Stepdaughter's Valentine's Treat

What was missing of course was my full attention to my wife, as throughout the week, Emma kept intruding into my thoughts. It did not help that an hour never passed that my wife did not remark about Emma, wishing her daughter was there already; that a particular activity would be so much fun for Emma; pointing out young men that Emma might find attractive. Every mention of my stepdaughter's name made my confused heart ache in my chest, but my cock ached in a more solid fashion - the mention of her name always gave me instant wood. In retrospect, that was a big factor in how I couldn't stop sexing up my wife, seeking a release for that hormonal buzz.

By the time Wednesday night rolled around, the fact that Thursday was Valentine's day had been submerged by my wife's excitement about seeing her daughter the next day. I reconciled myself to being an afterthought on what should be the most romantic highlight of our year. Then I decided that if my Valentine's day risked being a disaster, I should take full advantage of the night before.

Not that it was something I had planned out. Like my encounter with Emma, or my quickie Vegas wedding, all the best things in my life happen spontaneously.

Dinner had been down at the main lodge, where the focus was already anticipating the big night of romantic candlelit meals the next night. I realized that mine might be the only dinner for three in the big room that evening. But the night before the big day was just a simple buffet, with beef carved off the bone, which I think was trendy in the sixties, but fit the time warp aspect of the rustic resort.

I wish I could tell you that we randomly shared a table with a couple in their twenties, and that after too many bottles of wine, we all ended up naked in a hot tub together. Instead, our table mates were an older couple. She was a Lutheran pastor, he was a retired school teacher. It was fun to learn that they were on their honeymoon, having discovered their love late in life, and cooing at each like doves, but my cock never twitched once, and my wife's hands never groped my lap.

We said good night to our new acquaintances as soon as dessert was over, and made our way toward our cabin along the trail, pausing occasionally to admire the starlit sky.

"I love you," my wife said simply, as she squeezed my hand while looking heavenward. I bent so that my lips met hers. Our tongues intertwined, her breasts pressed against my chest, making me imagine I could feel the excitement of her nipples right through our abundant layers of clothing.

She broke free first, but never let go of my hand, tugging me after her as she raced reckless through the night, as if our cabin was a prize which might vanish if we dallied another second. By the time her boot landed on the deck, we were moving at a sprint, and she did not pause until we were inside. As soon as the door was behind her, she let go of my hand, because she needed both to strip out of her sensible clothing, each item tossed more wildly than the last. I was frozen in the doorway, still fully dressed, when she reached the washroom, turned on the shower, and turned back to look at me, with a huge mock pout.

"Don't make me come over there and strip you too,."

My cock was already rigid, without a single thought of Emma.

"Don't need to ask me twice," was what I said, "but I don't think you want me in that shower with these clothes on..."

By the time I said that, I was in the bathroom, the steam warming my nose, but all my clothing except my boots still in place. My wife, not normally the servile sort, was forced to strip me if she wanted me to fuck her. This subtle role shift seemed to excite her greatly. Her talented fingers flew over buttons and zippers. Her even more talented tongue bathed each bit of my flesh as it was exposed.

My cock was the last thing she uncovered. My flannel shirt was tossed over a towel rack. My pants were a puddle at my feet. But my conservative white briefs were taut, distorted by my tumescence. She hooked a finger in the elastic above the point of each of my hip bones, her nose grazing my navel, her warm breath ruffling my abdominal fur.

But then she shook her lovely head, maybe a millimeter to each side, and dropped her hands, before reaching up and back to grasp my glutes, holding my groin firmly to her face. Her head moved, her tongue licking all around my firm cock through the cotton. As she worked, her nose grazed against that covered flesh, until without warning, the plum coloured engorged head poked free.

She pulled back for a moment, her hands dropping onto her knees as she sat back on her haunches. She was grinning up at me, cheeks rosy and eyes bright, not like a middle aged mother, not like my boss, not like my wife, but like a school girl. Like Emma - in that instant, she looked as amazed and excited by my cock as my stepdaughter had on Christmas Eve.

