Robert Jenkins - Seducing Mom and Dad

"I know home sure would be," Dot said sadly. "Huh? What do you mean?" Emma asked, sensing the somber change in her sister's mood.

"It's Mom and Dad. I get the idea they don't fuck any more. Or hardly ever. They're so grim!"

"Oh… that's terrible! What's the matter? Are they having a fight?"

"Nothing so healthy. I think they're just bored with each other."

Emma looked sad. "God. It must be driving them nuts. With three daughters as horny as us, they must be pretty sexy people. I hear it's hereditary. Can't we do something?"

"I don't know how," Dot said glumly. "You know, if it would help, I think I'd even sleep with Dad. To see if it would do anything for him."

"Dot!" Emma exclaimed, horrified.

"What?" Dot giggled. "You're going to tell me about traditional morality?"

Emma was ready to reply, when the sound of loud moaning came from the other room. "Sue!" Emma cried, jumping up.

Dot followed her big sister through the bedroom door. Both stopped, stunned, just inside the living room.

Sue was splayed in the chair where they had left her. One hand held her plump little pussy-lips apart. The forefinger of the other hand was rubbing hard against her massively swollen clit. The girl's eyes were wild. Her face was flushed, her body dripping with sweat. As Dot and Emma stared, a violent spasm shook the teen-ager's lovely young body.

"Dot! Emma!" Sue gasped out. "I'm going to cum again! The third time! Oooooh… it feels so good!"

As the girl writhed out of control in the chair, her two older sisters began to wonder what they'd started.

Bitterness welled up in Paul Masters' heart. As usual, he was horny. But the logical answer to his horniness, lying in bed just a few feet away, failed to turn him on.

Not that Helen, his wife, wasn't a good-looking enough woman. At forty-five, she still had a stunning, big-titted figure, and her handsome face was framed by a thick fall of lustrous dark hair. A little help from Clairol, admittedly, but still quite a head of hair.

Nor did the fact that Paul had three gorgeous daughters detract from his wife's good looks. Uh-uh. It wasn't the looks that turned Paul Masters off. It was the fact he and Helen had been married for twenty-five years. Twenty-five years sharing the same bed, the same cunt, the same cock.

Both of them ridiculously faithful. Paul realized how ridiculous it was now. If only they had had the guts to go out and get laid on the side years ago… then maybe a little fire might have returned to their marriage.

Faithfulness can become a habit. It becomes almost frightening to break it. At fifty, Paul didn't think he had the courage to go out and find a new piece of ass. The old one would have to do.

Helen looked up as her husband crawled into bed beside her. The look on his face, the set of his shoulders, warned her it was going to happen again. He was going to try to fuck her.

Not that Helen wasn't horny, too. Her body was literally drying up from frustration. But Helen had been brought up on the idea that sex is mainly a man's thing. That a woman doesn't really get horny the way a man does. Intellectually, she'd shit-canned that idea years ago. She wasn't a stupid woman.

But the early training lingered on in her very cells. For years she'd managed to bury deep in her subconscious the fact she was literally dying of, sexual neglect. Her disease made itself known in the shape of various neuroses and lingering complaints, for which she took a great variety of pills.

Even when Paul fucked her, which was rare, she received no satisfaction from it. Both of them were responsible for that. He really didn't turn her on any more. She didn't quite know why. She had been taught that marriage and love is forever. Nobody had warned her about boredom.

And Paul performed his husbandly function merely to pop his nuts. He might as well have masturbated, which he did frequently enough anyway. Helen, when he fucked her, was a convenient warm wet hole. Only she wasn't wet that much any more.

Both Helen and Paul, when they dared think about it, could look back on the passionately sexy early years of their marriage. They had loved to fuck! But petty arguments, too much everyday closeness, and the boredom of staring into the same face, the same tits, the same groin, the same cunt, year after year, had taken its toll.

Helen stiffened as Paul moved close to her. She was wearing a nightgown. She always did, to protect her body, cover it up. Paul's hand stole out and started sliding up one leg.

"Paul…" Helen said, complaining, moving away a little.

Paul blew up. His temper had become quicker and quicker.

"Damn it!" he snarled. "It isn't like I was after you every night! It's been over a month since we fucked!"

Helen shuddered. "Do you have to use that horrible word?"

She was still moving away as Paul's hand persisted, sliding higher up her leg. On the inside, where it was the most sensitive. If she moved any farther away, she would fall right off the edge of the bed. She gritted her teeth. Her mind and body told her to make Paul stop what he was doing. She didn't want to fuck him. Not in the mood he was in. There was nothing in his manner but anger and bitterness.

But Helen's conscience made her hold still while her husband's hand stole closer and closer to her quailing cunt. After all… it was a wife's duty wasn't it? So her mother had always told her. After all, her mother had been a good Christian woman. A local pillar of the church. Helen's mother had been dead for years. Long enough for Helen to forget her narrow, pinched, hate-filled face and turn her into a saintly memory.

"Uh!" Helen gasped a little when Paul's hand finally made contact with her cunt.

He was so rough. His fingers dug straight up into her pussy-slit. No tenderness at all. Paul was wearing a hard-on inside his baggy pajama bottoms. All he wanted to do was spurt its hot load up into an appropriate hole.

"Oooowwww!" Helen whimpered as Paul shoved his finger straight up into her cunt. She felt the dry, tight opening stretch painfully.

"Oooowwww?" Paul said mockingly. "Is that all you can say?" He was tired of his wife's reluctance, too worn down with the years to think much about his part in her unwillingness.

A lack of congenial sex wasn't the only thing wearing Paul down. For twenty-five years he'd been a faithful employee of a huge industrial conglomerate. Without much education of his own, he'd worked his way up to field engineer. Having started from way down the ladder, his rather good job awed him. He lived in fear of losing it, and the good salary that came with it.

Unfortunately, his callous, power-hungry superiors, sensing Paul's emotional dependence on the job, made him suffer constantly, hinting darkly of impending lay-offs. Running Paul's ass ragged, treating him like a servant, letting his excellent work go unnoticed, other than to make themselves look good to their own superiors.

Paul didn't dare think about all this consciously. He might have committed murder if he had. But the simmering frustration grew in him, making him a bitter man. Now they had transferred him to another town. He didn't mind the change of location. It was a nice town, nicer than the last. But his job responsibilities had been changed. All the shit jobs would be coming his way now.

Full of simmering bitterness, Paul drove his finger farther up into his wife's flannel-dry cunt. Helen gritted her teeth. She'd be damned if she made another sound. She even let Paul spread her legs open wide, as he shifted his weight, rolling over on top of her.

Not much foreplay. But then, his finger up inside her dry cunt didn't feel very good anyhow. Helen shuddered as she thought how much worse his swollen cock would feel, so much thicker and longer than his finger.