Family First

It's a few years ago now, but back when travelling abroad was an easier thrill, and Europe still so exotic, my younger brother Christian, (eighteen, devilishly handsome but just a little shy) and I went to Greece for our summer holidays with our parents. We left behind my other brother Jeremy to manage my Mum's café, a bit of independence for him and a bit of freedom from care for my just entering middle-age Mum. My Dad was 45, a police inspector. He and I didn't see eye to eye to on everything, I think he wanted a son for his first born. And that I wasn't. Growing up I always felt a pressure not only to be a princess but also to be everything a boy should be.

I'm Andrea, 23, have been living with my boyfriend (like me, a waiter) for a few months. I was meeting up with my family for the first time in ages at the airport, them living in the Cotswolds in the English countryside and me in feral London. The holiday away was my Mum's idea, thinking that it might be our last chance to all go away together, now that her kids were so close to being independent. Normally we'd go to Wales or Scotland, this was only our third trip abroad ever. At the last minute though, Jeremy had to stay back because Mum's caretaker manager had broken their hand when falling off their bike, so he, capable as ever, was going to fill in.

I had kept away from my Dad for the best part of three months. My Dad was...old school. My boyfriend was....not white. A Bangladeshi. Handsome, charming, funny, great in bed. Somehow we just clicked, and running my fingers down his flanks as we lay facing each other side by side on the sofa or in bed, holding on to his arm or his hand in crowds, or when we went into restaurants or somewhere new, I always felt safe, secure, and happy.

In those pre-smartphone days, my Mum had only seen a picture or two of this boyfriend, my Dad probably hadn't. I was nervous how things would go when my boyfriend Shah and my Dad Leo met, let alone for the rest of the holidays, but the formal handshakes at the beginning seemed to go OK and the rush and crowds of summer holiday check ins at the 'world's busiest airport' meant that we were too busy for any of the frowns and seething disapprovals that were my Dad's default expressions of unhappiness. My Mum, gave me a little squeeze and eye-check -- she certainly approved of Shah. Him being so effortlessly relaxed didn't hurt either and he and Chris bonded straightaway which was a really good sign.

We took a ferry from Athens to Kefalonia, and got in, a little tired mid-evening to our villa, not too far away from the sea. We dropped our bags, had dinner, came back, drank wine on the balcony and made plans to hire scooters and a car the next day to get around. The plan was to do our own things during the day and meet up every night for dinner. It was us (the youngsters on two scooters) against them (my parents) but the first couple of days we were all on the beach together.

My Mum surprised me. Us. She went topless from Day 1. She and Dad actually looked fitter and trimmer than when I'd last seen them. They'd been exercising! I looked at her closely, her body was the one I was likely to have when I was her age after all. After three kids she had some stretch marks of course, a bit of a roll around her belly which I thought was really sexy, and her breasts drooped a little, but a lifetime on her feet (farmer's daughter first, then working woman/businesswoman after my Dad who had been on police training in the countryside met her and got her pregnant) had kept her fit and trim. She was a short-haired brunette, gorgeous, and attractive in a way that both men and women noticed. I'd be happy if I looked as good as she did when I was 43. Certainly compared to all the other Mums, grannies and youngsters on the beach she more than held her own. My Dad never ogled her directly, but the boys Chris and Shah certainly did. I could tell my Dad was proud of his wife though, as much of a bastard he could be, as blunt and rough and coarse as he may be at times, he could also show the most refined courtesy to my Mum and my grandmother. He loved my Mum a lot, even if he mightn't have been the best thing for her overall.

When I was growing up my parents would never bring liquor to the table. I realise now it was only because they didn't want to let me know how much my Dad actually drank. Anyway, we bumbled along, love won in the end. And love my Mum I did. We all did. Shah really took to her, "I've got a huge Oedipus complex", he cheerfully admitted early on in our relationship. I was starting to understand what he meant, the more I saw him interact with Lisa, my Mum.

Mum was in a high-waisted white tanga and following her example, I too went topless, with a brown thong on the bottom. Mum came alive in the sun, the fine hairs on her body vibrant in the light, and she moved with grace in everything she did at the beach. Pretty much topless all the while. In recent years I think fewer women are stripping down at the beach, back then, we were all much more liberal. Sun cream was applied liberally too, and whereas Shah had the honours with any part of me I couldn't reach, only I was allowed to baste my Mum's back and bum. Happy to be seen as my Mum's daughter by our resemblance by all who struck up conversation with us. As with every European beach there weren't as many Brits as there were Germans, Dutch or Scandinavians but we managed to have French as a common language when English wasn't possible, when we had to interact with others.

