Rex Taylor - Turned on family

But that little bit was more than enough, it seemed, for as Robin's tongue became more and more insistent on her cherry, Bonnie exploded with her most massive come yet. It was physiologically unlikely, but it felt as if she were unleashing gallons of cunt juice into Robin's sucking mouth, strangling the blonde girl with syrupy fluids. Bonnie was wildly orgasmic now, and she transmitted some of her thrashing convulsive energy into the task of eating Robin's twat. Her teeth scraped the blonde's cunt mound, nipping at the pussy flanges, tongue going mad on Robin's clit.

They could come together now. Bonnie showed no sign of dropping down from her high soon, and Robin was almost there. She pressed her cunt against Bonnie's mouth even harder and slid a leg along the side of her friend's head. The sweat of Robin's thigh mingled with the sweat of Bonnie's face as the virgin girl kept lapping her fist pussy.

"Oh!" Robin called as the first shock wave hit her, and then "OooooooOOOhhhHHHH!" in a rising, falling crescendo of sounds. She stuck two fingertips into Bonnie's slit and rammed her own gushing cunt into her friend's face, holding it there until the delight of the moment was only a beautiful memory.

Unwilling yet to dress and depart, they sat cuddling in the back of the van. "God," said Bonnie, "that was the most beautiful thing that's ever happened to me."

"I think I feel the same way," husked Robin, busy cupping the other girl's dainty little boobs.

"But why?" Bonnie wondered. "Why did we do it?"

"Because we wanted to, and because we needed [missing text]."

"Does it mean we are lesbians?" The tightness in Bonnie's question was like a noose on Robin's neck.

"I don't know what it means," Robin blurted. "I think I hate men and love girls, but I don't know. The last couple of days have been so crazy I don't know anything." She let go of Bonnie's tits. "Do you want to be a lesbian?"

"I don't know either," Bonnie sighed. "I'm just like you."

Robin tried to tell her friend how she felt about the male species, but the words just wouldn't come out fight. Even Robin could tell that she sounded incoherent, upset. And Bonnie, who had never known real intimacy with a guy, could only nod and coo in sympathy.

"Come on," she said finally. "It must be after midnight. We'd better be getting back to town. Maybe tomorrow we can see where our heads are really at."

Laurel Willis stared at the table before her. There was a cup of coffee, barely touched, long since grown cold with curdled cream bubbles on the surface. A very bad novel which she'd opened and closed almost simultaneously. And an ashtray overflowing with stale-smelling, ground-out cigarettes. She looked at the kitchen clock. In just a few minutes she'd find out why her life had begun to disintegrate in the past twelve or fourteen hours.

It began so placidly. Last night. She was in the bathroom, just getting ready to step into the tub. There was a knock on the door. "Are you decent, hon?" Sam called.

Laurel looked at her naked body and replied, "Of course!"

He opened the door to join her. Behind him, in the hall, stood Sean, and both males caught sight of Laurel's bare body at the same time. Sam slammed the door quickly, but not so fast that Laurel missed the goggle eyed stare from her son, or his quick turnabout.

"Damn it," Sam said, "I asked if you were decent! You shouldn't run around like that in front of Sean. I'm positive he saw you, and he might get, well, funny ideas."

"From his mother?" she laughed. "Besides, you didn't say he was with you."

"You look more like a chorus girl than a mother," Sam replied, moving close to squeeze and cup her bare tits. "A hell of a sexy chorus girl." He was in his clothes then, but she pressed herself against him as though both of them were equally nude. It was an invitation, a seduction, and Sam's pecker responded in gratifying fashion. Laurel ground her crotch against her husband's.

"Knock it off," Sam warned.

"I have something you ought to knock off," she teased. "Bet it'd purr for you, too, just like a furry little pussy."

"Not tonight, hon," he pleaded with a smile. "I've got a headache." He moved away from her, cock still punching out the front of his pants, and he began to undress. Laurel leaned against the sink, arms folded on her belly, watching admiringly as his shirt flew off, then his pants, last of all his shorts, allowing his powerful cock to spring free.

She started to give him a wolf whistle, but it died on her lips as she caught sight of her husband's prick. A cold feeling oppressed her body, and she felt her nipples pucker as though an icy wind had just blown through the bathroom.

On the barrel of Sam's dick were the definite imprints of someone's lips. Not just one, there seemed to be dozens of kiss-marks on his peter.

Laurel bent her head to one side, trying not to be too obvious, hoping that he couldn't hear the pounding of her heart. That wasn't her lipstick. That shade simply did not go with her dark hair and eyes. It was too bright. Whose?

He didn't seem to notice! That was the most shocking part. Some stranger, some girl had kissed his cock and left the prints of her mouth there, and Sam didn't even notice! Laurel wanted to knock him to the floor and twist his nuts in a pair of pliers till he confessed the name. Who? Who?

He stepped down into the tub, sighing at the heat of the water on his legs. "You coming in?" he asked his wife, bending over to pick up the soap. She could see his big dick and his big balls hanging down between his legs and she wanted to pull them from his body. How had he dared, when had he dared to be so intimate with another woman?

"No," she said, "I don't think so," trying to keep the doubt and the fear from her voice. Perhaps there was an innocent explanation for this. She tried to believe there could be. But how could Sam have lipstick on his cock and nothing to confess? Laurel gathered up her clothes, slipped into a robe, and went down the hall to their bedroom.

She was under the covers when he arrived to join her, and he was wearing only his bathrobe. He threw it off as he stood beside the bed, and Laurel saw that his cock was scrubbed clean and beginning to harden.

Sam lifted the sheet and lay down beside his wife, teasing her thigh with his dick, and she felt it stiffen more perceptibly from the touching of her skin. "Come on, honey," he suggested, his hand slipping beneath the hem of her nightie. "Let's fuck."

"I don't think so," she replied. "I, I don't feel like it."

"Sure you do," he insisted, pulling her nightie up to her waist. She had nothing on underneath and Sam rubbed the head of his pecker through her fluff of beaver, tickled with its bulbous knob the ticklish inner sides of her thighs.

Laurel's legs parted obediently as her husband insinuated himself between them. She felt his weight upon her for a second as he inserted his dick, and then he lifted his head and shoulders into push-up position. Laurel made a soft grunt as she took his cock inside, all nine inches of his thick rod, but she neither complained nor co-operated. She wasn't going to help him. Let him jack himself off in her cunt. If he wanted more, he could return to his red-mouthed cock-kisser.

She lay beneath him resignedly, allowing him to fuck her, but she knew that, for Sam, it was like screwing a corpse. He humped with eagerness, moving his peter in special, provocatively sexy ways that would normally excite her, make her moan, cause her to encircle him in her legs and clutch him to her body, but they didn't work now, and Laurel fought to repress a smile of triumph at that.

Sam worked to keep his hard-on, but without Laurel's active cooperation it was a losing battle. Her cunt was like a dead fish ringing his prick, slack and unresponsive, and Laurel felt the interest drifting out of his cock. It grew softer, softer, then uselessly limp. Her husband's dick slid out of her passive cunt, and he lay beside her once again.