Facets of Love Ch. 08

I had exclusive use of Robert's body every Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday night. Those nights, and the following mornings, Mom and Gloria went without. Which meant both of them were in bad moods nearly every Monday, Thursday, and Saturday. Mom, more than Gloria. Either my lesbian lover didn't have the Spencer sex drive or was able to hide her discomfort better than Mom. Either way, Gloria still was not quite herself after a night of sleeping alone.

The answer to the problem was obvious. We had to get Mom and Gloria in bed together. We had to convince two highly intelligent, alpha females that their lives would instantly improve if they started licking each other's pussies three days a week. And when I say "we", I'm talking about Robert and me.

-

Mom and Gloria thought they got together on their own. Gloria insisted her milk bank project was the catalyst. As usual, Mom said she did it for the good of the family. But Robert and I knew better.

They were two unhappy women who, while not necessarily attracted to each other, needed what the other had. A warm, hormone filled body, looking for a release. I know it sounds cruel and manipulative, but we forced the two women into the same bed by making them even hornier than they usually were.

Gloria was easy. Rubbing her freakishly sensitive nipples was like sticking a vibrator in the crotch of her panties. Not wanting her to realize what we were doing while also protecting our children's innocence, we were discreet about it.

We started at breakfast. Robert always kissed his mistress good morning when she walked into the kitchen, but slowly added a bit of nipple stimulation to the routine. Nothing extreme. He'd rub his muscular chest against her nubs as he held her close or, when the coast was clear of unauthorized voyeurs, sneak up behind her and whisper his undying love into her ear as his fingers turned her nips into inch long projections of wanton hardened flesh.

I took over where Robert left off. His nipple massages got her pussy damp. A well-placed thigh, an inadvertent palm, a probing finger (on the rare days she wore a skirt to work), were usually sufficient to make her inner faucet drip. We repeated the process in the evening so that, by the time Gloria went to bed, she was more than in the mood.

We did it every day. We teased Gloria to a state of desire which we would satisfy on the days she was scheduled to sleep with one or both of us. But, on the days she slept alone, the evenings we were trying to steer her towards Mom's bed, she spent the night in a frustrated state of carnal need, looking desperately for an outlet.

And then there was the other side of the equation. My Mom. I originally thought she would be a problem. I didn't see how any woman could get any hornier than her normal state. I had no idea how to make her more lustful than she naturally was. But Robert knew. One Thursday night, when Mom joined Robert and me in a threesome, my husband showed me a side of my mom that I never knew existed.

"Your mom and I usually do this on Monday nights when you're sleeping with May", he warned me ahead of time.

"What do you and Mom do that I don't know about?" I asked.

"Probably more than you want to know. Just follow my lead." Which was all he said until we had her stripped naked, laying on her back, with her ankles resting on Robert's shoulders.

Having previously gone through the preliminaries. After already licking both Mom and me to our first sexual peaks of the evening. Robert was pumping her once satiated sex with his impressive erection while I rode Mom's tongue reverse cowgirl, kneeling over her mouth, with my ass resting gently on her nose so that my boobs faced my husband's muscular chest, giving his lips access to mine.

While not the most comfortable position for either Mom or me, it was still one of my favorites, because it let me see the unadulterated love Robert had for me while he pumped his cock into my mother's baby hole. But this time was different. Instead of just pummeling Mom's pussy like a runaway Texas oil derrick, he directed me to grab Mom's ankles and keep them pinned against his shoulders while he used his now free hand to give Mom a smack on the ass.

"Do you like this, Martha?" he asked. "Do you enjoy licking your daughter's twenty-year-old pussy while I fuck your forty-year-old cunt? Answer me. Shake your head up and down if you agree. Stick your tongue deep into your firstborn's sex hole if you want me to keep going."

My cry of delight as Mom complied was all the answer Robert needed.

"That's what I thought," he said as he spanked first one ass cheek and then the other. "Do you dream of getting your ass spanked as you lap up Mary's juices?"

She grunted in agreement and then moaned in pleasure as his penis plunges and ass slaps became more pronounced and frequent.

