Upstate Overnight Mother-Daughter

Upstate Overnight Mother-Daughter

"Does your mother know you're in here?" John said when Maggie flung open the shower curtain.

"I wanted to see our carpenter in the flesh," she teased, the slight girl standing there in nothing but her oversized t-shirt, her eyes slowly traveling up his 6'4" tanned and muscled frame. Her denim shorts lay open on the floor by the toilet.

He wiped the wet hair from his eyes. "She hired me to build the screened porch, not provide entertainment for a bored teen-ager," he argued, knowing it was a setup. After all her mom, Sharon, was already one of his happy cougars and when she asked him to travel up to Big Indian for a week's work on her cabin and offered housing, then mentioned that she and her daughter would be staying over the weekend in the small place, what red-blooded male wouldn't imagine the possibilities? Besides, since a couple of his regulars were missing their "sessions" this week, it had better be worth his time.

"I'm nineteen, not a teenager!" the girl pouted, crossing her arms under the full, soft mammaries that swelled her shirt, slowly getting wetter in the shower spray.

"Yeah, a legal adult. But I'll point out that the word 'teen' is still part of your age." John was perfectly comfortable standing there naked and dripping, soap foam washing down the drain under the hot shower. He'd lost track of the number of women he'd been naked with.

"Look, grandpa, you're not the boss of me."

This sounded like the girl Sharon had described; willful, impatient, rude, impulsive - pretty much the definition of a teenager. She'd said the girl was making her crazy living at home, challenging her at every turn.

"You shouldn't be in here with an ancient twenty-eight year old like me, then," he said, thinking he really ought to have gotten the full picture from her mom before they arrived. Earlier in the afternoon the pair had rolled in while he was stapling the last of the screen on the porch and both had watched him working, brought him lemonade and giggled between themselves. Was Sharon just expecting her daughter to pounce on him at the first chance?

"I know what to do with one of those," the girl pointed at his heavy organ, already swelling. "I know mom's been using that tool, too. You're not just banging nails."

John sighed, "True enough, but not really your business, is it?"

"It is when she can't stop bragging about it," the girl huffed and cocked her head to the side. "I had to see one of the legendary 'John's Erections'.

It was times like this when he was glad he'd named his construction business with that not subtle phrase. She was watching the organ rise now and fidgeting. John figured Sharon had expected this to happen. Maybe not within two hours of their arrival, but the cabin was small and he did need a shower after sweating all day. When Maggie'd barged in the bathroom claiming she had to 'pee real bad' while he showered he hoped, no, he knew, it would come to this.

Maggie reached for his cock, eyes locked on the flesh pole. Water sprayed everywhere in the small, steamy room, soaking her t-shirt. Now it clung to her round body, her nipples hard, the fabric tight to her high, full boobs, molded to the rise of her mons, a ghost of her thatch darkening it. She got two hands wrapped around his dark, soapy organ and tested, squeezing and pulling, smiling all the while.

"Does your mom know you're in here?" he asked again, "I'll do this, but only if she's OK with it."

Just then the door opened and cold air mixed with the steam as Sharon stood at the threshold, one hand on the doorknob. "Put the weapon down, young lady," she said sternly, looking peeved. "Didn't I tell you to wait until after dinner?"

Surprising him, Maggie released his cock and looked contrite, though still damned alluring in the wet t-shirt. His erection waited, poised, like a fourth party to the conversation.

"We discussed this, Maggie Marie," said the mother, irritated, "I asked you to do one simple thing..." The woman gestured, "Go change and we'll have dinner and go over this again."

Casting a defiant look, the wet girl slouched out the door. Sharon closed it behind her and turned to John. "That was a good response. Thanks for waiting to check with me first." Then she put her hands where her daughter's had just been and gave him a tug. "It's going to be an interesting weekend." She bent to take a mouthful of his purpled cockhead and made one firm circuit of it with her hot tongue before rising, winking and leaving him there dripping.

*************

John sat at the faded, wooden picnic table while the two women brought plates and sandwich fixings. The westering August sun rode above the treeline, casting the lake in red-orange shimmers. Looked like good swimming, he thought. Later, the evening bugs that he was building the screened porch to thwart would be after blood. For the moment the quiet and green surroundings held them. In the woods he always sensed a potent, rising energy, the life in it constantly striving. He sensed it in the sap rising in himself; he always got particularly horny in the wilderness. Like a stag, he'd chased a mating scent all the way upstate and now he felt like stomping his hoofs and snorting, swinging his rack and mounting something. Knotholes began to look inviting.

