REDHEADS WAITING

Feature Writer: Pan

Feature Title: Redheads Waiting

Story Codes: Ma/ft, ft/ft, Fa/ft, Mult, Consensual, Mind Control, Hypnosis, Lesbian, Cheating, Slut Wife, Incest, Mother, Sister, Father, Daughter, Group Sex, First, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Sex Toys, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Public Sex

Synopsis: A mother finds herself increasingly attracted to her twin redhead daughters, and starts to become obsessed with the idea of the two of them “practicing kissing”. She uses mind-control tapes to nudge them along, but once you start making your sexual fantasies come true, it can be hard to stop…

Redheads Waiting – Chapter 1

I should start by pointing out that I’m not a lesbian.

At least, I don’t think I am. I mean, I’ve never really had any experience with girls to test it; until recently, I’ve been perfectly happy with my husband, and before him I didn’t really have any experience with anyone at all. My first time was with him. Six months later we were married, and three months after that the twins came along.

So I was surprised, when my girls turned sixteen, to discover myself wondering what they looked like naked.

A physical description seems to be the standard way to start these stories – I’ll begin with myself. My name is Joanna, I’m a forty-three year old Brit, happily married mother of two. I’ve been told that I look a bit like Meryl Streep, though I don’t particularly see it myself. I’m in fair shape for a woman of my age; I’m not going to lie and say I have the “body of a 30-year old”, but I can honestly say I have the quite attractive body of a forty-three year old.

I’m tall, but not too tall. Red hair, which my daughters inherited. 36C breasts with a bit of sag (they were smaller before the pregnancy, but I’ve never had any complaints) and while there’s a bit of weight around my middle, Joshua has never seemed to be too put off.

I’ll describe the girls, too: Brianna and Rebecca. Brianna’s older by a few minutes – they’re twins, but not identical. Redheads, obviously. They’re both in shape – not sporty, active enough for their age; they’re certainly not obese. I haven’t been bra-shopping with them for a few years, but I still do their laundry, so I know that Rebecca is a 34B and Brianna is a 34C and that they both prefer white underwear – I think that black would be a better contrast against their pale skin … but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Beyond that, it was all imagination.

The exact date escapes me, but it was a few weeks after the twins’ birthday (birthday parties are the second-worst part of having twins, right after the pregnancy) that I started picturing them nude. I think I know what caused it – boredom.

I was bored. Bored with life, bored with sex, bored with everything. Joshua and I had grown sexually bored of each other a few years prior; god knows that we’d put the effort in. Costumes, underwear, toys. We cracked out the Kama Sutra once or twice, but none of it did any good.

We had reached the point where we were even talking about getting a third party in, but we couldn’t agree on a gender – as I mentioned, I’m not a lesbian, and Joshua wouldn’t even entertain the idea of sharing me with another man. Eventually, we dropped the idea, and our sex life petered off shortly afterwards.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband. But, ignoring anniversaries (which we sometimes did) we hadn’t had sex in years. There was no question of divorce – we were still happy together, but inactivity in the bedroom had led to me taking care of my own needs. Once a week, twice on special occasions. I can only assume Joshua was doing the same; I couldn’t imagine him cheating on me.

And so I can only assume that it was my bored mind’s way of entertaining itself, perhaps attempting to give my libido a kick start. I started watching the girls, watched how they moved their young bodies around the house. Often awkward, occasionally with a grace beyond their years. Whether they were relaxing on the couch, playing tennis outside, running for the Tube, I started to notice them. They never spotted me (I was just their boring, stuck-in-a-rut mother) watching them, but the whole time I was imagining them naked.

I hadn’t actually seen them in a state of undress for years now – the last time I remembered helping Rebecca in the bath was when she was 12, and Brianna was probably even a few years before then. So I truly was using my imagination: I pictured them running down the hallway in the nude, their small budding breasts bouncing, unrestrained. I wondered how much pubic hair they had; I remembered, at that age, being hairy as a mink, but things are different these days, aren’t they?

