“Afterwards, I asked Ben not to kiss me anymore like that. And I told him that I preferred to reserve that special act for my husband. And Ben was more than happy to honor my wishes from then on.
“So the truth of the matter is that the French-kissing part was the only thing that we were doing in bed last night that made me feel weird and awkward–and yes, even embarrassed to do it with you.”
“Wow! It’s such a relief to hear that, Mom. I thought that I was the only one who felt that way about the French-kissing stuff.”
“Well, you’re not. So don’t worry about it. I told you last night that I wanted you to do whatever it was that you wanted to do. In other words, I really don’t want you to try to please me during sex, son,” Mom said, and then added, “That is, unless that’s what you are wanting to do, in order to raise your own level of sexual excitement.
“But otherwise, don’t worry about me. I’ll just reach down into this old worn-out pussy of mine and make myself cum, if I ever need to. You shouldn’t feel obligated to do that for me, when I’ve been doing that for myself for years now. I’m damn good at it too!”
“I believe you, Mom,” I said, and I finally got up out of bed, went into the master bath, got a clean washcloth, wet it under the faucet with warm water, wrang the excess water out, and then brought it back into the bedroom.
Meanwhile, Lacey, my little sister and part-time contortionist, was still in the pretzeled-up body position, except that she had finally stopped inserting her sperm-coated fingers up into her own vagina.
But now, she was doing something even more amazing. And I kept looking over at her the whole time that I was gently wiping all the left-over stickiness off Mom’s clit and her pussy.
Lacey now had her hands wrapped around each of her butt-cheeks, and she was pulling them toward her, while she had her lower face all the way down in her own crotch, and she was actually licking away and sucking on her own clitoris–which by the way, was just a normal size clitoris, and not a huge clit, like Mom had.
“Does Tim know that you can do that?” I asked Lacey, verbalizing the very first thought that came to my mind, and then realizing that I had just overstepped my boundaries.
While Lacey kept licking away at her own clit, she said, in between licks, “No, he doesn’t. I’ve never done this in front of him before. In fact, I’ve never done this in front of anybody else before now. And I don’t really know why I’m doing this now, in front of you and Mom. This is something that I usually only do every so often when I’m masturbating.”
“Well, thanks for sharing, sis. That’s some super-intimate and very erotic shit!” I complimented Lacey. “I could just stay here for hours, watching you lick and suck on your own clit like that. It’s truly mesmerizing!”
“Here, here!” Mom announce, raising up an imaginary cup of some sort of liquor or wine in her right hand, as she continued staring at her folded-up, self-licking daughter. “Why don’t you come lick my pussy next?” Mom suggested, and we all cracked up laughing.
When the laughter in the bedroom finally died down, Lacey said to Mom, “Sure, Mom. Just give me a moment to get out of this fucking body-knot that I put myself into.”
Then Mom asked her, “If it’s that much trouble, why do you do it in the first place?”
“Because I can,” Lacey said. “And because for some fucked-up reason that I don’t know, ever since I reached puberty, I have always loved to taste and smell my own pussy. It’s just something that really turns me on to do.”
“You, and just about every other woman in the world,” Mom commented. “But most of us can’t eat our own pussies, like you do. So we just stick our fingers up into our own vaginas, and then pull them out to smell and taste the pussy juices left on our fingers. I’ve done it a million times in my life so far. So don’t feel like your a weirdo for liking to taste and smell your own pussy.”
I jumped in and asked Lacey, “So why don’t you eat your own pussy in front of your husband? I’m sure it would turn him on–especially during you guys’ foreplay.”
“You don’t know Tim. I think he’d blow a gasket, and call me a freak, for doing that to myself. Besides Tim doesn’t really believe in ‘foreplay’ anymore. Nowadays, Tim’s much more of a ‘wham bam thank you ma’am’ kind of guy–except for without the ‘thank you’ part.”
And my little sister quit talking for a few moments. She was obviously mired in her own thoughts.
“Damn! That sounds like one fucked-up sex life to me. Why don’t you just leave that son of a bitch?” Mom suggested to my little sister.
“Because in all other ways, Tim is very good to me, even though he doesn’t really love me.
“But at least I know exactly where I stand with Tim. I know that I’m his trophy wife, and I’ve learned to accept it.
“And in exchange for me taking on the role of trophy wife, I get to live a life of luxury that I never would be able to enjoy or afford otherwise.
“And the main price I have had to pay for it is a pathetic sex life with my husband. But please don’t feel sorry for me. I brought all this on myself, when I went ahead and married him.
“And I knew exactly what I was getting into at the time. But I didn’t care, because I was a young naive gold-digger, and Tim is a perfect example of the kind of husband that a gold-digging woman ends up with.
“I have also gotten used to looking the other way, when I find out that Tim is secretly having sex with one of his secretaries, or when I discover that he was paying for an expensive call girl to spend the night with him every night in his hotel room when he was out of town on business for over a week. And I’m pretty sure the two of them didn’t just spend the nights together talking. It’s all just part of the game, when you’re a trophy wife, like I am.
“So now that I’ve let the cat out of the bag, I can finally tell you the real reason why I’m here right now, letting my own brother fuck me.
“Tim came up to me after he got home from his last business trip, and he told me that he wanted me to stop using birth control and let myself get pregnant, so that he could start a family with me.
“And that’s when I began questioning why on earth I would want to have a baby with a man who doesn’t even love me. And the answer was, I wouldn’t–and didn’t–want to do that.
“It wasn’t the ‘getting pregnant’ part that bothered me. It was the who was going to get me pregnant part that I decided to take total control over. I wanted the man who ended up getting me pregnant to be someone who I loved and admired,” Lacey looked directly into my eyes while she was saying that to me.
“And that’s when I reached out to Mom when I got here, and I asked her if she thought that you might agree to fuck me, and become the father of my baby.
“And her reply was that she would ask you when you got here, which she did. And now we’re well on our way to having a baby together. Isn’t that great?”
Mom jumped in, “Please don’t get your hopes up too high, Lacey. I wasn’t using any birth control when Ben starting fucking me in front of my husband, doing the cuckold thing with us. And it took almost four months of Ben fucking me at least two to four times a week, before he finally got me pregnant with you.”