Sharon and Maggie were in heat, he could tell. They tittered and jostled each other setting out the simple meal. Sharon had the feline grace and poise that came from being a model. Maggie'd inherited her fine bones and animal movement, but carried them with awkward hesitations, a long-legged foal just finding its footing. Her shoulders were tense, her eyes darted. She laughed nervously. The girl was trying too hard to be cool. Sharon simply exuded the confidence of a mature woman who knew what she was up to.

Everyone made their own sandwiches. Bread, meat and cheese were layered, mayonnaise was slathered, beer tabs were popped. One appetite was quickly satisfied. They rose to clear the table.

"John, this girl..." sighed Sharon, "I don't know what I'm going to do with her."

The girl smirked, "You don't need to 'do' anything with me."

"This gap year isn't gaining you much if you just stay in the apartment and brood."

Maggie looked at John, appealing, "I wanted to go to Greece."

"I told you I couldn't get away this summer," her mother said.

"By myself..."

"I don't think you're ready to be out there alone."

The conversation foundered on what sounded like an old argument and John reflected on his recurring role in mother-daughter dramas. Again he'd be called on to break things loose like he'd done with the Lees simply by pounding them both senseless with his talented body. Yeah, that's the role he seemed born to play - he was the lubrication on the grinding gears of many women's sexual machinery.

"Well," he said, rubbing his hands together, "who wants a good fucking?"

The two women stared at him. In the pause he appreciated how Sharon's full lips glistened, how the blue chambray shirt draped over her small, loose breasts, the way her tanned midriff showed tight and silky where she'd tied the shirt tails up, how the matching ribbon held her raven-black hair in a ponytail. The tan khakis showed her firm ass at its best and she knew it. Her eyes smoldered. She commanded attention like the model she still was.

Maggie was a deer in the headlights. Frozen with a dab of mayonnaise at the corner of her mouth, her eyes smoldered, too. She was eager, but she might also dart away. Her dark, short hair mussed, that now dry t-shirt sort of hiding her body again, the long legs still went on forever below the hem of that thin fabric. Looked like she'd hadn't put her shorts back on. John could tell she wanted it badly but was anxious. Be careful what you wish for, little girl, he thought.

"You both get a good fucking. Isn't that the plan?" He stood there and let them appreciate the flex of his biceps and the pinch of his waist in his tight, vintage AC/DC t-shirt. The well worn, low-riding 501s gripped his package and his butt in a way that he knew gave women little to imagine. They could tell he was strong, he was hung and he was willing.

"Who goes first?" He said.

In the endless moment he waited, feeling the blood rush to his organ, his skin begin to heat, his fingertips become alert, his body ready to obey nature's oldest command. Yet, he waited.

"Right here on the picnic table?" said Sharon, sounding both abashed and intrigued.

"I'm going to watch," insisted Maggie.

"That's not..."

"What? You're going to go in the cabin and make me stay out here? I'll peek in the windows anyway. Cheer you on, maybe." John wondered if she wasn't accustomed to alcohol. Or maybe she was trying to get the biggest rise out of her mom. Impulse had clearly won over anxiety.

"I thought," her mother said sternly, "that we'd each take a turn with John, you know, privately." She looked at the carpenter. "The plan I was about to explain involved you taking some of this energy out of her."

"I've watched you before, you know." Maggie grinned. "You think I don't know why you send me down to Starbucks for a couple of hours every Saturday morning? I sneak back in and I've watched you two screwing a bunch of times."

"What! How many?" demanded her mother.

John raised his hands, "Ladies, I don't think that's important. I'm OK with her watching..." He began to strip off his t-shirt. Their eyes followed the rising fabric, saw tanned abs appearing, dark nipples riding on swollen pectorals, the swirl of his body hair. After tossing the shirt aside he reached for the mother's hand and placed it on his rippled torso, knowing nature would take her course.

Sharon moved in close and ran her hands all over him. He popped the buttons on her shirt, untied the tails and peeled it off, exposing those now familiar lemon-sized tits with their dark red, spongy nipples pointing skyward. To her daughter Sharon said, "OK, you just watch. JUST watch."