For a while, I tried to stop. It wasn’t right, I reasoned, for a mother to look at her daughters that way. Wondering what Brianna looked like in the shower, water running down her back, picturing Rebecca, naked in front of the mirror, assessing herself, leaning forwards and pouting in a youthful attempt to look sexy. It wasn’t how a mother should be thinking about her offspring.

But after a few days, I gave into it. After all, I reasoned, it was completely harmless. And, as I may have mentioned, I was bored.

I don’t remember exactly when I started picturing my daughters during my weekly masturbation session, but that was when I knew I had crossed a line.

Friday night was “my” night; Joshua would go out with his pals, the girls had youth group and would frequently stay at a friend’s house. I’d set up a few candles, run myself a nice bath … if there was wine in the house I’d have a glass, and try not to think about how boring and cliche even my own masturbation was.

Typically I would visualise a soap star, or the Australian man who had done our windows a few times (something about that accent always gets me… ) but this particular Friday, a mental image of the girls popped into my head.

At first I tried to shake it. I’d force it out of my head, try to think of rippling muscles covered in suds, or Jack Branning taking me in the wrestling ring … but it kept coming back. The closer I got, the more it persisted, until eventually I just embraced it and let out my climactic sigh, a vision of my own daughters in my head.

After all, who was I hurting?

After that, it became a regular fantasy. And, as I’m sure many of you reading this will have encountered, over time fantasies require escalation. Soon just the image of my daughters wasn’t enough – they had to be dancing through my mind, taking part in in all manner of escapades. Brianna at school, flashing her panties to the boys. Rebecca playing tennis in the nude, bouncing as she served the ball.

A month later, I was pleasuring myself two or three times a week, imagining the girls in more and more depraved situations – Rebecca sneaking off from youth group with the vicar’s son, letting him feel her up behind the pulpit. Brianna, on her knees during morning tea at her school, sucking off the school bully. Rebecca, bent over a desk at school, fucking a teacher for a better grade, Brianna watching and playing with herself…

The rest of my life was still as boring as ever, but my fantasy life had suddenly exploded.

I wish I could be more precise with dates, but it’s not something I particularly needed to keep track of. When you have nothing to fill your days with, they blur into each other, weeks becoming months becoming years, until you find yourself middle-aged, counting down the years until menopause, playing with yourself with images of the new fertile generation in your head.

While I don’t remember exactly what date or week it was, I remember it was another Friday when an image came into my head that would change my life forever.

I don’t know if this is true of all boarding schools, but it was rampant in mine – my girlfriends and I used to practice kissing. My friends were all gorgeous, and I suppose I wasn’t too bad myself – a lot of men would have paid a lot of good money to see what went on behind closed doors, but I’d forgotten about it myself until I was in my usual bath, my hands doing their usual job.

It occurred to me, you see, that if I’d had a twin sister, I know we would have used each other for practice. And while things have changed since my day, surely death and taxes aren’t the only constants – I feel that my girls would have taken after their old mother in at least one regard.

3: The second I had that image in my head, the mental picture of my twin girls kissing, sharing their saliva, pressing their bodies against each other, maybe using their hands to explore, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

And not just in my own private time, either – whenever the two girls and I were in the room, I was scanning their faces for signals, secret flirtations between one another. Whenever I left the two of them in a room together, I couldn’t help but imagine them passionately locking lips the second I left. Every time we were sat around the dinner table, I imagined their hands sneaking up each other’s legs, their fingers pumping in and out of each other as we made small talk over supper…

At this point, my fantasies stopped being completely harmless.

I was aware of the change, too, and I tried to put it out of my head. I tried to think about something, anything else, but it was like a pink elephant; trying not to think about it consumed my waking hours, there was no room for any other thoughts.

I don’t know if my daughters suspected anything; I tried not to let on, but when your sixteen-year old daughters come to you for help on a maths problem and you’re doing everything you can (and failing) to stop picturing them naked, locked in a sweaty incestuous embrace, you don’t have the spare mental energy to see if they’ve noticed a change in your behaviour.

I should tell you about my husband at this point – he’s a good man, and it’s not his fault that we’ve sexually drifted away from one other. He’s reliable, he earns enough to keep us in the lifestyle that we’re accustomed to, and god bless him and his hobbies.