"You need to know that everything Mary and I do to you, we do out of love. If you don't want me to fuck you, if you don't enjoy getting spanked, if you don't want to lick your daughter's sweet clit, all you have to do is tell us."

To my utter astonishment, she wanted it. A lot. So much that her subsequent orgasm was the most explosive and violent I had yet to witness, forcing her tongue so far up my ginny that I drenched her quivering face with a stream of lady cum that was only surpassed by the load of man juice Robert shot deep into her baby factory.

Who knew? Mom liked it rough. My nights alone with her were always tender, loving embraces that often, but not always, turned into pleasant moments of relief. But, unbeknownst to me, Doctor Martha Spencer had a wild side. She liked getting her ass smacked. Not something I was willing to do. Obedient daughters don't slap their mother's derriere, but apparently it was okay if my husband did it. Repeatedly. Whenever he wanted.

That was how he primed Mom's pump. His "good morning" kisses to his mother-in-law now included a little posterior play. Sometimes just a gentle rub on an upper thigh. More often a cheeky grope. And when available, a "lift up her skirt, pull down her thong, forceful, leave a handprint," blow to her ass.

"Do you thirst for a pussy to lick on those nights you sleep alone?" he'd whisper in her ear. "Does your psyche crave the comfort of a warm body when you don't have access to Mary or me? Because if you do, there is an equally frustrated woman sleeping just down the hall from us."

It worked. After nearly a year of tweaking Gloria's nipples and smacking Mom's ass, the two of them got so riled up they finally succumbed. I know exactly when it happened. Not that we caught them in the act. We didn't get up the next morning to see Gloria come out of Mom's bedroom with her hair all a mess. They didn't admit to it until a year or two later. But, on the Saturday morning when Mom and Gloria came down to breakfast with uncharacteristic smiles on their faces, both Robert and I knew why.

I'm not saying that the two of them became instant besties. They didn't start going out on dates with each other and their constant bickering didn't completely disappear. But their previously sharp verbal jabs turned into playful disagreements. Their glaring looks of disapproval changed to winks acknowledging shared secrets. Let's just say they transitioned from mortal enemies to contentious antagonists with privileges.

-

Robert Ryan Jones

2023

My life was littered with smart decisions, stupid mistakes, and a shit load of luck.

The best decision I ever made was stopping to help Mary and Martha when their minivan overheated on that sweltering hot, fateful day in Auburn. That snap decision started me down a path I otherwise would have never traveled.

Some would say cheating on Mary with both May and Martha should be number one on my dumb ass mistakes list. But either providence or unadulterated good fortune turned my two most notorious moments of weakness into a life richer than no mortal man deserved. Certainly not me.

Like many people, Covid had a huge impact on my life. The most immediate effect was the restrictions placed on travel which led to the acceptance of online meetings instead of business trips. In my case, it was a godsend. I no longer had to spend one week every month in Oklas. Two short Zoom conferences a week let me sleep in my own bed every night, even if my bedmates rotated according to Mary's schedule.

The second benefit of Covid was the explosion of online shopping. What people used to buy in brick-and-mortar stores were now being delivered to their homes... in cardboard boxes. He didn't live to see it, but Frank Spencer's cardboard box factory turned into a gold mine.

Lastly, and I shouldn't blame this on Covid, Mary's great-grandmother died just before the three sisters were born. She was in her mid-nineties and had been knocking on heaven's gate for a while, but Covid did her in. I never met the lady, her private nursing home was one of those high-priced institutions in Miami, but, when James explained her last will and testament to me, I was shocked.

"Besides large homes scattered throughout the state and investment accounts that make most IRAs look like piggy banks, she also owned a couple of sections of farmland in the middle of the state," James said.

"When you say, 'section of farmland', are you referring to a small plot of property or a no shit square mile of land?" I asked.

"The latter. And it's two sections."

"Twelve hundred and eighty acres?"

"Exactly. And I'm betting only a farm boy will know how large a section of land actually is," James said.

"Is that important?"

"You bet your ass it is. The old lady left the land to Mary and split the rest of it - the houses and investments - between her other descendants. If you do the math, Mary's getting at least twice as much as the others."

"And you think Mary's aunts, uncles, and cousins won't know they're getting shorted?"