I did not say that, of course, I just stood there as she rose up and licked the underside of my helmet, trying not to compare my wife's blow job to the one I had enjoyed from Emma. To this day, I could not tell you which was more enthusiastic. My wife's was certainly more experienced, but something about the familiarity made it seem practised rather than fresh. As she bobbed up and down, my entire length now out of my underwear, I missed the excitement of knowing how much extra pleasure Emma had gotten out of the novelty of the adventure.

The upside to this distracted state of mind was that I did not quickly blow my wad into my wife's mouth, which seemed to please her, because after rolling her tongue up and around my shaft for several minutes, and tasting my precum, she grasped me firmly in her fist and stood, allowing her naked body to slide up mine, her diamond hard nipples adding extra frisson.

A few steps and we were engulfed by the mist of the shower. She stood directly beneath the spray, and released my aching cock so that she could lean against the wall, her hands braced, her ass thrust back against me. I stepped closer, my erection tight into her ass crack. My hands reached around and firmly kneaded her dangling tits, just teasing her nipples as her hips started rotating, grinding her cleft against my cock.

She was panting with excitement as my fingers finally gripped her nipples, tugging them harder than I think I had ever done before.

"Oh, fuck, yesss," she moaned, clearly not upset. "Can you come on my back? I want you to mark me. And then i want to kneel here and lick your cock until it shrinks enough for you to... "

Her next words were lost in her climax, but as she settled down moments later, she repeated them, still short of breath.

"...I want you to piss on me, to mark me as your territory."

Once more, I was a mess of confusion and arousal, but at least in that moment it was not about my lust for my stepdaughter. For a few seconds, I had assumed that she wanted me to fuck her ass, which she had always told me was cherry - one of her earliest boyfriends had tried to stick his fat cock up her dirt road without proper lubrication, and she had been tuned off anal intercourse ever since, though she certainly loved being stimulated by smaller objects.

I also realized that the desire to be marked likely meant that, on at least one of her frequent business trips, my wife had cheated on me. That seemed the only logical reason for her to feel the need to be owned. Sadness stabbed my chest, ignoring the hypocrisy of my having cheated, and with her daughter. My hardness started to evaporate.

"Too kinky for you?" she growled, her lust bringing out her dominant side again.

"Nothing is too kinky for me," I heard myself reply before I had a chance to self edit. I thought of Emma as I thrust my hips against her ass, rubbing my cock so deep into the cleft that I might as well have been ass fucking her. I could feel her flow coating my balls. I imagined that it was Emma's ass I was pushing up against. Emma would let me take her ass cherry, I thought.

As I pictured flooding Emma's bowels with my seed, I exploded, my offering spurting up and out into the warm mist of the shower, but most of it coming with enough energy to curve across and land on the dimple of flesh at the base of my wife's spine, that gentle curve where she loved me to rub as we fucked, guaranteed to make her come. This night, no hands were needed - just the sensation of my goo coating her skin was all that it took to trigger another scream of climax. She moved one hand from the wall to her clit to maintain that wave, and I helped by letting go of one tit so that I could massage my semen deep into her back.

After a long chain of orgasms, my wife finally silently sank to the tiled shower floor, the water cascading around her, her hair plastered to her face. She looked innocent, angelic, like her daughter. But I knew that they were both naughty wenches who loved my cock.

As promised, she reached up and took my semi-hard member in her fingers, lifting the tip to her lips and started to lick, but at the first touch, my bladder released and instead of her cleaning my cock of sweat and salt, she received a full blast of golden elixir. We had never tried water sports, never even discussed them, so I was a bit shocked when she hungrily opened her mouth and swallowed the entire stream like she had just crossed a long dusty dry desert.

The wine and water at dinner had filled me up, and soon it was running down her chin and dribbling on her tits, droplets dangling like diamonds on her nipples. Remembering her desire to be marked, I took my shaft in my hand and directed my spray away from her lips, pissing down on top of her hair, the urine running in rivulets down her face, her tongue flitting from side to side to capture as much as she could. Before I was finished, her entire body had been showered in gold. A few final spurts bounced off her tiny nose. All the while, she smile up at me. Finally, she brushed my hand away and grasped my shrinking organ in her fingers again, leaning forward to lovingly lick up the last few drops leaking from my slit.

