Father's Day

I kick the door shut behind me and lean forward. My back tightens as it supports Angela's weight. I penetrate the whole way in and her bikini-clad breasts crush into my chest as she pulls herself into me. This is the way we've done it for years. She's supported her spine and I've supported her thick bottom. I plunge in and out of her again and again. Her long legs latching onto my sides, creating a pivoting body that I can alternatively thrust onto my pillar. The muscles she's using to hang on keep the tightness around my cock crushing. I have to hand it to my wife. After giving birth to seven children and taking care of an insatiable husband four nights or so a week, she's taken very good care of her kitten. Damn responsible of her. I crushed into her again. Angela was gripped by an orgasm that forced her to lean her head back. As I humped into her mercilessly, loosening my grip so my pearls could rub up against the front-most fold of her pussy. As she tightened up around me, I felt her squeeze the precum out of my cock. I felt it leaving in dollops with each thrust and a buzzing began in my groin. I closed my eyes and concentrated on letting the buzzing move to my heart like a gut laugh moves from belly to throat.

Moments later, a tingling was spreading through my whole body and Angela and I were on the floor, going at it like the randy teenagers we never got to be together. I'm not complaining, we've had 14 years together and there wasn't a single day that went by that we didn't have sex (except like twice when she was in labor). It's not like I wish I'd been born in Tennessee. Granted, Metra wasn't a bastion of hospitality, either, but getting out was the idea. I believe the man they call "the boss" would shed some light on the subject.

Angela adapted well to our new ground. For a change, we found ourselves in the missionary position, which was proving ponderous. My wife turned the tables with one of those finely crafted four-foot long legs of hers. It generated enough leverage to slide her sweat covered back out from under me and land me dick up on the floor. With a pounce, she had me deep inside. Her panties, I saw were the matching yellow string bottoms to her top. As she ground her pelvis into mine, she pulled one string, and then the next, freeing her big, red clittie, with it's shiny silver claw piercing. I ran my finger along it's length while she unbound her breasts. I may have said I had some favorite parts to this day, but this is probably my favorite. Angela revealing the badge of the work we've done as a couple, those beautiful, round G-cup breasts, and the nipples she got pierced after she had Grace and we swore that would be the last one. I love seeing my wives naked. I leaned forward and took one of her rubbery nipples in my mouth. My lips couldn't cover the areola. She began rising up and down on my cock, a little "oh" escaping her lips every time our crotches came together. Her silver claw hooked into the curly hairs surrounding my belly button and as she rode my crank her clit was pulled taut, or bent when she would raise her wide bottom up off of me until only my head held her open, or yanked ever which way as she slammed her heavy ass into my hips ceaselessly. She came again when I bit on her barbell and lightly tugged. Angela moaned into my shoulder as she slowly rubbed her leaking quim into the thick base of my dick.

I pulled my legs up behind me and spread them wide. I laid her orgasming body in between them and began hurtling down the home stretch. Angela wrapped her long legs around my back while I rained deep thrust after deep thrust into her already overflowing box. My balls slapped off her ass with each successive stroke. The sound was deafening to our ears when we had it in our minds to make it with no one in the house hearing. My wife, of course, is a quick thinker. "Shove it in my ass, Abey. Just once."

Perhaps she is less of a quick thinker and more of a sexual deviant. We shall see. I did as I was told. My cock was dripping with our collective cummings when I pried it from her sweettrap. She rolled onto her shoulders and gravity pulled her ass cheeks apart. I easily shoved it into her butthole.

"Urgh." We both grunted, and a little geyser of precum shot out of Angela pussy. "Okay, now pull it out and get back to fucking me."

I switched holes and laid her butt back on the floor. I was glad to resume the beat I was slapping out on Angela's ass but she had other ideas. She took my old, dangling ball sac and shoved all fourteen inches of it in her ass, one ball at a time and then pushing it as deep as possible with her long fingers. I was in heaven. The pressure and heat surrounding my nuts was incredible. Angela clenched her rectum and my balls were massaged in a soft pocket between three tennis ball-sized silicon implants. I began bearing down on her again and each time a ball would pop out she'd push it back in again. A little twitch from her vagina would follow. Her claw was cold along my shaft, but her clit was warm. The combined sensation was like fire. Finally I was ready and Angela was there with me.