The woman's all-over tan was revealed when he dragged those khakis down. Now Sharon stood there poised and hungry, her small, heavy breasts hanging, sun-bleached peachfuzz glowing in the low, golden afternoon sun. John had looked up her Sports Illustrated swimsuit sessions from 2002. She hardly showed the twenty years since. Maggie, her softer twin, stood by in the loose t-shirt biting her fingernails and rubbing her knees together - mating signals he was familiar with.

Sharon tugged impatiently at the buttons on his jeans and they quickly joined her clothes on the grass. She grasped his rising cock and pulled him toward the table, backing up to the end of it, easing her butt onto the rough wood and leaning back onto her elbows, looking him seductively in the eyes as she went. He moved between her legs and she opened for him.

"One moment," the sultry mother said, "Maggie, go get some blankets, please."

When the girl dashed off she said to John, "This isn't going exactly like I thought it would. You'll be kind to her won't you? I just want her to have a safe and quality time with a good cock. I mean, I wanted to know she wasn't taking bad risks. I remember being that horny and stupid."

"You wouldn't have set this up if you didn't think I'd treat her right."

"I didn't think I'd be having an audience."

"Well," he assured her, "this is a chance to show her a healthy physical relationship."

"I guess..."

"I'm your playground. Trust the process." He squeezed her thighs as the girl came skipping back, arms full of blankets. Quickly they spread them on the picnic table and again he stood between the woman's thighs, her well maintained body displayed for him.

"Maggie, if you have to watch I want to make sure you learn something."

"I told you I know how to use one of those," the girl said, pointing at his cock.

"Yeah, but do you know how to tell one of those... I mean, tell a guy, how to use you?" She looked flustered, "I mean, not use you, but help you have good sex together."

"Less telling, more showing, please, mom," said the girl as she scissored her long legs over the bench, sat at the picnic table and took one of Sharon's hands, "I bet I know more than you think."

"Well...errm, then...John, show her what your mouth can do." Sharon sighed, laying back on the soft blanket, legs bent, knees wide, toes curled over the edge of the table. He first took a nipple in his mouth and gently sucked it in, pulling it tight. One finger he trailed down across Sharon's ribs to circle her bellybutton, then walked across her taut belly to tweak the protruding hip bone. Slowly he eased it down the crease toward the woman's delta, finding increasing moisture in the stickiness of her skin as his finger approached. Maggie watched closely as that finger disappeared. She squirmed. John thought of the thin fabric separating the girl's sex from the rough wood of the bench. Was the tail of her t-shirt getting sticky, too?

His mouth followed his finger down the woman's soft body until his tongue burrowed in the creases folded around her labia. Sharon shuddered and Maggie stared as he gently probed. He locked eyes with the girl when he first flicked her mom's pearl. He diddled until the woman groaned. Maggie licked her lips.

John worked the spongy, pink, fleshy labia, dipping his tongue into Sharon's thick, salty-sweet juices and her breathing grew rapid, her jaw clenched, her fingers scrabbled in his hair. Maggie laced fingers with her mom's other hand, leaning in to watch.

"You know how important lubrication is, don't you?" sighed Sharon, eyes darting to her daughter's.

"Yes, I know how important lubrication is, mom," Maggie rolled her eyes. "I've been wet since we got here." With this the girl rose and pulled her mom's hand under the t-shirt to her groin. "Tell me if I'm wet enough."

Sharon looked wild-eyed at her, but didn't pull her hand back, "Good God, girl."

Quickly the girl flung her t-shirt off and John had a moment to savor the wash of golden sunlight on two tanned and hungry women, one a softer, rounder version of the other. Mom worked her model body to the peak of tautness. Her daughter, however, still had some girlish softness, a curvier carriage, fuller butt, larger, higher boobs, smaller, pinker nipples. Not that he'd refuse either one, obviously.

He rose and took his dripping, fat, purple tool in hand. Maggie wiggled her body and smiled, "don't just stand there with that shit-eatin' grin on your shiny face, grandpa. I want to watch you put that thing in my mom, already."

"I like watching it, too" said Sharon, rising up on her elbows again. John aimed his cockhead squarely at her wet, red vulva and made first contact. Watching Maggie watching him part her mother, he pressed slowly forward. Sharon curled up her hips and watched their union, too, her taut stomach clenched, reaching down and laying one finger on the veined shaft as it slid slowly into her. As her vulva stretched around him her clit was exposed, the hard bud pink and wet. Maggie tentatively reached and put a finger on John's glistening cock, too. Then she let that finger slip up to touch her mother's pearl and the woman shook.