My Dad tried not to look too obviously at his near-naked women but I know he did. Every once in a while he would lift his eyes out of the Thomas Harris books he was reading and it gave me a little thrill. I knew he kept eye contact with me when we were both talking topless, but I'd wave my hands over my chest and belly just to draw him in to my web! I tried not to be too obvious about tracing the line of his chest hair down to his belly down into his beach shorts to look for evidence of his cock. Shah would flip over anytime he had an erection and not move until it had come down. He flipped over quite a lot that holiday. Chris soon discovered that his light blue trunks weren't the best idea to hide either his regular erections or the signs-of-arousal drips his cock was releasing. We all saw them, and so what, he was my kid brother, the youngest in the family, not a grown-up yet. Whatever he was feeling and expressing was totally natural. I'd be bum to tum, hip to hip with Chris whenever I could, just because it felt good. I loved him very much. Shah too would nudge his stiffies against me often enough, and bump his shorts against my hand whenever the opportunity presented itself but we were in high-season Greek beaches full of people and kids, or with my parents, so it wasn't as if I could stroke him or suck him off in public. Much as he or I wanted to. And oh, how I wanted him to lick me. Lick me everywhere. Whenever I felt my own pussy start creaming I would just walk into the sea. Those first few days as we just settled into the warm sands and the hot air, and the liquid sex that the fir trees and orchids fragranced the air with.

Our second night, we found our way to one of the local nightclubs and danced and danced. Mum kicked off her heels and was truly the centre of attention in the middle of the dance floor, Dad moving and swaying near her, half-proud, half-shocked, fully in awe of Mum. Jeez, I was just a little jealous and my competitive instincts kicked in as I danced near her. I wanted everyone to look at me too. Hips don't lie and hers were juicy and full of life, expressing her woman-inity and happiness to be dancing in this crowd. Mum singing along to the radio had become Mum singing along to the crowd-pleasers Yazz, and Ultra Naté, in the club. Chris was hovering, his eyes on stalks not just at us, but at all the dancing women. Whenever Shah and I came together, I could feel his erection pressing into me, and when he held me and his fingers and thumbs pressed into me under my breasts or around my bum, I'd feel electric pulses flowing straight to my pussy. Dad's face glowered whenever he caught Shah fondling me, but it certainly didn't stop him squeezing Mum's bum while they were dancing face to face.

We started going dancing every night, mostly at the same place, 'The Kolosuss', and Mum and found a group of people their age to drink with there too. Shah, Chris, and I even though we had all the energy and all the youth, didn't dance as much as the grown-ups who seemed to dance as if with every shake and shimmy, dip and bop, step to the left and right, they were throwing off the chains of the real world and being free for the first time in a long time.

We'd walk up the slopes back to the rented villa buzzed and tired and feeling that whatever had happened back in England or the rest of the world that day, whatever was on TV, or even what Jeremy had been up to with Mum's café -- none of it mattered. We'd feel the warm air surround us, smell the ocean and the trees, know in our bones that tomorrow was going to be the same. Island life, island life...

We all fucked hard at night though. Furiously. Savagely. Desperately. Hungrily. Like we were slaking our thirst after a day without water. And as quiet as Shah and I tried to do it, I know we weren't quiet enough. Chris letting us know the mornings after was one thing. Hearing our parents fuck was giveaway enough. We might close the doors to our bedrooms but this was sticky-hot-night Greece, and our windows had to be open. Poor Chris, all he could do behind his closed doors at the opposite end of the corridor was wank. He'd had to leave his girlie mags behind for fear of getting arrested or embarrassed at the airport but hearing us would have been material enough I'm sure to stroke himself to regular ecstasy. Or reliving how he'd seen me and his Mum in our little costumes or filmy dresses, or us in our toplessnesses. Let alone all the other girls and women at the beach and elsewhere.

