One In Three -part 2

Maggie let herself be lead over to the couch for a brief sit between her near-naked daughters, and did nothing to assist their quick undress of her – made nude but for her bra & panties, the three of them friendly regarding what was about to happen for the 2nd time in as many years; they removed her bra for whole sucking mouthfuls of their mother’s fruits and got her underwear off for a taste of her true flavor, and Maggie lay a leg over their shoulders each, drawing both her daughters’ faces between her thighs nearer from where they came almost twenty years ago and ever feeling their tongues crazily soft & electric in her increasing wetness. To her right, as yet unmentioned and still colorfully boxed in its cardboard and bright cellophane, lay a ridiculously huge dildo she knew to be no novelty gag: “14 inches long! 4 Inches Wide!” if not for the straps & buckles it should have been only a joke. Next to it, less significantly, lay the girls’ regular aid, just the standard six inches, built for pleasure rather than as a test of one’s mettle, its wear apparent.

Eleanor would step-in for Bridget, limping bow-legged and dripping from their room and falling into place between her mother’s thighs, and it would next be Bridget’s shouts and bed-wrecking for forty more minutes so soon after the door was closed. And then, again finally, Gretchen from the other side of those walls, alternately losing breath and screaming for greater depth and speed as her ass was pushed to swallow meat she could hardly hold for a last squirt of sperm where it didn’t belong.

The family regrouped in the main room, the girls collected on the couch close to their mother and George seated in the lounger, all of varied post-coital flush and the gargantuan sex toy still lying in wait unexplained. George drank beer, his bald cock fat and exhausted in his lap, and sensed he would be audience again to something among his women; the females spoke only with their eyes and smiles and slight motions and adjustments – to George as well, but becoming increasingly involved and inversely less conscious of his watch.

Bridget began un-packaging the synthetic cock – she could have been only unfolding a newspaper, as naturally obvious as they all were nude, but the moment announced itself; she and Gretchen carefully strapped Eleanor into the dildo and it didn’t matter that it was initially she who would first do their mother – the tool half-again larger than was her brother, this hard-rubber mass would be way-big up Maggie from all her girls regardless of who went at her first. Maggie would not kid herself – this was very suddenly about to be very much not about sex; she had been through this before with her brother.

Bridget and Gretchen took their mother by the hand, and Maggie let herself be lead by her two daughters to be positioned on her knees & elbows for her third, the giant fake-dick unwieldy bobbing between Eleanor’s legs in counter-tempo to the feminine swish of the girl’s hips. Maggie sensed her brother about to come to her rescue – he could be so clueless, but he did love her so, she smiled to herself; all he had, including their daughters, was as a result of her – and she waved him off with a small move of her hand and a nod; so much for him cleaning-up his act, George sat back down and lit a cigarette and took a long swig of more beer. 

An act of invasiveness and dominance performed with such slow gentleness – if the girls were any more considerate it wouldn’t be buttfucking at all – despite it all from all-three of her grown-girls, a seemingly endless stretch of love as effort: dispelling all guilts and shames and self-consciousness with this mutual humility, these four women hugging crumpled upon each other and locked in a embrace so as to hold them all together, this sodomy of mother by daughters a loving chore for both; the girls couldn’t have been more tender with their mother had they been shampooing her hair – the softness in their eyes, their expressions, penetrations as if deep caresses, a massage as careful as so monstrous an assfucking could be managed, the struggle to not lose ground as great as that to progress.

It had been years since Maggie was tight enough to be overwhelmed; her brother could still sting her fanny, but hard, regular practice had reduced unbridled trauma to a surprise that always, but only, caught her a little off-guard. George always liked that she’d never quite get used to it.

And so Maggie hid nothing this afternoon as well – curled on all-fours, she lay her head alternately in each of her daughters’ laps and held them tight about their waists as firmly as she herself was held her in place, a second girl comforting & caressing of their mother as the third plowed at her with the forever-giant mock-prick as does a farm machine dig at the earth – and she would shout and carry-on as the damage warranted; but Bridget and Gretchen and Eleanor had each in turn worn that same expression themselves another evening earlier two years ago – that feeling from behind of being gutted without having been actually cut – and the three girls knew that first, tried look: that split-second too late that they’d changed their minds, and then just endlessly enduring until it got better.