"I'm not sure...." whimpered Sharon.

"Let the girl learn," grunted John, pressing his thick shaft deeper, slowly and firmly filling the woman. She let her head fall back, gasping, but unprotesting.

Maggie leaned down and kissed her mother tentatively on the cheek, then again on her lips, testing, tasting, gently tweaking her mom's clitoris as she did. Sharon made indeterminate sounds - moans of resistance and surrender both. The girl's heavy, round breasts swung, rosy nipples pointy and hard. John enjoyed the show for a while as he sank slowly into the wet, tight and hot woman and she arched her back under her daughter's attentions.

Sharon quivered through a gentle first release when John's balls pressed against her flesh, his organ buried completely, with Maggie's wriggling finger trapped between them, her mouth wet and slippery on her mom's. Then the girl climbed on the picnic table, faced John with her knees on each side of her mother and eased her pussy down to the woman's mouth.

"Oh!, I'm not sure..." whispered Sharon, lungs filled with the aroma of her daughter's aroused body.

"You told me what you did in college," said Maggie, "better make sure I'm wet enough for him." Then she turned her mouth up for John to kiss. They completed a circuit of desire; hungry kisses, tentative pussy licking, confident cock sliding slowly out again, building a rhythm and a passion together. John hefted a melon-breast in each hand as they kissed, kneading and stroking with care. He slowly sawed into the mother, driving her desire upward, while the daughter kissed him and her hands roved across his muscled torso for some long, exquisite minutes. She reached down and ran her fingers into the sloppy juncture between his thick cock and her mom's sopping pussy. Maggie put her wet, pungent fingers to his lips and he sucked them in, his mouth watering at the flavors.

Then the girl pushed him back and leaned down to lay kisses on her mother's belly. "I want to taste it," she said, pressing on his hips. John let his prong spring free and she grasped the dripping shaft, dropping her open mouth over it. He held still as she explored with her tongue, straining over the fat knob, tasting him and her mother.

Sharon had her hands wrapped around her daughter's derriere, pulling apart the cheeks, her face buried between, now eagerly lapping. Maggie lifted her mouth off his cock and took a deep shaky breath, then put her mouth on her mother's quim and licked. John watched mother and daughter pleasure each other, both lost in a place he couldn't go, the two finding agreement in joy rather than conflict. After a while of their drippy, sapphic delights, as he lazily stroked himself, they each shook through a mutual peak and he knew the time had come for him to apply his talents more earnestly.

Maggie raised her head, eyes unfocused, jaw dripping, and he offered his cock again. "Make sure I'm wet for her," he urged. The girl opened and he pressed up into her mouth. She 'mmmm'd' and drooled on him, letting him thrust against her throat with practiced precision. Pulling back and gasping, the breathless girl pushed his saliva-slick cock down and aimed it into her mom's slack pussy, wet and red. John pressed in again and the woman moaned, curling her hips to take him deeper. He pulled Maggie's face up for a long, juice-smeared kiss. He felt the girl quake in a little release of her own, strung between two hungry mouths and talented tongues.

When they broke for a breath, he pulled out and the girl rose and turned, laying her body on her mom's and curling her feet over the woman's spread thighs. The women kissed and John looked at the two pussies presented for him. Two red exclamation marks, they urgently invited him. Crimson, wet, open and available, they waited. One Brazilian bald, the other with a short, thick, black and oily bearded patch. John thought of their sweaty breasts pressed together and the wet lips being tongued, all their juices shared. He put a hand on Maggie's round ass and aimed his cock at her carmine gash. A tangle of slippery fingers grasped at him as both women reached between their bodies to direct him. The girl's soft, wet flesh parted around him and she groaned.

"Mom," she sighed, "he's big...like you said."

Sharon wrapped her daughter in a hug, holding her still as he slowly filled the girl. "Just relax. He knows how to use that thing."

And so he did.

John ramped up as quickly as he sensed Maggie could take it. He drove with skilled force and pulled back to tease her with a pause, then drove in again with increasing energy. The girl grunted with each thrust and clumsily kissed her mother, interrupted by his thrusting and her involuntary cries of pleasure. He brought her to the edge of release.