Ingrid (Act 1 of 2)

"Oh, baby, that's so sweet of you! What do you want Mommy to do while her babies are fucking?"

"I want you to--I want you sit on my face!"

"Oh, that sounds fun sweetie! You want to eat Mommy's naught little pussy?"

"Y-y--"

"I have to warn you sweetheart, Mommy is going to be very wet, watching you go in and out of her sexy little girl's cute little pussy."

"Oh GOD, Mom--"

"Cum for me, baby. Cum for Mommy in your sister's pretty little hands."

"I want to fuck you Mom, I want to fuck you, I want to FUCK you--"

"Oh, that makes me so happy! I want to fuck you too sweetheart! You can fuck me as hard as you want, whenever you want. Mommy will always be happy to have your cock inside her. You can cum inside me, too, if you want. Does that sound fun? Mommy wants you to cum inside her. She wants to feel her big big boy cum deep inside her tight, hot pussy. You can cum inside Mommy's cute little butt, too, if you want. As long as you ask nicely. I love you, Spring Bean. I love you. And I can't wait to show you how good I can make you feel."

"I love you Mom, I love you, I love you--"

"I love you so much, sweetheart. I love how much you love me. I love how much you care about your sister. I love how much you came in my mouth, and how you let Mommy drink it all up. Do you want to cum for me again right now?"

"Yes--yes--yes--"

"Then go ahead, sweetie. Cum like you're going to cum when your naked little sister fucks your brains out. Cum like you're going to cum when Mommy sits on your face. Mommy and sissy want to make you feel SO good, sweetheart!"

Ingrid is a little jealous of Mom's effect on her brother. The unconditional love advantage is no joke, apparently.

"M-Mom, Mmmommy, I'm cumming for you! I'm cumming! I'm cumminnnNNNGGH--"

Mom does a sort of squeeze-squeeze with her butthole and pussy muscles on her son's fingers, and then stops holding herself up, letting her weight remind him that he's got a job to do.

Will heaves her somewhat weakly into the air, his arm muscles shaky with climactic detachment.

Mom keeps an unrelenting, mid-orgasmic grasp on her son's pulsating cock, jerking him purposefully, semi-blindly, passionately, affection and pleasure and self-esteem exploding inside her from having worked her son up so successfully.

First one side and then the other of Ingrid's garment falls loose, dangles there for a second by the gusset, then falls ceremoniously to her feet.

Both mother and brother stare through fluttery, disobliging eyelids at the coup de grace, little sister's fully nude form, standing taller than mother and smaller than brother, posed with simple, slender, flat-chested elegance, awkwardly vulnerable, with tan lines and razor bumps and tiny red picked-at pimples, with braided muscle and messy bun, all filtered finally and foremost through the lens of much time spent in shared mother-son purgatory missing, and missing, and missing this girl.

Ingrid gets two cupped hands splattered with cum.

Mom gets sprayed too as she doubles over in her son's grip.

Alas, the carpet.

The coffee table catches the worst of it.

And hey, look, now there's something on TV.

Chapter Twenty-three

"Okay," says Mom, the first to speak once the laughter has subsided. "Okay. That was a hoot." She is crumpled on her side as though someone has pushed her down. She is wiping up her son's cum from of her shoulder and eating it off her fingers.

"Glad--glad you--glad to have you on the team," Will chuckle-pants. He is laid flat-out on his back on the hard thin carpet, his chest still heaving, his toes still tingling. His cock lay on his belly, still loosing belated driblets of cum, its own pink head spinning as it throbs to Will's heartbeat.

"I don't know, Bro," Ingrid laughs, licking up the last little bit of cum on her hand, "You kind of carried the team."

Mom laughs so hard she pees a little. Tally one more stain in the carpet.

"Oh gosh," Mom wheezes, "Stop it!"

"Hey Sis," Will says, turning his head to gaze up at Ingrid's nudity. She stands where they left her, arms akimbo, admiring the scene she has created.

"Yes?" she lords.

"Sis, I can see your--your five o'clock shadow." This tickles him. He cracks up.

"Oh, can you, big brother?" Ingrid takes a dignified step toward him, plants a foot on either side of his head. "What a thing to say. Please, apologize to your little sister's pussy."

"Excuse me?"

"Apologize to my pussy."

"Oh, fuck," he says, and holds up a gimme-a-sec finger. "Let me catch my breath?"