"I'm the executor of the will. When I'm done with them, they'll think Mary's the one getting the shaft."

"So, where is this land?" I asked.

"You know those endless acres of scrub behind the factory?"

"Yeah."

"That's where Mary's land is. It's zoned for agriculture now, but... well, I'm on the zoning board. Give me a couple of years and that's where your new factory and housing development will be."

-

Mary Spencer Jones

August 2036

It was a Tuesday night, my night to sleep with Mom.

"Is it okay if we just cuddle and talk for the rest of the night?"

Those were the words Mom spoke when she wanted something from me. She had just tongued me to a most satisfying sexual peak and, usually, she would expect me to return the favor. Her ass was still tender from whatever my husband had done to her the previous night, but that had never before stopped her from demanding her daily O. Whatever she wanted was bound to be a big ask.

"Robert and I discussed this last night," she said as she playfully tweaked one of my nips and gently stroked my recently satisfied puss. "He is in full agreement with my plan but, as always, insists you have the final say when it comes to the children."

I could feel the tiny hairs on my arms rise up in alarm as my parental intuition superseded my sexual afterglow.

"Robbie's birthday is next week."

She rubbed my belly with a pussy wetted finger, a secret post coital relaxation technique between mother and daughter that even Robert didn't know about.

"You've done an absolutely amazing job raising the boy. He's the spitting image of his father, in both looks and personality."

Watch out! She's giving me full credit for Robbie's good nature and complimenting my husband. Whatever she wants has to be huge. Maybe she needs one of my kidneys.

"But I'm concerned we might have left out one key element in his education..."

Mom spent the rest of the evening pitching her plan while doing her best to muddle my mind by stimulating every single pleasure center of my body. After nearly two decades of our twice weekly incestual encounters, she had a mental map of all of them.

I initially said no. Hell no. Because that was my maternal reaction to Mom's suggestion. If I had followed my gut, I would have gotten out of Mom's bed, walked down the hall, and climbed into bed with Robert and Gloria. Yeah, it was my girlfriend's night to seduce my husband, but if I told her what Mom had in mind, she would have understood and welcomed me with open thighs.

But I didn't. I stayed in bed with Mom and listened to her questionable reasoning while enjoying her unquestionable ability to keep my vagina moist and receptive.

In the end - after one final leg quivering, pussy squirting, hair raising response - I capitulated and said, "yes, but only if Gloria is okay with the plan."

I didn't agree to giving Mom a part of my body. What she wanted was one of Robbie's.

-

Dr. Gloria May Carter

Like most people, I could fall asleep without another warm body in my bed and, although I wasn't averse to a daily dose of sexual exercise, I could skip a night or two every week and still function. Martha couldn't. She couldn't sleep alone and, if she didn't get fucked at least once a day, she was an absolute pain in the ass to be around.

That's why I previously agreed to sleep with her three nights a week and why I immediately bought into her plan. It made perfect sense and would make my life much easier by decreasing the time I spent in bed with my paramour's obnoxious mother-in-law.

-

Sep 2036

Robbie Jones

Age 18

There were nine people in my family. Dad, Mom, Grandma, Aunt Gloria, my three sisters (April, June, and Julie), and me. Uncle James didn't live with us, he had his own house, but we considered him family since he spent so much time at our place.

Grandma says that I spent my baby years in a normal neighborhood with people on either side of us, but I don't remember anything about that house. When I was four and my sisters were two, we moved into a large house located at the end of a deserted road, several miles from our nearest neighbors. Us four kids were home schooled from kindergarten through the eighth grade so our contact with other children was extremely limited. So limited that Mom was worried about me not having any boys to play with.

"We either send him to public school or bring some boys his age into our homeschool group," I heard Mom say to Dad when I was nine. I had just got in trouble for giving Julie a bloody nose while we were wrestling.

A week later, three boys showed up at our house for school and we've been friends ever since. That was when I first started wondering if my family might be slightly different than the norm. Jerry was the first to ask me about it.

"How come you got three mom's and I only got one?"

"I only have one mom," I answered. "Her name is Mary Jones."

"Then how do you explain the other two women living in your house?"

