Functionally Dysfunctional

Marissa's inhibition begins to fade, supplanted by the hot desire she's felt for days. "In the restaurant, you said something about getting between your chubby legs and licking your pussy until you get so hot that you squirt all over the sheets. Well, I'm ready if you are."

"Let's, honey, I'm on fire." Lying flat on her back, she opens up to receive her daughter. "Jesus, I never in a million years dreamed I'd spread my legs for ONE of my kids, much less for both of them."

On her stomach, Marissa wraps her arms around Monique's thighs and then starts to dip her tongue just past the labia. She's tentative at first, tonguing the organ as if it was some exotic food she was tasting for the first time. Looking up, she says, "You taste pretty good, mom. I didn't know what to expect."

Monique nods. "The right hygiene can make all the difference." She can't say much else, not with Marissa stabbing her tongue across her clit, her pace quickening to fast and furious. "Don't stop, honey, please don't stop," she cries as she begins to shake and quiver.

Stopping is hardly what Marissa considers, caught up as she is in her mom's orgasmic state. She pumps her pelvis hard against the bed, feels near climax herself watching this woman who gave her life writhe and wiggle and shout, her fists balled up, gripping the sheets. Marissa knows a woman's climax when she sees and hears one, for she's been there, and she holds Monique through the experience, the usual paroxysms of joy, the moans and shrieks that reverberate off the room's wooden beams; it all sounds like music to her ears.

Monique sits up and holds her head in her hands. "Whew! I hope I can return the favor, give you as good as you just gave me."

"Tis better to give than receive," Marissa says, chuckling. "Not that I'd mind if you return the favor."

Monique reaches between Marissa's legs, wiggling her fingers inside her pussy. "Looks like you're wet enough for my surprise."

"Surprise?"

Monique hops off the bed, reaches inside her travel bag and pulls out a pink dildo. "Yea or nay? Your fingers and tongue were enough for me, but you might want something more." She hands it over.

"Reminds me of Stephen's at full staff," Marissa half jokes. She runs her hands along it, slow at first, then fast in playful jerk off motion. "Looks interesting, mom, but it's fake. I'll go with your preference, your flesh and blood extremities, not to mention your love and passion. Tonight it's no man's land, and that includes male body parts, real or faux."

Monique turns the camera back on. Then, standing beside the bed, she pulls Marissa into a tight embrace, replete with heavy smooching, nipple licking and finger action. "Such nice skin," Monique repeats, "baby-soft and translucent. What a lovely body you've got, girl, the loveliest among the girls on your cheerleading squad, I'll bet." She traces a finger along her daughter's shapely curves.

Throwing her head back, Marissa loses herself in the experience. Her skin tingles under her mom's deft touch. "I think I might come sooner than you did," she says.

"Whenever you're ready." Monique sits on the edge of the bed. Then, tilting her head up, she begins to tongue her daughter's labia and clit. "Care to come on your feet?"

"Oh my, that would be a first," Marissa says, rubbing her hands furiously over her boobs, breathing heavy. "Yes, mom, yes! Keep going!"

Monique's tongue stabs on while her hands wander in a restless rhythm, flitting from Marissa's firm, curvy butt to her tummy to her thighs, legs not as plump as her mom's but more muscled owing to her various athletic endeavors, cheerleading included.

"Almost there, mom, almost there," Marissa cries out. She closes her eyes and starts to wobble.

Monique is prepared—almost expects what happens next—Marissa's knees buckling with her climax, just before she topples forward into Monique's arms. Lovingly, Monique says, "I've got you, honey, I've got you," and then lowers her onto the bed. "Are you okay, Rissa? Rissa?" She rubs her arms and tummy. "Rissa, wake up."

Marissa's eyes flit open. "What happened?" She cups a hand over her forehead and blinks. "Holy crap, I was like...out, wasn't I?"

"A few seconds, perhaps." Monique bends over, brushes her hair away and kisses her. "Coming on your feet is something else, huh?"

Marissa sits up and shakes her head. "It's something I'll need to try again, that's for sure."

"Okay, but just be sure your partner is there to catch you," Monique adds, chuckling.

"I hope that partner is you, mom. This trip has been one incredible experience."

Monique hugs her and says, "For me, too. I hope what we did meets Stephen's expectations. It went beyond mine."

"Knowing him, I have little doubt it will."

*****

The tape does indeed meet Stephen's expectations, supplies him with hours of masturbation material. It also leaves him hungry for a ménage, something Monique and Marissa both reject when he suggests it. His second choice is to sleep with each of them individually. However, because of the tight mom-daughter bonding that formed from the trip, they, as Marissa did with Bud, call a moratorium. "We can't divide our emotions that way," Monique tells him. "Not right away. Give us time. Then we'll see."

Respecting their wishes, Stephen backs off and goes about his business. Too bad he gets careless one day and forgets to put the tape back in his room. Bud finds it, plays it and then all hell breaks loose. Still pissed because Marissa won't sleep with him again, Bud goes ballistic when he sees what their rural Connecticut weekend was really all about. It gets him wanking, sure, but it also leaves him feeling betrayed, fills his brain with ideas, mean and vindictive.

Oh, that temper of his, that terrible temper which can take on a mind of its own, even if it means cutting off his nose to spite his face. He releases his fury not by confronting his wife and daughter but by making copies of the tape and then, anonymously, distributing them to key members of the Mantua Estates Improvement Association, as well as a few of Marissa's friends. He also includes a note: "this is just the tip of the iceberg."

Marissa's social media network erupts with snide remarks. Monique's contacts in the Association shun her. Staffers from Social Services pay a visit, a visit to this ritzy, upscale place where SS rarely, if ever, treads. Confronted by his family, Bud admits he saw the tape but claims, tongue in cheek, he has no idea how it got out.

The Morgans are under siege, internally and externally. Internecine family warfare drives Bud from the house into an apartment. Then Monique, Stephen and Marissa circle the wagons. They hire legal help to fight efforts to have them evicted on grounds of "moral degeneracy." After winning the case, they countersue, charging harassment, and win that one, too. Still, it doesn't stop the name calling, the bullying, the bomb threats and the ugly signs posted on their property in the dead of night. Over a year after Bud's vindictive actions, they post a lawn sign of their own. It reads For Sale.

"Guess we're no longer respected or respectable," Stephen tells Monique, throwing back the sarcasm she spoke before the trouble started.

Keeping her glib sense of humor, she says, "No, I guess not. But look on the bright side. We're still functionally dysfunctional."