The Warmth Within Her

It was October, and in Colorado the rain that came down temped just above freezing. This was, and always will be, Tom Leary's favorite time of year. The dreadful summer heat was now, to him, a distant memory, one he was happy to forget.

As he stood alone in his country home's roomy kitchen, he waited for the Keurig to fill his mug with tea. He listened to it brew and leaned his lower back against the edge of the counter's marble. His gaze found the newest line of photos that his wife, Callie, the five-foot, two-inch beauty he had married nearly two decades ago, had magnetized to the fridge; these were the favorites, the photos privileged enough to be seen by them daily. They'd taken so many this summer and early fall. Most were group shots of the Leary's time in Cabo, a few were selfies of Callie and Tom, but the photos that put a sudden charging rhythm in Tom's chest were those of his daughter, Grace Marie, and her best friend, Gretchen. The two eighteen-year-olds had been inseparable since the sixth grade. They'd always been pretty, this he knew ... always popular, this he'd gathered. The two girls jogged together on weekday mornings, studied together on Sunday nights, shared a bed most weekends--either here or at Gretchen's parent's place in the city--and eventually, they'd graduate together, probably go off to college together as well, or so Tom had assumed.

Grace took after her mother: short, fit, beautiful and blonde, a smile that could steal a heart and an ass you'd want to pay for. Callie loved tight jeans, short skirts and thin dresses, a style that Tom had been thrilled to see rub off on Grace.

In one playful photo, Grace embraced Gretchen, both teens pressing their soft protruding, forbidden parts together; their nipples under tight tees were nearly touching; Tom couldn't ignore this. The smooth, tight skin of their toned abs had met, and their thighs beneath short shorts, so gently, thoroughly, had dipped between eachother's; of course he found it erotic, he didn't know a man who wouldn't. In another photo, Gretchen's lips delicately kissed Grace's cheek, their breasts once again had come together in a beautiful squish; it was an innocent peck for a friend, but the captured moment meant something else to Tom, something dark and twisted, a thing so vile and fucked up that the orgasms accompanying such territory had nearly dropped him to his knees when he'd jacked off to the thought of both his gorgeous daughter and her beautiful friend, naked under a raining showerhead and locked in his arms, their sweet little pussies taking turns clenching around daddy's heavy, blood-choked cock. He'd fill 'em both up, all night long if they'd let him, as his pearl cream dripped from their slits and lips and ran down their smooth legs.

***

Tom slipped off his shirt and glanced at himself in the bedroom vanity; his muscles beamed from his shoulders to his bi's, tri's and pecs, a gift from years on the job. His muscles were a result of twenty-five years as a Denver Firefighter: lugging hoses, hauling ladders, carrying those he'd rescued down flights of stairs, up flights of lower-level stairs, through hallways and lots. He looked damn good for nearly forty-five, and he knew it, but more importantly, his wife, Callie, knew it.

When the married couple fucked, a rarity by design, their passion seemed immeasurable, and there wasn't a single sex act they did the same way twice. They had found, if they treated sex as a luxury, and not as a daily meal, they both appreciated it tenfold. The pair had no problem going to bed aroused and resisting certain urges each and every night, because they knew what they were gaining by doing so.

Tom's denim jeans came off next, then his socks. He crawled into their bed in nothing but his boxers and let the day's stress that his body had endured, sink into the cool mattress. Callie, wearing a light blue nightdress that cupped her breasts, held her waist and dangled its jiggly silk flounce off her ass--washing the fabric over her creamy thighs like velvet waves--exited the bathroom, lowered her hair to her shoulders and slid in next to Tom. She reached for her nightstand while Tom watched her body bend so elegantly, seductively; she clicked off the lights and as Tom closed his eyes, he reached down between his legs and gripped his massive hard-on. He gave it a squeeze, wanting so badly, in this moment, to ejaculate all over his pretty wife's delicate, needful face.

***

When the hallway light outside Tom and Callie's bedroom door clicked on, Tom's eyes opened. He looked at the clock next to the bed: 12:02 a.m., then heard a creak in one of the floorboards. His fingers slid over the grip of his forty-five that he kept in the drawer of his bedside table.

"Grace?" he called, waiting to see if the next footstep was heavy or light, the boot of a man or the barefoot of his girl.

He let go of the grip when Gretchen's pretty eyes and half smile flashed at him from the doorway.

"Sorry if I woke you," she said and stepped into the room.

