Heather Brown - Door to door wife

Ruth, the mother, was active in at least a dozen civic activities. I wondered how she found time to do such a good job with the house, but the evidence was all around me that whatever time she had she put to excellent use. Oddly enough, the more wholesome the picture the Fishers presented to me of themselves, the more uneasy I got. After all, S.E.X. hadn't sent me into their home to hear about Mom and apple pie. Where was this alternative life-style Jason had told me about?

Finally, after almost an hour of pleasant conversation that led nowhere insofar as The S.E.X. Report was concerned, I broke the ice, and mentioned I'd better get down to asking some questions. As a matter of course, considering the adult subject matter, I asked Art and Ruth if they'd mind excusing the children.

"No way," Art really surprised me by answering in a firm voice. "The kids have to be part of this or we wouldn't have agreed to cooperate with your research in the first place."

He looked toward the two children.

"Right, Teddy? Sheila?"

They both nodded back with polite smiles on their attractive faces. Then their mother joined with an identical response.

"You see," Art said, "the whole secret to the closeness of our family is that we do everything together… and I mean everything."

"Wait… wait a minute," I stammered, struck by his implication as if by a punch to the jaw. "Are… are you trying to tell me that you and your wife have… have…"

"Yes," she interrupted without batting an eyelash. "Art and I always try to include the children in our sex-lives, if that's what you're getting at, Mrs. Robinson."

I looked around at the four of them as though it had suddenly occurred to me that I was surrounded by a roomful of Martians. Each of them returned my startled gaze with the same big grin.

Especially the girl. Sheila. At eighteen she was extremely attractive, and was now starting to uncoil the full extent of her beauty as she spread her legs out on the floor from under her short dress.

I could see how she'd been elected cheerleader. Her legs were long, shapely and tan, and must have looked sensational in one of those brief costumes the girls wore at the local high school.

I'm afraid my stare was too obvious. All of a sudden I could sense that she was aware that I was admiring her exposed calves and thighs.

"Do you like my legs, Mrs. Robinson?" she asked coolly.

"Well… I… I…" I stammered with a red face.

"Don't be embarrassed," her mother broke in. "Sheila knows how pretty she is, and so do the rest of us."

"Yes," Art Fisher added, "welcome to the club."

Sheila wasn't made uneasy by all this attention at all. As a matter of fact, she obviously enjoyed it.

"Would you like a better look?" she asked.

Before I could gather my wits to make a coherent response, her long, delicate fingers gasped the hem of her skirt and pulled it all the way up to her waist. Then, as she spread her thighs. I was looking straight at her open crotch.

She wasn't wearing a stitch underneath. I could see everything!

"Everything" was the most gorgeous cunt I'd ever laid eyes on. The lips were a pouting pink. The hair a wispy tangle the same color as the honeyed tresses on her head. The red mouth was glistening with moisture.

"Sis is even prouder of her pussy than she is of her legs," her brother spoke up for the first time. "She never misses a chance to show it off."

"And you can easily see why," her mother added.

The girl was doing her best to live up to her family's estimation of her charms. Now she was lolling back against the couch so that she was virtually spread-caged, and placing her hands into the well of her splayed crotch.

With bugging eyes, I watched her fingers clutch her pussy lips and slowly pry them apart. By the time she was finished, her twat was open at least six inches wide and I was looking straight up inside her.

Then, the mother got up and walked over beside me. "Do you like cunt, Mrs. Robinson?" she asked as she stroked my hair.

I was too flustered to answer.

"I'll bet you do," Mrs. Fisher cooed. "Perhaps you'd like to see where my daughter inherited her lovely specimen."

She stepped in front of me, and before my astonished eyes, doffed her dress from around her shoulders and let it slip to the floor. Like her daughter, she was naked underneath.

My nostrils flared as I got a whiff of the pussy that suddenly filled my fine of vision. As she had suggested, Mrs. Fisher's twat was every bit as delectable as Sheila's.

"Here, feel it," Mrs. Fisher said as she took hold of my wrist. Too stunned to resist, I permitted her to draw my hand to her box and place my fingers on her throbbing labia.

"Rub them around," she suggested. "Get your fingers good and wet."

That was certainly easy enough. Mrs. Fisher's cunt was absolutely sopping. The pubic hair had lost its curl it was so heavy with saturation.

"Do you… do you do this sort of thing often?" I gulped as I felt her damp groin writhing under my involuntary touch.

"Whenever we have a guest," Art Fisher cheerfully informed me. "We always like to be hospitable."

"And… and when you're by yourselves?"

"What do you imagine we do when we're by ourselves?" Ruth Fisher purred, her voice actually seeming to come from between her legs – the presence of her cunt was so commanding.

I closed my eyes and shook my head, because I didn't want to give the obvious answer. The obvious was just too bizarre.

My reluctance didn't faze the Fisher family in the slightest.

"We fuck and suck, of course," Ruth Fisher calmly announced. "If you don't believe me, just look what's happening over on the floor behind me."

She turned forty-five degrees to the right so I could look once again at the spread-legged Sheila… only Sheila was no longer by herself.

Teddy, brother, had dropped his pants, and was waving his eight-inch hard-on in her blissfully smiling face. Then, her pink tongue popped out of her mouth and gave it a long, slurping lick.

While he was getting his cock tongued, Teddy lowered a hand between his sister's legs and began vigorously feeling her pussy. Within seconds, three digits were fully inside the gooey cavern and finger-fucking her.

The only one unaccounted for now was Mr. Fisher. His wife sensed my curiosity and moved again so I could witness what he was up to.

He had stripped and was stroking his ten-inch prick. It was apparent that he was very pleased about the swelling he had between his legs.

"Come here, darling," his wife said to him. "I think our guest would like to get a closer look at your pride and joy."

He jumped up and joined us immediately. Taking my free hand, he put the fingers up against his cock, and then pressed the tendon in the underside of my wrist so that I had no choice but to wrap them around his tool.

It was a pulsing piece of equipment – obviously a powerhouse. Already there was a premature glob of cum gracing the tip.

"What about you, my dear?" Ruth Fisher interrupted my awe-struck silence. "What do you have between your legs?"

"And is it wet?" her husband's mouth watered.

I hadn't even thought of that. Automatically, I rubbed my thighs together to test out the situation.

Yes… I was wet. Uncontrollably wet.

"Come on, now," Art Fisher said with a twinkle in his eye, "'fess up. We're your friends."

I looked away, my face burning with embarrassment. However, as it was, I might as well have broadcast my vaginal condition over a public address system.

"Oh, yes, she's wet," Mrs. Fisher said eagerly.

"How can you tell?" her husband asked.

"I can smell it… can't you, darling?"

"Mmmmmm," he sampled the air, "you're right, honey. It's just like somebody opened a can of tuna."