"Will, sweetie. You are--you are such an lucky little man, you know that?" Mom's just feeling like Mom right now.

"Mom, 'let him catch his breath.' You've given the guy plenty of attention tonight."

"Oh, you're right. Why don't you come over here and let Mommy apologize to your pussy."

"Mom, ew, gross."

"Sweetie," Mom startles, an unexpected dagger through her heart. "Don't be mean."

"No, Mom, don't you get it?" Ingrid's peak mood is undiminished. "We're not all here to just fuck and suck tonight, even if that is exactly what you did to my brother earlier. Have you not caught on yet to what we're actually accomplishing together? When we put our heads together, when we work as a family? We make miracles. Will, how's your cock feeling right now?"

"Like a wizard--put a spell on it," he chortles woozily.

"Weird answer, but see Mom? And how about you, how's your pussy feeling?"

"Like it needs a cock inside it."

"Okay, you're horny. But I like your enthusiasm. This IS great, right? Don't you feel it? Doesn't this feel ... important? We are finally the family I have wanted us to be for so long. Look how fucking much we love each other!" She points to her brother's latest Pollock. It's another work of art.

"Oh honey," Mom coos. "Let me at least get a hug from you. That was wonderful, what you just said."

Mom rolls onto her hands and knees, pushes up onto one wobbly leg and then the other. She looks drunker than she is. Ingrid leaves her post over her brother's face and approaches Mom, a slightly worried, slightly annoyed look on her face.

"Whoa," Mom laughs a little uneasily, and mutters an apology to herself, "My son appears to have induced in me a momentary state of disequilibrium."

"Come here, Mom, I gotcha."

Mom bumbles toward her daughter, and lets herself fall slack into her arms. It's a little ill-planned. Both women end up stumbling, almost falling over, as they stagger one step, two steps, backward toward the sofa. Ingrid finds her own balance and steadies them both. Ingrid is not someone who falls over.

"Oh, sweetie," Mom enthuses, kissing and kissing her little girl's chest and arms and neck, "I have missed you SO much." She wants to cry, but she hides it.

"I'm going to need you to stand up, Mom," Ingrid grunts, shifts her stance a bit, props Mom up a little less haphazardly.

"I want to do more of the--the papery thing. The acid," Mom sniffs. "This is just so completely lovely. All of us together, on a grand adventure."

"Mom, you've got work in the morning. You should probably lay off the acid for tonight."

"But I leave tomorrow, sweetheart!" her voice almost breaks, "I need to have new experiences while I can. I need to have them with you." She finally stands up on her own feet, letting Ingrid's grip relax into more of a full-body embrace, and yanks her daughter's head down into a profoundly disarming kiss.

Will says something or other.

Ingrid and Mom kiss on different wavelengths for a few moments until Ingrid finally pushes Mom away, uncouples from her mouth, and regards her warmly, as not to make the woman feel rebuffed.

"Are you really going to make your daughter tell you not to pull an all-nighter when you have work the next day?"

"Not if she doesn't want to," Mom tries.

"What do you even have to do?"

"It's an interview, dear. That's all. I go in, I chat with some lovely people I already made a wonderful impression on today, and then I'm finished for the weekend."

"And you think you can nail an interview without sleep? You flew all the way out here for this."

"Are you doubting your brilliant, beautiful mother?"

"Mom, come on."

"Sweetheart, come on. How much do you have left? Is there enough for all three of us?"

Will is breathing evenly now. He dips a finger in his cum. He twirls it around a little. He brings it to his tongue. He watches mother and sister argue naked in each other's arms. He looks fondly at his mother's sweet, naked butt. He remembers what she said. It makes him hungry again.

Alas, he can't reach or even see his little sister's pussy anymore. He supposes she forgot her invitation from just a minute ago? He heaves himself up into a sitting position. He waits for a rush of blood to quiet, and for the colors of the room to return to baseline saturation.

Then he waits for a rush of acid to subside. This one happens to bring a traveling show for him to watch while he waits.

The messy hotel room, the unlawful nudity, the promise of miracles--each uncouples from its translucent little "meaning" box and drifts bloblike into the lamplit air, swirling and squishing and jiggling into and out of each other, holding giggly little meet-cutes just beyond his hearing, before separating again with silly little ker-plorps; each leaving a stain of itself, its meaning, inside the other bygone blob, and carrying its own new bit of added mess onto the next adorable coupling.

Will comes to and notices the TV screen. Fuck. How do you even clean cum off a TV without Windex?