I have a theory that when you first have sex, if you're having to do it in earshot of others, you learn to do it quietly and your moans and mouthings as a result are whispered or subdued. Not in my case, I started as a young woman, in my older boyfriend's flat and I never had to be inhibited. My Mum and Dad were the same. Growing up, my brothers and I could often hear them going at it hard, all hours of the day and night, even through the thick countryside doors and stone walls of our old shire-house. My Dad was a grunter, practically a yeller at the point of climax even, and for sure my Mum was a moaner and borderline screamer. I had fingered myself off so often hearing them and their moans and slaps of flesh on flesh and there had been times when all of us as kids would have our ears pressed to the wall, or be outside the window, the boys with their cute erections and me oozing pussy-juice before we went to our separate beds.

In our childhood curiosities of our parent's closets, drawers, and bookshelves we had no idea what exactly the little plastic tube with three metal buttons in its own personal case was, after first finding it in Mum's bedside table. It was only when me and my girlfriends at school compared notes about our parents, that I understood what it was. And a little while later, what it did. Mum was quite open about it once she realised I'd been using it. "It's my 'Mr. Speedy'," she said, "but I really don't think you should be using it at your age. It'll spoil you for what boys can do down there."

"So why do you use it, Mum?"

"It's for when your Dad's away on assignment, and I've had a long day and I miss him. And when you and your brothers have been tiring me out!" she said, chuckling. Mum took me to her gynaecologist soon after I turned 16 and between boyfriends and fingering, the need for speed never arose.

Those nights in Kefalonia I wonder if Shah and I were deliberately competing with my Mum and Dad. Fucking Shah was some kind of heaven. I couldn't wait to get it on with him, we'd do it in the shower too but bed or supported by furniture was always the best. He just knew how to make me come. By instinct he knew that nuzzling the side of my neck, nibbling my earlobes was a direct line to cunt tingling and me doing the same thing to him did the same for his cock. He didn't have a particularly large cock, it was straight down the middle in the charts on all that I had known and all the knowledge me and my girlfriends shared but it was circumcised and sleek and he knew how to use it. He could fuck me hard and would, just when I needed it, make love to me, smoothly, rhythmically, like really properly make 'love' to me. And he was so naughty. I thought I was naughty, but he expanded my horizons. He was the first to lick my arse, the first to take my arse and have me like it, the first to restrain me, blindfold me, the first to truly make me come. And I'd been fucking for more than six years already when I met him.

Our days in Greece followed the same pattern, breakfast, beach, a little bit of (mostly groceries and beaded and beachy things and sandals), shower, dinner, dance, a collapse into bed, stomachs full of fish and lamb and salads too good to not eat every bit of, heat-drowsed, energy spent after a day swimming and sunning and walking with even a hike or two and then a waking up around midnight refreshed, hot, and horny. And that's when Shah would either go down on me or I'd take him in my mouth to start things off. His sweat made things even more tasty and I loved taking his balls in my mouth and having the musky moistness hit my nose ahead of my tongue. No one really groomed themselves too much those days, certainly not the men, and his pubes always smelt of sex. I knew just how to get him to the point of serious pre-cummage, while he all the while gripped my hair or played with my tits or just did things with his fingers and hands on my skin that got me so super turned on. He slid into me, his cock feeling more than big enough to reach me everywhere that mattered and he took charge, moving in and out with his cock, sucking on my tits, kissing me, nuzzling my neck and ears, his eyes above me smiling in the dark, he'd say all the right things: 'Lover....Darling....My Beautiful Andrea....Fuck of the World...."when his mouth wasn't full of other things. He was such a good kisser too. And he could go on for such a long time, I'd come on his cock and he could either come right after or keep going if he felt I needed more. We only came together, I mean right together, three times in all our fucking; the expectation of it, the memory of it was enough too!

As the days went on in our two-week stay we became more and more casual in our morning-wear. Mum would come out of her bedroom in nothing more than a towel on her way to and from the bathroom, likewise me, and the boys and my Dad, having started off in T-shirts and shorts put on specially for the occasion after sleeping naked in bed no doubt, moved on to just shorts and in Shah's case, a sarong. We weren't wearing much more at home than on the beach.

We were all in a permanent state of arousal, and at breakfast one morning, my Mum with the glow that the freshly fucked have, said, "Leo and I are feeling like making this our second honeymoon, so we're thinking that we could do our own thing while you kids do yours."

"You mean, we stay in another villa?", asked Chris.

"No, sweetheart, just that we don't necessarily make plans to have lunch and dinner together all the time, and if we don't come out of our room at breakfast it's because we're sleeping in, so no need to wake us or anything." My Dad was blushing a little.