He shook his head and exhaled a quick relief-filled breath. "It's alright. What's going on? You okay?"

She stepped into the room and Tom got his first look at her pjs: short cotton shorts and a tight little t-shirt. As usual, she wasn't wearing a bra, her legs were visibly smooth and, in this moment, he wished to God his wife was anywhere else in the whole world.

Gretchen pressed her legs together, fidgeting her fingers, clearly unsure of how to proceed. "I had a dream," she said as she closed the bedroom door nearly to the jamb, cutting off about ninety-percent of the light from the hallway. She moved to the bed and carefully sat on the mattress next to Tom.

"Was it a bad dream?" he asked, looking into her gorgeous green eyes. "A nightmare?"

Gretchen shyly eyed Mister Leary; he saw there was something in her gaze, a concern or, maybe a worry. The seasoned firefighter was great at reading a room ... a situation, but apparently not so great at reading eighteen-year-old girls. She shook her head. "It was a good dream. It was about you." She bit her lower lip, just enough to make Tom's dick jump.

She scooted closer to him.

Her fingers held his hand and guided it to her lap. Tom watched her spread her legs a bit, then she leaned back and slipped his hand down into her shorts. His fingertips traced over smooth skin, a soft patch of hair, warm lips and when she pushed him down deeper ... wet flesh. She inhaled deeply as she continued to guide his movements: slow motions, opening up her folds of soaked skin, gliding up and around to her swollen clitoris with each pass.

Gretchen removed her hand from her shorts, letting Tom do the work. She leaned into his shirtless upper half, pressing her side-boob against the defined muscles in his arm and she spread her legs as wide as she could. They kissed, long and hard. This young beauty had just thrown a wrench in the gears of Tom's marriage, but there was nothing short of Callie's wrath upon awakening that could stop him now.

Tom breathed in Gretchen's lavender scent as he pleasured the teen. She kissed his bare shoulder and upper arm, and when she reached over him and grabbed his penis that had grown visibly larger beneath his boxers, he almost ejaculated; this little one had a touch that he hadn't felt in years. Gretchen rose and stood before her newly claimed firefighter. She pulled off her tee. As Tom stared at her pale, erect nipples, wondering all the while if he was the only man who had, his fingers slipped from her shorts. He held her slim waist, pulled her in and sucked on her tit. Her breast bulged in his mouth as his tongue massaged it. Gretchen ran her fingers through his hair, intimately holding him while he took what he wanted. He moved to her other tit, sucking hard and tight, wishing he could taste and devour mouthfuls of her youthful milk.

As he sucked, Tom lowered her shorts off her plump ass, down her thighs and dropped them to the floor. She was naked. Tom backed off her breast and kissed Gretchen's chest about a dozen times; he licked her collarbone all the way across her shoulder, tasting her subtle perfume. He would have licked her entire body from head-to-toe if they'd had the time; she was that type of girl: flawless, every single inch of her. To his delight, however, she lowered herself to her knees, lightly yanked at his underwear until he lifted his weight a few inches off the mattress and she removed them. With the slightest hint of a cute, yet, naughty smile, she leaned forward and took his thick cock into her mouth.

As her head dipped onto him, Gretchen's lips tightened around the married man's penis, her tongue circled the tip, caressed down the length of his bulk, vigorously swiped back and forth, stretching down to his balls. Upon rising, her teeth, as light as the touch of a feather, slid from the base, up the long shaft and over the tip, delicately applying a gentle pressure along the way, small safe pecks to stimulate his cock, fattening it to its broad limit. The pretty girl sucked him off far more thoroughly than Callie ever had. Tom reached down and held Gretchen's face, his strong hands tight against her flawless, smooth complexion, tight against both luscious cheeks, and when her bright gaze locked onto his and he nearly swam in those pretty green eyes, she moaned--long and low--the cadence in her tone vibrating over his leaking head, causing beads of precum to push out and smear against her driving tongue.

He watched her head rise and fall with her movements. Her fingers stroked his balls and gripped at his inner thighs. The sounds of her sucking, slurping her spit off his throbbing tool--sounds he never thought he'd hear from the girl--made her seem like a pro, and when his tip slid deep and repeatedly poked at the back of her mouth, she held it there, quickly bobbing on it, using her throat to knead the head; it was more than enough, enough to make his body clench, his dick jolt and spurt. Tom burst a gushing white hot load of thick semen into her mouth.