"I love you, I love your cock, I even love your piss. " she sighed.

"Was that my Valentine's treat?" I asked. "I don't think it is even midnight yet."

"No, tomorrow, I have something very special planned."

The demon in my skull hoped for something special with Emma, regardless of what my wife had planned. By the time we towelled off and staggered over to the bed, collapsing together like spoons in a drawer, my cock was erect from thoughts of Emma, but my wife was soundly sleeping before I even pressed my flesh firmly against her back.

Wednesday's special activities must have tired us out more than usual, because on Thursday, Valentine's day, we did not wake with the morning sun bathing us through the cabin's huge picture window, like we had each prior day. Instead, there was a knock on the door -- the wide open bedroom door to be precise.

"Too horny to even lock the outside cabin door?" I heard Emma giggling, my eyes still only half open.

I hoped her mother was more awake, and that the remark was directed in to her, not to me. It was way more openly sexual than anything Emma had said to me in her mother's presence at Christmas. Her tone of voice and sprinkle of laughter reminded me instantly of how she had acted while seducing me during "the Santa hour" as Christmas Eve had turned to Christmas morning. Just thinking about that event made images of her sexual ecstasy flash through my mind, travel down my spine, and stiffen my cock.

My wife was mumbling something sleepily in reply to her daughter. Part of the reason I could not make out the words was that I was busy realizing that my surging shaft was grasped in my wife's hand. Whether she had rolled over in her sleep and grabbed that handful, or had been awake, slowly warming my weapon for a quick bout of wake up sex, I had no clue. Not that it mattered much, except perhaps as to how much Emma had seen, which in turn might influence her mother's mood.

"You do have a habit of turning up unexpectedly," my wife muttered to her daughter. I froze for a moment - the opportunity for my taboo encounter at Christmas having been triggered by Emma catching an early flight, arriving without her mother or I knowing she was in the house - but then realized that the early arrival was a known fact, but this did not necessarily mean that she was also aware of my infidelity.

Fortunately, the awkwardness of Emma standing in the doorway excused my freezing up.

"I'd offer to go for a walk while you two start your Valentine's day off properly, but it's frigid cold out this morning, plus I need a shower," Emma replied.

I thought she might have winked when she said "properly". Her leering grin was so obvious that its ghost lingered Cheshire catlike in the air even after she spun out of the room, gently shutting the door behind her.

The latch had not even clicked, and my wife was fisting my cock with more intensity than was typical for a morning. I lay between the sheets, briefly wondering if the added excitement was the day, the interruption, or some combination of both. By the time my wife rolled her head onto my shoulder and nibbled my earlobe, so much blood was pulsing into my hard cock that such silly irrelevant thoughts were obsolete. I did not notice whether or not the shower started running right away.

"Feel how wet I am," my wife breathed into my ear.

"Is that because of last night, or because your daughter just walked in on us?" I took a chance asking.

"Maybe a little bit of both?" she chuckled heartily as my fingers found her slit, which really was soaked, and wide open.

"You know how I love the risk of an audience," she continued. Indeed, we had fucked at conventions in coat check rooms, and, once, when due to space constraints, everybody was sharing double rooms, with her room mate asleep five feet away.

"Maybe part of it is that this is a special day, too?"

"Oh, is it? What day is it again?" she giggled, just like her daughter did when being playfully naughty. I think I just imagined an echoing sound from outside the door.

"If you make too big a deal of it, you might not get your treat," she teased.

"You mean, this isn't it?" I asked as I slid two, then three, fingers into her slit, my thumb bumping against her engorged clit with each stroke, and dragging along her swollen inner labia on the downward path.

"Not while Emma might pop in to ask about brunch at any second."

She moaned as my fingers thrust deep into her cunt, her hips bouncing up off the mattress. My little finger slid under her butt, instinctively teasing her anal cleavage. Her fingers were too small to do the same for me, but she played with my scrotum.