Chapter Twenty-four

The three of them sit staring at the void, each of them flat-out tripping on the sofa.

Mom is absently cupping her little booby.

Will is sort of playing with his dick.

Ingrid rests her head on her brother's shoulder and dreams while she is awake.

"You know what?" Mom asks the room.

"What?" the room asks back.

"I have an important interview in a few hours."

"Fuck," Will says.

"No," Mom shakes her head serenely, "I'm gonna' nail it. I can feel it."

"What time is it, anyway?" Will asks.

Mom checks her naked wrist, the one not currently playing with her nipple.

"I seem to have misplaced my watch."

All three pairs of eyes drift across the suite. The smart watch is hiding upside-down under the coffee table. None of them sees it.

"Anywho," Mom yawns, "Whose turn is it?"

"I lost track," Will admits. "Ingrid, did you go last?"

"No, that was you," she arches her hips, does a little pitter patter on her bare pussy for him, "'Get naked.' Remember? Solid dare."

Will chuckles, too high not to be flattered.

"So, then who goes next?" Mom asks again.

"Well, when we started, Mom, you asked me to show you how to play, and I picked Will--meaning I went first--and then Will, I think you went, and then Mom, you went third." As Ingrid is talking through this, she moves an invisible Mom, Will, and Ingrid around like tiny chess pieces on her bare thigh.

Will finally notices that she shaved her legs.

Mom gazes to her right across the sofa and observes her son and daughter's naked chests and groins, unabashed. She feels that taboo guilt begin to smolder in her chest for a moment before she snuffs it out again with a single practiced thought: none above her is more qualified to appreciate her children's bodies. She made them from nothing--from less than nothing, if you factored in what a piece of shit their father was. They are of her. And she loves them more than anyone alive.

The acid only helps this feel truer.

"So, then it's my turn?" Will asks, hopeful.

Ingrid double checks her math.

"Oui," she nods lazily. "No wait. You just went."

"It's MY turn!" Mom raises her arms in sleepy triumph. "Go Mom." She stretches her legs, arches her back, and stands up off the sofa.

Both children regard their naked mother's butt for the umpteenth time that night. It makes them feel something. Mom's gene pool contains a shapely sun-kissed trace of the Alps, with no lovelier blossom on all the family tree than her perfect naked butt.

Except for maybe Ingrid, Will nods contemplatively, if her figure is to be included in the running.

Ingrid's hair is fairer than Mom's, especially in Summer, and has an easy silky straightness to it that requires much less work and garners approximately two compliments every three hours.

But Ingrid isn't necessarily sexier than Mom. Ingrid's hotness--and at last, that is the word for it--is almost painful to behold and can be loneliness enhancing, whereas Mom's allure is stealthier on the attack, more approachable, but deadly when it strikes.

Ingrid has an ass, Will decides. Mom has a butt.

"Mom," Will proclaims. "You have a butt."

"I certainly do, honey, but I feel like you mean that as a compliment? So, thank you."

Mom blows her son a kiss and then bends forward for him, spreading her ass and letting her pussy shine at him. Will is no longer merely semi-erect, for anyone keeping track.

"Mom," Ingrid whines. "Is this what you're doing for your turn?"

"Ingrid, my darling," Mom replies, still proudly bent over, "I'm going to need you to shut the fuck up, okay sweetie?" She speaks with her freshly thumbed asshole spread pink for both her children to see.

Ingrid is uncharacteristically stunned, and more than a little aroused. She licks her lips unconsciously.

"Have I steered us wrong even once this whole evening?" Mom stands back up and turns to face her daughter, daring her not to be attracted to her body. "Have a little faith, okay? If I want to bend over and show my son my cute little butt, I will. If I want to fuck him on the bathroom floor, I will. If I want to suck his cock right here in front of you, I will. Understand?"

"Hear-hear!" cries Will, silently, in his mind. Outwardly, he blinks.

"Mom," Ingrid gasps, suddenly hornier. "I like this new you!"

"She likes you too, baby," Mom bites her lip. "Now, where did I put that thing..."

Mom glances over to the nightstand, gives it a puzzled look. A tablet on a charger and some reading glasses. She goes and shuffles through her carry-on suitcase. Whatever it is, it isn't in there. She seems to remember something. She goes into the bathroom, flicks on the lights.

"There you are!" she rejoices, and returns carrying what appears to be a black, silicone vibrator. "Okay! Will! You ready?"