She swallowed as she sucked, moaning subtle whimpers as she desperately worked to take it all down. But the load backed up to become a mess, and the overwhelmed sweetheart, despite trying to keep up with the flow, was overtaken and cum dripped from her lips and ran down her chin, her chest, her tits.

Tom kept still on the edge of the mattress, and did his best to calm his breaths, which slowed his racing heartbeat. Gretchen kept his cock in her mouth, and though it still leaked, it softened against her tongue and lips. His hand repositioned a loose bundle of her hair behind her ear, then caressed her cheek. She could be his mid-life crisis, or his excuse for one. The truth was, Tom loved his life, his job, Callie and Grace Marie; he didn't fear or loathe getting older, and felt quite accomplished with all he'd done, but as he stared down at the naked teen--her body tight, her lower back arched, her plump asscheeks nearly spreading from her position on her knees--he knew now that what he had was no longer enough: the house, the car, the occasional sex with his wife; this five foot, two-inch cheerleader who regularly shared a locker and a bed with his daughter, had awakened him.

Tom pulled himself from the girl's mouth, then gripped her shoulders and helped her to her feet. He stood and his dick entered the small triangular gap between her thighs and vulva ... her Toblerone tunnel... and he delicately fucked it. He kissed her forehead as she used her fingers to gather up the excess cum on her chin and chest, and he watched as she lifted those fingers to her mouth and sucked them clean.

Tom inched his way back onto the bed, mindful as ever of his sleeping wife. Without making a sound, he put his back against the sheets and rested his head on the pillow. Gretchen climbed onto him, spreading her legs around his hips. She leaned forward until her flat stomach pressed against his abs, her breasts squished against his bare chest; they kissed.

She dropped the weight of her lower half, her wet cunt grinding, putting a pressure on Tom's dick that, in turn, spread her lips and filled his shaft with her body heat. His cock moved down her twat, her velvet flesh wrapping his penis, brushing the veins that ran its length.

When he forced his way into her, he met her hymen. As he aggressively prodded his head against the tender, yet firm veil, she clenched at the pain, and when it stretched, then broke, beads of her blood trickled between them. Her insides seemed to melt over his heavy meat. Tom pumped himself deep into his beautiful virgin and held her tightly as he delicately and passionately fucked her.

With Gretchen's thighs spread wide for Tom, her pink cunt gripping his shaft and taking his head deep, her titties bouncing with every thrust he gave, the firefighter's cock bulked up as it fucked the soft, wet tissue within her, and it erupted, bursting with cum, shooting a powerful stream of semen that poured over her swollen, beaten cervix and flooded her cherry canal. Tom didn't stop there; he kept fucking her, pumping and cumming until the young girl held three of his generous forbidden loads.

"I never knew you wanted this," Tom whispered. Gretchen lay over him, her weight against him, her legs spread around him, his hard cock deep inside her. They were still.

She repeatedly kissed his chest, then rested her chin on his collarbone. "I had to be careful. I couldn't let her know how I felt about you."

Tom raised his head off the pillow and looked at Gretchen.

"You know I'm not the only one who wants you," Gretchen whispered.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

She smiled lightly and shook her head. "I guess I can't blame you for being so clueless. She puts on a show when you're around, so you won't know ..."

Tom's pulse quickened. "Just tell me."

"Your daughter has said, on numerous occasions, that she wants her daddy between her legs. She even writes about it in her diary, fantasizing about every position you'd put her in. She acts like your sweet girl when you're around, but she's got issues, and you're at the center of them."

Tom clenched his cock inside the girl, the sudden jolt causing the slightest moan to exit Gretchen's mouth. He sighed. "I had no idea." His hands gathered up her ass cheeks.

"I love Grace more than anything on this Earth, but trust me, she's a good actress." Gretchen's cunt tightened around Tom.

Tom thought of his daughter, her bright smile, her delicate hugs, her lips, tits and ass ... "I love her, too ... more than anything," Tom whispered in agreeance, though, more to himself than to the girl. As he drifted off into a land of naughty thoughts, his dick ballooned, pushing open Gretchen's vagina, stretching her lips around him enough to make her heavily moan into his neck. His hands squeezed her flesh, then he forced her onto her back, towering over her, his muscles flexing as he held himself mere inches from her body. He pumped his cock into her, pulled it back so the head slipped away from her opening, then shoved himself deeper. Tom used his forearms to pin back her legs, moving her feet near her face; he fucked Gretchen without any regard for his sleeping wife ... if she woke, he figured, he'd fuck her, too.