Ever since I’ve known him, almost 18 years now, he’s discovered a new hobby every few months. When I first met him, it was inventing (which he’s come back to several times over the years, always managing to get distracted just before he can actually create something.) Right now it’s photography, a few months ago it was home-brewing beer, and before that he was seriously considering getting into bee-keeping.

But the hobby relevant to this tale, and probably the reason you’ve clicked through to hear my tale in the first place, is hypnosis. Not “watch dangled in front of your face” hypnosis (though he did try that for a few weeks before giving up) – he invested in a subliminal hypnosis kit, to try to stop himself from smoking (partially at my request – his previous hobby had, for reasons too ridiculous to explain here, required him to smoke cigars. It stunk.)

I don’t really understand how the tapes work – you record your voice, or a voice that you trust, and put it into a special tape deck. The deck layers it over the music, and so when you’re listening you’d never know that it was anything but a song. All the while, your subconscious brain is processing the messages – you have to listen to the same message for at least a few nights before it kicks in, but when it does you see results quickly.

The kit included some relaxation music, instructions on what sort of subliminal messages worked best, and speakers that attached to the bed. I have no idea if it was the tapes, or my threats to divorce and/or castrate him if I found one more cigar burn on the couch, but less than a month after he started the program he was off the Cubans. By then, we’d both grown accustomed to falling asleep to the music, so we’d kept those and put everything else in the basement.

The girls refer to the basement as “Daddy’s Forgotten Toy-Chest” – there’s a remnant of every hobby Joshua’s ever had down there, from the ventriloquist dummy to the stamp collection to the “Start Your Own T-Shirt Company” starter’s kit (and thirty-five unsold “Born to be Wilde” shirts.)

Obviously I never intended for it to go as far as it did. I was just curious. I just needed to know – I thought I’d just get them to confide in old mum, find out what was happening under my own roof. Just a bit of information to fuel my fantasies.

I genuinely never intended for it to go any further than that.

4: It was a pretty simple system. Easy to find, too; right under the jam-making equipment, above the “golf from home” kit. The provided messages were for weight loss and nail-biting, but gave you an idea of the sort of tone you had to use. They were also in a harsh American accent, but I assumed I didn’t have to mimic that.

“Mum,” Brianna asked, “Why are you moving your stupid sleep-tapes into our room?”

The twins have always shared a room. Neither Joshua or I grew up with any siblings and we felt it was something that our childhoods lacked.

“They’re good for you,” I replied, “They’ll help you sleep better, you’ll be more rested for school.”

Brianna rolled her eyes. Rebecca didn’t even look up from her laptop as I attached one set of speakers to each bed.

The message I’d recorded was simple, and the same for both of them:

You trust your mother. You trust your mother. Mother knows best. You can share things with your mother. You must always answer mother’s questions. Mum knows best. Help Mum out around the house more. Whatever Mum says, goes. If Mum asks a question, you must answer. Never lie to your mother. Never lie to Mum.

I hoped that switching between mother, my role, and Mum, my “name” to the girls would help it work no matter how much they thought of me, whether as a person or just as their mother. (I know that at that age, my Mum was an obstacle first and a person a distant second.)

I didn’t notice any difference for the first few days, and even after that it was subtle. If I hadn’t been looking for it, intently examining their faces and their bodies every time they entered the room (the bodies were less relevant to what I was looking for, but it had become a habit, ) I probably wouldn’t have said there was any difference, but by the end of the week, they were coming home and telling me about their days. It was nice.

After a week, I switched the tapes out.

You trust your mother. You trust Mum. You can tell her anything. You can ask her woman questions. You can talk to her about sex. Do your assignments more than a night before they’re due. Mum is cool. You can trust Mum with secrets. Tell your mother about sex. Never lie to your mother. Always tell Mum the truth. Your mother knows about sex. You can tell your mother anything.

This one was less successful. For the first week, absolutely nothing. I was waiting for a hint, anything that would open up a conversation, anything where I could get some details from my daughters, anything to help fuel a fantasy.