"One's my grandma and one's my Aunt Gloria." (Gloria wasn't my real aunt. She wasn't my dad's or mom's sister, but I called her Aunt Gloria anyway)

"Are you sure?" Jerry asked. "I got two grandmas but they're like a hundred years old. Yours looks younger than my mom. And I got a half dozen aunts but none of them play basketball like your Aunt Gloria. You are one lucky son-of-a-bitch."

Jerry was right. At the time, my sheltered nine-year-old brain had no idea what a son-of-a-bitch was, but I knew I was lucky.

Let's start with where I lived. Our huge house sat at the end of a mile long private road. All of us kids had our own bedrooms downstairs. I shared a bathroom with Julie; April and June also shared a bathroom. Dad and my 'three moms' shared three bedrooms upstairs, each with their own bathrooms. Us kids weren't allowed upstairs, but I always assumed Mom and Dad slept in one room while Aunt Gloria and Grandma had their own rooms.

There was a huge swimming pool in the back yard, complete with diving board, water slide, and hot tub. While lots of kids had basketball goals in their driveways, we had a full-sized basketball court in the cul-de-sac in front of our house... with two goals and all the markings. And when we got older, the barn which used to hold our tricycles turned into storage areas for dirt bikes and four wheelers.

Despite all the toys available to us, the best part of growing up in our house was the people. Yeah, there were times when having three sisters was a royal pain in the ass, and I'm sure they felt the same about living with an older brother and his 'always present' guy friends. But, with Dad, Mom, Grandma, Aunt Gloria, and Uncle James, I always had some sort of parent to go to when I needed one.

And sometimes they came to me.

-

Like I said earlier, my parents were rich. Not - private jet, eighty-foot yacht, home on the French Riviera, apartment on Times Square - filthy rich. But we lived in a big house, owned a good-sized company, and never worried about paying the bills. What we didn't have was servants. I started mowing the lawn when I was ten. My sisters helped with the cooking and cleaning and, whenever we did something big around the house, everybody pitched in.

The cabana is a great example. The summer before my senior year in high school, Dad decided us kids needed to know how to build a house.

"Not a huge house," he said at the time. "Maybe just a small structure behind the pool so you'll have an appreciation for what the men and women who work with their hands do."

Not surprisingly, Dad, Uncle James, and I did most of the work. We dug the footers, installed the plumbing, and did the framing, wiring, flooring, and roof. Once the interior walls were up, the three sisters helped us paint but that was pretty much the extent of their participation. Except for Julie. When she realized what the building would be used for, she volunteered to help Dad and me paint the exterior walls and was more than happy to help me move in. Happy because she would no longer have to share a bathroom with me.

That was the deal. I helped Dad build the cabana and I got to live in it.

It wasn't huge - maybe 600 square feet, with a bedroom, bathroom, and small living area - but it was my own private domain. Away from the constant chatter of the sisters but close to Mom's kitchen. Like my friend Jerry often said, I was one lucky son-of-a-bitch.

I didn't realize how lucky until the night of my eighteenth birthday. The first night I slept in the cabana.

I wasn't exactly nervous, but I also wasn't completely at ease. Although I'd gone camping with Dad plenty of times and obviously slept alone in my room in the big house, this was the first time I'd be all by myself for the night; under my own roof with nobody within shouting distance.

I knew animals roamed the woods around our property. Deer, racoons, wild boar, a stray alligator now and then, and God knows how many snakes, owls, and other critters were out there. So, it took me a bit longer than normal to get to sleep that night. And when I woke sometime after midnight, thinking somebody was inside the cabana, I knew it was just my imagination playing tricks on me... until I heard the door to my bedroom open.

"Dammit Jerry, if that's you I'm going to kick your ass and feed you to the gators."

"It's me, Robbie. Sorry if I woke you."

"Grandma?"

"Yes. Don't turn on the light. I've got a late birthday present for you, something better given in the dark."

"I... I don't understand."

"I know you don't sweetheart. That's why I'm here."

I was surprised when she got into bed with me, shocked when she placed my hands on her breasts, and dumbfounded when I discovered she wasn't wearing any clothes.