The shower was running, but I was sure that I heard a shuffle of feet followed by heavy breathing just outside our door. My attention was quickly diverted, though, as my wife twisted her body under the sheet, her mouth trailing down my chest, her lips wrapping around my cock. I felt rather than saw her leg fly over my head as her groin aligned with my face. My wet fingers had slid effortlessly out of her flesh, but served perfectly to grasp her hips and steady her gyrating pelvis enough for my teeth to tease her labia.

My wife opened her jaw, mouth half way down my shaft, to emit a heavy groan, a typical mix of protest and pleasure from my heavenly pain slut. I hoped that she was too engrossed to notice the softer moan I detected from the other side of the door. To reduce that risk, I raised one hand and slapped her ass, counting out a half dozen spanks. Her hips jumped higher with each one, and drove down harder on to my waiting tongue. She continued her half of the sixty-nine by bathing my balls with her tongue while fisting my shaft, her fingers striking the ridge under my cock head harder with each stroke.

At the final slap of my palm on her quivering rear, I curled my fingers, grasping her downward curving flesh, tugging open that forbidden cleavage. Her movements had shifted her body so that I found myself licking her taint. However, the instant that the tip of my tongue slid into the groove leading to her rosebud, she stiffened, barked a sharp no, and grabbed my hand away from her butt, while repositioning her cunt squarely over my face.

"We better hurry, that shower's been running a long time," she said softly, apparently not wanting to discourage me too much.

The slowness of her breath indicated that her orgasm must be close. She might be just as excited by me at the proximity of her daughter while we made love, whether or not she knew that Emma was likely still crouched outside the door -- I pictured my stepdaughter stripped naked, ready to bolt to the shower as soon as we climaxed, one hand working her sensitive nipples, the other buried deep in her barely legal cunt, fucking herself as fiercely as I had fucked her with my cock at Christmas.

That made me wonder if Emma could successfully bite her cheek to contain her orgasmic cries this time. To help the situation, I started moaning as loudly as I could while still tongue fucking my wife. I also created more noise by pounding against the mattress with my legs. My wife's breathing became a pant. Her body writhed around mine as she achieved climax. At its peak, it was especially intense and it was long-lasting. I could feel her muscles spasming around my tongue as she struggled to ride the waves without ignoring my cock entirely. Her groans echoed in the room. I knew Emma would have heard them even if she was in the shower.

As her orgasm began to subside, my wife shifted her attention back to my needs, taking my pulsating organ half way into her mouth, and then bobbing her head, taking a bit more into her mouth each time. Her right fist kept a firm grip on the base of my shaft, her teeth teased the tip when she had just the head resting on her lower lip.

Her left hand began kneading my balls, and then she slipped her finger back where she had not allowed me to venture. Her finger was well lubricated and slid smoothly into my ass hole, probing expertly until she stimulated my prostate. At exactly the same moment, she released her grip on my root and closed her lips around the head of my cock. My seed pumped feverishly upward, pumping in bursts into her mouth. She just swallowed and swallowed, and then swallowed some more. Finally, I felt the last languid spurts leaking out of the corners of her mouth onto my flesh.

She rolled off me, her head resting on my shoulder as we both tried to catch our breath. I realized that I had been too focused to notice any noise outside the door. Hopefully that was also true of my wife.

After a few minutes, she had enough composure to say, "Emma sure took a long shower. I hope she's left some hot water for us."

Just then the water stopped running. I grinned to myself, thinking that Emma must have barely had time to rinse the afterglow off of her loins, and maybe the road dust. At the moment, I realized for the first time that I had not thought to pack a robe for this trip. With Emma at college, I was used to walking from my bedroom to the shower naked, or wearing just my boxers.

I glanced around the compact bedroom. No towels on the floor. Not even a jacket to wrap around my waist. Of course I did not care if Emma saw my scuzzy cock through my shorts - she had been up close and personal before -- but her mother might think it was stranger, particularly God forbid, I made eye contact with my stepdaughter then popped wood. There was also the risk of Emma reacting -- she had proved twice now that she was a sexual adventuress.

My wife left no time for me to reflect further. She boldly stepped out of bed and opened the door wide. I was covered by the sheet, but my boxers were on the floor. I saw Emma, in the kitchenette which meant that she could see me.