thing her German words could mean. I did, her hips jerking down to meet mine with almost splashing slaps. Immediately, her vagina was clutching as vigorously as before. My cock couldn't twitch or surge, but it couldn't wilt in the arousing grasp of her so aroused muschi. My hand found where hers had been, and she nodded with an approving moan. My cock didn't feel my finger plunging where hers had been - too much movement from its pumping in and out.

She came again, sounding like she was trying to whimper and laugh at the same time, as she flooded me again. I know that I came again, but it was sort of lost in my appreciation of her overwhelming orgasm. When she collapsed on me, gasping and moaning, I was relieved that our exertion had given her what she had wanted, my stomach rising and falling under hers as I recovered from my effort.

Our stomachs rose and fell in different rhythms: against each other, then out of phase: mine up, as she exhaled, then out of phase for a couple of breaths until they pressed together again, less strongly as we recovered.

Suddenly she raised her head and looked at me with a surprised expression. Recalling her reverting to German in the heat of her arousal, I could imagine the reason for her expression. She smiled wryly and murmured:
“Good think I looked, before I said something in German. God, that was good! Thank you!”

She planted a good kiss on my mouth. I nodded, returning her kiss, and then replied:
“It sure was. It must have been; you used German before.”
“Hmm! I know; you can imagine why. Oh, I said that, used that word! Guess I do, when I really need to. You can imagine why it's good that I didn't say what I was about to now.”
“Just a family joke?”