Rex Taylor: Mother lover

"Anyway," she told him, "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself if you get fresh or anything." He could see the unhaltered curve of her tits outlined in the clinging shirt she wore, and the flared pants did not conceal the shapeliness of her strong young legs. She was a big girl indeed, he thought. And she was his daughter. If he couldn't

share a two-bed motel room with bin daughter- "What did you tell him?" Cathy suddenly wondered, sitting upright again. "The desk clerk, I mean. How did you explain the fact that you were sneaking in a fresh young piece like me?" She laughed then, pointing her finger at him. "I'll bet you told him I was your niece, right? No! Your daughter! Am I right? Did I hit on the nose that time?"

Don couldn't repress a blush. He'd registered them as father and daughter indeed, Donald and Catherine Robinson. "It seemed the easiest way," he explained hesitantly.

"Doesn't matter," Cathy shrugged. "I mean, everybody uses a fake name far motels anyway, don't they? It's the American way."

She got up then and went into the bathroom. He heard her turning on the shower, and he listened to the water running for a long time. At last it stopped, and he fancied that he heard Cathy drying herself then, with a stiff and scratchy motel towel, while she hummed softly. Oh, hell, he told himself as he took off his shirt and trousers before climbing into his own bed. This war like something out of a dirty movie. He pulled the sheet up to his chest and tried to relax.

Cathy came out of the bathroom, clothed once more, her shirt not completely buttoned. When she moved, he could see inside her blouse the soft curve of a peachy tit, almost to the nipple. She paused a moment by her bed, looking across at him.

"Lib, Mr. Robinson," she began with a fetchingly demure smile, "I should tell you-I always sleep in the raw. Do you mind?"

He shook his head. "Maybe you could wear your bra and panties tonight," he suggested, mentally kicking himself in the ass when he remembered

that she was obviously not wearing a bra. He hoped she was wearing panties, at least.

She laughed. "No chance," she said. "Do people still wear undies, these days? Oh, look-I'll just sack up in my clothes, okay? I mean, I don't know if I'll be able to get to sleep that way, but-"

"I'll turn off the light," he suggested, "and you can go to bed however you please." He leaned to the table between the beds and flipped out the lamp, settling back beneath his sheet.

There was a light in the motel court outside, however, and the beam appeared to be trained upon the window of their room. Even with the table lamp off and the curtains drawn, the interior was bight as a moonlit stretch of beach, and Don realized that it simply wasn't going to work. And then, reason settled in upon him. Cathy was his daughter, even if he'd recalled her as little Susie all these years past. He'd seen her naked before-he remembered how cute her tiny ass looked when Gwen was diapering it. There was no difference, he told himself. No difference at all.

It was with that attitude of tolerant father that he watched as Cathy undid the two bottom buttons holding her shirt. Her fingers gleamed pale in the room's half-light, and he saw those fingers fly as she slipped out of the shirt. He repressed a sigh of admiration when his eyes made contact with her fine, brown-nippled tits, so high, so round, so cute as they jiggled softly with her movements.

She turned to the side, and he couldn't prevent his aesthetic sense from approving the perfection of her half-clad profile. A beautiful face that could have stepped off a cameo gem, shapely uptilted tits, a flat, smooth tummy-she was a delicious sample of young flesh and he was proud to think that she was his daughter by blood.

Cathy unbuckled her ornate belt, unsnapped her jeans, and gave her hips a wiggle that made the pants drop to the floor. She turned again, the sight of her thick, dark pussy muff smacking Don in the face, figuratively speaking. So lovely, he thought, and so sexy-he wished the divorce and separation had never happened, wished that he could have watched Cathy grow and develop into the beauty she had become.

She turned down her sheet and crawled into bed languidly, leaving him with a vivid memory of her every motion. He heard her slide the sheet up to cover her body even as he projected upon his closed eyelids a full-color image of her nakedness.

"Mr. Robinson," she said, her voice a feline purr in the twilit room.

"Uh, yes?" he choked.

"You're not like most men," she announced. "Like the guy I thumbed with when I ran away. Do you know that he tried to rape me in the goddamned car right on the middle of the ferry deck? He was pulling my shirt off, feeling me up, with all the crew and passengers around where they could see everything."

"Disgusting," Don mumbled.

"And to make it worse," Cathy went on, "the only way I could stop him from doing that was to go into the men's room on the boat and-you know?-do him there? With my mouth, I mean."

Oh, Christ! Don wanted to shriek.

"And then, she said, "he dumped me at that same gas station where you called Gwen. Peeled rubber getting out while II was in the ladies'."

"Why are you telling me all this?" he asked.

Her reply was couched upon the silky vehicle of a soft voice. "I just wanted you to know how rotten some guys can be.

"But you're not like that at all. I can tell. I mean,

here we are-a really good-looking man and a cute girl, sharing a motel room under false pretenses, and I'm naked under my sheet. But you're so nice, such a real gentleman, that you haven't made the slightest pass at me. How come?"

He didn't know what to say. He shut his eyes, wishing he were able to will himself to sleep right now.

Cathy scooted across her bed, slipped out and across the narrow strip of carpet that separated her from Don. She lifted his sheet and before he could stop her, before he could even realize what she was doing, she was lying next to him on his bed, her slim shapely thighs entrapping one of his legs between them.

"How come?" she repeated. "Why haven't you tried for just one little feel, one tiny kiss, one sneaky pinch? Huh?"

She reached around beneath the sheet, and her hand closed upon the front of his shorts, where Don's cock had already become aroused from the sight and recollection of her nudity. Her fingers traced the outline of his half-stiff tool, and she pressed closer, kissing his body with the perky nipples of her tits. "Is there something wrong with me?" she asked. "Don't I turn you on just a little bit?"

Her warm body wrapped around him like an electric blanket turned to high. She had one hand on his cock, the other stroking his chest, and her lips began to nip and kiss at Don's neck. Her nipples were hot and hard against his skin, and he could feel unforgettably the firmness of her tits, round and proud.

"Stop it, Cathy," he whispered, struggling with her in the bed, trying to dislodge her hands and her body. "Stop it!" His pecker was hard as steel, thanks to the fondling of her fingers, and she was tugging at the waistband of his shorts in an effort to free his prick.

"Oh, come on," she teased, the words humming in her throat. The shorts went down, and she snagged the elastic waistband beneath his balls. Her hand made a grab for the protruding tool and she held it lightly, her fist smoothing softly along its rigid barrel.

"You have a nice penis, Mr. Robinson," she said in a deceptively genteel voice. "It's long, but not too long, and it's thick but not too thick. And I can feel your heartbeat when I hold it this way. Mmm, your pulse is a little bit fast. Are you getting overheated about anything?"

"Cathy," he begged her, "don't. Go back to your own bed and go to sleep. Be good. Don't do