I pulled my balls out of her asshole when I shot my first stream of cum into her vag. She came immediately, and no less than an inch away I could feel her uterus spasming through her cervix. Angela and I sucked on eachother's tongues and moaned deep. I gently thrusted as more and more cum spurted out of my cock. When Angela's orgasm finally subsided, I pulled out and straddled her thin chest. My balls rested on her stomach. Angela leaned up and wrapped her lips around my head. I ran my pointer finger and my middle finger along my cum-tunnel, evacuating eleven thick streams into her mouth. Finally spent, I nestled my limp cock between Angela's tits and bent my neck down to kiss her. (Whatever, my dick's clean, my wife is clean, and I never put any stock in that you're unclean if you've had sex thing. She kisses my kids with that mouth!)

I admit, my dick got hard wedged between those fine tits. I really wanted to fuck them too. Honestly, though, there will be other days. Let me tell you about Father's Day dinner with my huge family:

My wives sat on either side of me. As we sat around the dinner table, a great cross-section of a Sequoia, Angela sat to my right and Mariah sat to my left. I wore a white-and-black-pinstripe suit with a hound's-tooth vest and a black shirt. Angela wore a long cerulean blue dress with small white flowers printed on it. Her hair was down now and I had helped her clip a dozen lilies into her flowing blonde hair. (Because, why else had we spent so long up there?) My sons and daughters flanked their respective mothers, while Hami and Farhan sat between Oliver and Zoe. Mariah had put a lace tablecloth out beneath our dinner. There was room enough for one more.

We all held our hands wide for a silent prayer before eating. I prayed that the food would be clean and that I could put it to good use. I prayed that sex with someone else whom my wives know and approve of is good in God's eyes. I prayed that I had adequately prepared my son to wisely and responsibly explore sex. Finally and above all else, I prayed for God's will. With that, I bowed my head and waited for my family to finish.

Zoe finished last. I can only imagine what a twelve-year-old's relationship to God must be like. When we began eating, conversation was driven by the cuisine.

"It's delicious."

"It's so tender."

"You have to make this for my next gallery opening."

Hamida and Farhan started a sidebar about the program they'd just finished watching.

"It's weird, this 'all this has happened before and will happen again' stuff, and everyone's always coming back to life and planet-hopping." Hamida said.

"Well, it's science-fiction, you know, and the idea is that the Cylons keep coming back to life because they're just robots with programming that downloads."

"Yeah, but what about Starbuck, and that thing about Adama, and I mean, which Adama?"

I didn't know Hamida was this into Battlestar Galactica, but in half a minute they'd left the rest of the table completely alienated as they engaged each other in a conversation about the implications of Cylons being able to have kids when "this has all happened before…" Angela was particularly scandalized when Hamida abbreviated his theory to "space mormons."

"Farhan, have you been talking to any girls at school?" she asked.

"No, mom, not really." Farhan replied.

This was interesting. Though my curiosity didn't show itself expect in a few slower bites into my squash, I was intrigued as to why Farhan was being evasive with his mother. He was typically open with her, and had admitted to her when he'd had his first wet dream. He'd never been shy about buying new underwear as he outgrew his old pairs. The private dinners we had with Mariah, Farhan, Angela, Hamida, his sister, and myself were clothing optional and it appeared the bashfulness was a trait that didn't exist in him. Again, why the subterfuge? He'd been honest with me. He'd shown no proclivities to lie to his mother more than he'd lie to me. It was pipe and deer-hunter cap time.

We finished dinner in relative silence. Occasionally, a question would come up, or a burdgeoning conversation, and it would simmer into quiet. Afterwards, we had dessert, and I played with my children in the backyard before it got too cold. Hamida drove Mariah and the kids to her house. Farhan left to go for a walk before I could get a chance to talk to him. My wife, ravishing in her blue dress, demanded I not wait for him to come back.