"Here's some money for you to spend as you like, it should be enough, let me know if it isn't," said Dad, and handed over a wad of drachmas to me and Chris. Shah didn't get any directly, my Dad and he were still a little stand-offish, but it was Shah's arm that Mum squeezed as Dad gave us the money.

"So, that's that then," said Dad, as he rose from the breakfast table and took Mum's hand and led her away. They came out from their bedroom a minute later, "have a good day, dears," said Mum. And they went off in the car.

"What shall we do?", I asked the others.

"Beach?", said Chris.

Beach it was. Only that day, it felt a bit different. Like we were exposed to the sun and wind without any shelter. It felt like there was less to do, less to talk about, less things to look at. It's not that Shah or Chris were boring, but we all somehow seemed bored. "Only the boring get bored," was one of my Dad's favourite sayings as I was growing up whenever I expressed disinterest in what he was doing, and boring was something I couldn't be.

When we got back to the villa that afternoon we cut up watermelon and wore them as helmets which was good for a laugh, but Mum and Dad weren't home, and only came in, as we were going out for dinner.

"Darlings, hope you had a good day," said Mum. "Your Dad and I found a new beach on the other side of the island, and I think we'll be going there tomorrow too. We're having dinner with some friends at their villa, so don't wait up. See you at breakfast, alright?", she patted Chris on the chest and that was them in and us out.

We got on our scooters, for the ride to the shore. "Burger?", said Chris, yearningly. Shah and I looked at the little giant, and laughingly agreed.

We didn't hear Mum and Dad come in that night, we didn't even hear them shag. Whatever they'd been up to had really tired them out.

We saw them at breakfast though, humming with the vibration of the much in love. Dad ate ravenously, Mum fondled her coffee cup, drinking slowly. She looked a little far away at times.

"Penny for your thoughts?," I asked.

"It'll take a lot of pounds, to get at what your Mum's thinking," said Dad with a chuckle.. A delicious bread-crumb nestled in his chest hair. Hair that narrowed down all the way to the top of his shorts. You know, my Mum was good-looking, but all of us kids got our features from our Dad and he was quite the square-jawed, broad-shouldered handsome one. If I wasn't his daughter.....anyway, I still fancied his brother, my uncle the carpenter something awful and had had my first crushes and fingering fantasies all about him. He was certainly nicer to me overall than my Dad ever was.

Mum kissed all of us (except Dad, ha!) when she got up from the table and said, "we might see you tonight, but we'll be out with our friends again. Can you get some milk and more of that cheese you like, darling --

"Nutellla", said the jar-emptying fiend that was Chris.

"And some bread and olives," said Mum.

"We had some good retsina last night," said Shah, "we'll get a few bottles for the house."

"And some ouzo", said Dad.

For one of the few times that whole trip, Shah and Dad looked each other eye to eye, mano a mano, the competitiveness expressing itself over alcohol this time.

"Sure," said Shah, with a smile.

As we all set out to do our regular things for the day, Mum and Dad in the car, Chris, Shah, and I on our scooters, Chris said, "I think I'm gonna do my own thing today if you don't mind, just do some exploring." And he whizzed away.

"That's our boy," said Shah, as if waving off a son to university. I played the bereft mother, wiping tears away and then I grabbed Shah's crotch. And pulled him back towards the house.

I took my clothes off as we went in, pulling Shah's shorts down, and sucked him off in the doorway.

It was one of those blowjobs where it was all about me and not him, I took him deep, and loved the silkiness of his cock as it went over and across my tongue, the ridge of his head being a 3D mouthful that I could savour for hours. Shah pushed my hair back with two hands, his fingers stroking my ears and jawline, he leant back against the wall, his shorts around his ankles and as I brought him off with my mouth and left hand, squeezing his balls every now and then, and pressing against his arsehole, I played myself, stroking and fingering with my right. Shah's big toe got in there too, but my fingers had more control as I knelt in front of him but I had him rub his instep up against me and my wetness from below. My pubes added a lot to the feeling, actually. So much was going through my body and head, I can remember it now, the sweat running off our bodies, the warmth and taste of Shah's cock, the songs of the birds, the whirr of the bees and dragonflies, the swish of a passing car or scooter, I sensed everything but I was blind to all except cock and mouth, cock and mouth.