As were her daughters still agape, once it was all done – a careful half-hour later, all three girls having done their ten minutes apiece boring-open their mother’s anus as was theirs by their father – air rushed fresh up Maggie’s bowels as does weather through an open window and while semen still dribbled from her daughters’ rectums, and the four women sat in a huddle at the site of their lovely demolition, all four whispering broken-voice and quietly crying to each other as do women when comforting each other & themselves; or not unlike soldiers having survived a battle – we all pretty much work the same way.

George was suddenly very afraid and within seconds of a panic & bolting from this very dangerous alliance of his women, when they all looked at him at once, seeing his fear – smiling at him and half-laughing through their tears, the women beautifully looking back at each other genuinely happy & relived and then looking back again at him, sniffling and wiping their noses and laughing some more – and the females in the room let the lone male know he had nothing to fear, this was not about him. 

The family recovered together – remaining naked and casually, lovingly switching out among each other in pairs and threesomes as their desires and energies lead them; they ordered Chinese take-out and made dessert of each other where conventional cream & syrup could be found, listening to the crap that was usual television and drinking wine and getting high and speaking of whatever came to mind and the five of them in no hurry for anything in particular, happily content to simply love and make love as their desires and energies lead them further still.

However much George was ever satisfied again, he would never again be among these four women of his whom he so dearly loved without being somewhat prepared to die.

§§§

Maggie had kept just out of reach of her brother’s touch, at first playfully, then insisting.

For days after he’d last done the girls she believed she was just letting him rest, renew his juices; at three weeks she knew better but staved him off with promises that this abstinence would make them all the more hungrier for each other, and then nearing a month George knew too she was afraid: crows feet and birth lines – no grown woman, however hot, can be told she’s preferable to a teenage girl, let alone three.

He’d finally had enough one evening, untucking her shirt and making plain he would not be put off any longer. He just needed a piece and hers would do, she told him, bringing her shirt back down and trying to step away, refusing him outright; he’d not let go.

“I could call the girls and one would manage to meet with me somewhere” pausing; he had more to say but for one more moment let her continue to think what she was thinking.

“ – I was a rite of passage; you they wanted, and so do I” and he tugged her closer.

“Not here” she surrendered, weakly, and leading him toward the bedroom; or rather, out of the den, the light.

As they entered the bedroom, George reached for the low-watt corner lamp they used as backlight.

Maggie gave up. She put her hand atop his, stopping him, not looking at him.

“…please?” she asked quietly, and he let her keep the room dark, the streetlamps outside below their window providing only the dimmest means by which to see. She took the two remaining bottles of Go-Glide from the dresser and held them up for him to choose:

“They’re peach and margarita…”
“Neither.”
“Okay…” do me dry then; I’ll take what I can get. She knew they had coconut oil, but didn’t offer it.

Maggie quickly stripped out of her sweatshirt and jeans; she might as well have been alone and in a hurry for a bath. She went over to the bed to peal off her panties, threw her bra aside as if it were dead, and lay face-down on the bed looking out the window at the night – her chest pressed to the mattress and her haunches high in the air, the white moonlight reflecting off her own moons, as if to demonstrate how very cherry she was not. He squared-up to her and quickly did her several times raw in the ass, but she made no noise. 

“Is this what you want?” her brother, from behind her, stroking.
“mm-mhuh…; more – ” like you did them, she said, his sister, naming names.

He’d not listen to this. George stopped and sat out of her light, next to her and holding her as wide open and kissing and tonguing the gape he’d made. She was beginning to feel worshipped again. He brought the cocoanut oil out of the bedside drawer and pulled Maggie over onto her back. She was meeting his eyes again, watching him trickling streams from her nipples to her knees and drawing circles over her abdomen, her brother anointing his sister with their tradition: cocoanut was their scent for sex, having always reminded them of sweet nakedness, and it went well with sweat.