When he pumped his load from his burning, stretched cock, Grace's name came from his mouth. Gretchen smiled.

***

Tom listened to Gretchen's light breaths fall into a rhythm with his wife's. His girls were sound asleep. He ran his hand up Gretchen's spine, her soft skin felt like the pedals of a flower against his fingers. She fussed a bit when he kissed her forehead, her naked body adjusting so delicately against his own. He wanted to hold her all night, to fuck her until the sun rose, but it was nearing two in the morning; he'd been with her for two hours, and if Callie awoke, she'd find Gretchen sleeping next to her, something he'd have no explanation for, as if he could provide one, other than the obvious.

He patted Gretchen on the butt and whispered her name. As soon as she opened her eyes, he kissed her lips, then told her they'd been pressing their luck long enough, and that she should probably get to bed. Gretchen nodded, gave him one last kiss that felt so intimate and wet it made him throb once more, and then crawled off the mattress. She threw on her shirt and pulled on her shorts, all while Tom watched, his dick rising with every move her body made.

***

As Tom held Callie on their living room couch, Grace Marie slept in the nearby recliner. The lights were low, and sharp sleet had been tapping on the windows most of the evening. Callie's silk night dress clung to her body, her breasts and nipples pushing against the soft fabric, calling to the firefighter to free them. Ever since he'd pulled his cock from Gretchen the previous night, it had ached for more pussy. With Callie on her back, her head resting in his lap, he ran his hand across her cheek, down her neck and between her breasts; it came to rest over her navel. His cock expanded, filling full, pushing against his wife's head, and when Tom dipped his hand between Callie's legs, gathering up her dress and exposing her upper thighs, she turned her face into his bulge.

He slipped into her panties, ran his fingers through her soft bush and then cupped her entire vulva. He felt her juice soak his skin, and easily pumped two fingers into her twat. He pushed them deep, his palm rubbing at her clit as he slowly churned his digits inside her, bending them forward to swipe circles across her g-spot. Callie lifted the leg of the pajama shorts that rested on Tom's right thigh, then reached in and pulled out his hot swollen cock. She opened her cherry-red lips and squeezed at the base of Tom's shaft, widening the head to give her a mouthful; she took it. Her wet inner cheeks rubbed against his head and her eager tongue stroked every inch as she sucked him like they were back in high school.

Grace Marie stirred, bringing her left leg over the chair's arm rest, repositioning her upper half with a delicate yawn, her nipping breasts jiggling slightly with her movement. Tom grew harder in Callie's mouth as he focused on his daughter's pale thighs, her tight top, her shoulders exposed by fallen straps and her slightly parted, luscious lips.

When his free hand gripped Callie's face, pushing her deeper onto his dick, he pumped it in her mouth, rocking his pole aggressively between her tongue and teeth, tapping her uvula. He stared at his beautiful teen as her breaths made her chest rise and fall, putting a pressure between fabric and skin that held, and offered, her plump mounds at the same time, bulging those young eighteen-year-old titties ... titties daddy so desperately wanted to taste.

His fingers beat Callie's pussy, his hand slapping against the wet mess he'd made of her lower lips. As Grace Marie opened her eyes, Callie, oblivious to anything outside of Tom's dick, orgasmed, filling her panties with a heavy squirt of piss and moaning over Tom's driving shaft. As Tom face-fucked his wife like he was pounding pussy, his pulse sky-rocketed when Grace's pretty gaze immediately locked onto her mother's soaked dress, then her father's deep thrusts. He quickly minded his business, mostly focusing on the back of Callie's head.

Tom and Callie had never had an audience before, let alone such a forbidden one. It took mere seconds before Tom nutted aggressively, explosively firing into the back of Callie's throat, and he made it a big deal ... put on a show. To him, his burst of wet heat pumped harder, longer, even seemingly hotter than ever before, all due to the fact that Grace, as far as he could tell, had never looked away; she stared as her mother swallowed three times, watched her daddy spurt into mommy as he desperately tried to pretend he was unaware of his daughter's prying eyes. Tom had wanted to cum to his eighteen-year-old baby's body ... her curves, her skin, that light in her irises, but he only had a peripheral view of her form. It wasn't until the couple settled and Callie lifted her mouth from Tom's soaked dick, that Grace turned away and sank back into the recliner's cushions, Callie, at least: none-the-wiser.