"Um, for what?"

Mom giggles.

"Right, what exactly are you daring him to do with a vibrator, Mom? I'm the one with the horny pussy over here."

"Ingrid, what did I just say?"

"Well, I believe you said 'fuck,' among other things."

Mom belly laughs.

"FUCK," Mom says proudly, letting the word bounce off of the wall and come back to her. "Fffffuck. Fuck fuck fuck." She cups a tit in one hand, hefts it. "'Fuck.'"

"Hey, Mom, let's hurry up before you're too far gone to play."

"I'm not gone at all, sweetie. I am so here. And I believe I have finally discovered an appreciation for this 'fuck' that you two are always going on about."

"Great. Nice that you would sooner fuck your own children than add 'fuck' to your vocabulary. But I'm happy for you. Now what's Will doing with a vibrator? Butt stuff?" Ingrid seems at least a little hopeful for this, if her own hungry young body must be skipped over yet again.

"Well," she turns her gaze toward her son. "That's up to him."

She approaches her son, runs a hand up his thigh, gives his dick a loving, lengthwise caress, and then tickles her fingers up his belly to his chest. She grabs his chin and leans over to smooch him while she climbs up onto his sofa cushion. She straddles him a moment, bringing her soft soapy-tasting tummy to his lips, and then sits down fork-legged on his knees.

Mom's pussy stares up longingly at Will from between her naked thighs, begging him to say fuck the game and fuck the vibrator and fuck his mom. Unlike Ingrid, Will doesn't mind the way Mom smells--and she does--one single bit.

"William, baby," Mom says, "I dare you to put this--" she hands him the funny black vibrator, "and this--" she grabs his cock, "inside your grumpy little sister, okay? She's been waiting all night for a chance to play, so I say we give her a two-for-one. Sound fun, sweetie?"

Will hears none of this. He nods agreeably but absently as he gazes down at his very hard cock in Mom's very soft hand. He is having a welcome flashback to the life-altering hand job she just gave him over on the carpet. He absently regards the vibrator in his own hand. Gives it a little sniff. It smells like silicone and hotel hand soap. Disappointing.

Wait a minute. Mom and Ingrid exchange meaningful looks, and then both look at Will.

"Ingrid, sweetie, get up. You're going to need to trade spots with me."

He looks at his topless, bottomless Mom like she's speaking French.

"Hey, sorry, um--" he begins.

"You just sit still, hon," Mom pats him on the cock. "I think your sister needs a minute."

Ingrid leaves the couch and goes into the bathroom. She shuts the door.

"It's good to make sure there's nothing in there before you start," she smiles. "Here, while I guess we have a minute--"

Mom stands up right on the couch, using her son's shoulders for support, then simply presses her crotch to his face. The smell is deafening.

She clutches his head for balance, at least at first, and then stays there standing against his nose as she says something else to him.

The sticky, mauvy brown hood of Mom's clit is right there. He sticks out his tongue. It touches flesh. He withdraws his tongue.

He tastes: milk and honey bodywash, shorn copper, warm beer, and a hint of ... piña colada?

He wets his lips, grabs Mom's butt, and latches onto her clit like he's snacking on a juicy plum and doesn't want the juices to go everywhere. He sucks her electric little bean into his mouth like a sweet and sour dick, and almost wishes it were a dick. If Mom had a dick, he would take it whole and swallow her cum.

He loves the bright happy flavor Mom has hiding inside her musk. But it isn't enough. He squeezes her butt cheeks hard and presses her into his face, almost literally into it, and wishes she would just cum already and give him something to drink. He sucks noisily and ridiculously. He makes irrepressible moaning yum-yum noises while his mother and sister have some sort of civilized conversation from across the suite about--what again? Washing something or other?

Mom's pussy somehow doesn't have that weird, off-putting malodor to it that every other pussy he has ever brought to his olfaction for assessment has ticked positive for--shit, even Ingrid's. Mom's pussy is evidently pure family to his olfactory center, smelling nice to him the way his own farts smell, the way his own armpits smell: pleasurably nostalgic, guiltily delicious, mildly peculiar at worst. He appreciates the way his sister's armpits smell. He craves the way his mother's pussy tastes.

Then Mom dismounts, oh so casually, and steps off of the sofa. Will is a baby yanked from the teat mid-meal. He almost starts to cry. No one in the room even seems to know or care what has just occurred. Obviously, it had, right? That was real? He licks his lips.