I was starting to get frustrated. As well as that, without our own sleep-tapes, Joshua and I were both having trouble sleeping. One night I think he woke up while I was pleasuring myself (I had been unable to sleep and unable to get images of my daughters out of my mind, so I had done what came naturally.) I lay still, and after a few minutes he started snoring.

The next day, two things happened. I bought a tape and speaker set for our room, just to get back into a normal sleeping pattern, and I decided to be more direct with my next tape.

Your mother is someone you can talk to about sex. Discuss sex with your mother. Ask her questions. Tell her secrets. Your Mum loves to talk about sex. You love to talk about sex with Mum. You will remember to wash up after breakfast. You will wear less clothes around the house. It’s okay to dress like a tramp at home. You will ask Mum about sex.

I don’t really understand the brain psychology of it, but if I had to guess I’d say the tapes work best on things you already want to do. If you want to quit smoking enough to buy a tape, they’ll help you achieve that. No amount of tapes will help you do something you’re opposed to – or if they will, you have to introduce it slowly and gradually.

This one had one immediate effect – the girls were wearing less and less clothes. As a mother, I felt I should say something, but I can’t deny that I was enjoying it. Joshua didn’t even seem to notice – had our husband’s member become so dead that it didn’t even notice two gorgeous and scantily-clad young ladies running around the house?

I have no idea where Brianna got a miniskirt, but she certainly had the legs for it, and it wasn’t until I saw Rebecca in a v-neck that I realized how much she’d filled out.

One little nudge from a tape, and they were happy to let their inner tramp out. I suspect most attractive women are looking for the first excuse they can find to show off the goods – I know that when my body was in its prime, just the mention of the beach would get me into a bikini – I loved the feel of everyone’s eyes on my body – and even a hint of interest from a guy would get that bikini off.

But though there was more teenage flesh around the house since Joshua’s attempt to turn our basement into a weekend wrestling school, I continued to find myself washing breakfast dishes every day that week, and still neither of them were asking me about sex.

It was possible, I realized, that they just weren’t having any. Not with each other, not with anyone else. Perhaps it was for the best; if I could just confirm that no, my girls weren’t the sex-charged maniacs that I was at that age, I could get this sick obsession out of my head, and go back to fantasizing about Bruce the window-cleaner.

But I needed to know for sure.

One last tape, I told myself. One last tape, then I’d give up and return to my humdrum, sexless, adventureless life.

You trust your mother. You trust Mum. You will answer all of her questions. You will not lie to mother. You will not lie to Mum. You will not be embarrassed. It’s okay to talk to Mum about sex. You must be honest to mother. You must be honest to Mum. There is no need to make the house smell like a perfume shop every time you have a shower. You will dress like a tramp. You will dress like a slut.

One last tape.

“Brianna, honey, can I talk to you?”

“Yeah, what’s up Mum?”

“I want to talk about sex.”

“Uh … okay.”

“It’s okay to talk to Mum about sex.”

“Well, sure. I guess so. Is this about how we’ve been dressing? Because I can explain…”

“No darling, that’s fine. Wear whatever you want.”

“Oh, good, because it’s just that… -”

“Bri, it’s absolutely fine. I love that, by the way. When did tube tops come back into style?”

“Mum, can I…”

“Sit down, Bri!”

“Fine.”

“I just wanted to know…”

“Mum, this is… -”

“You will not be embarrassed.”

“Fine. ‘I will not be embarrassed.’ What do you want to know?”

“And you know dear, you must be honest to Mum.”

“I … know.”

“I just had some questions. Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No, Mum, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Do you have a … girlfriend?”

“Ew! No!”

“Don’t be like that. I had a girlfriend when I was your age.”

“What??”

“Not for long. Evetta, her name was. Oh my, I’d completely forgotten about her. We were together for two weeks, and then she was gone.”

“Mum, ew.”

“Oh, come now. She was my first kiss. I can’t believe how long it’s been since I thought about her…”

“Is that all? Can I go now?”

“Oh, yes. Brianna, I just want to know. How far have you … well, how far have you been with someone?”

“mumbles”

“Speak up Brianna, I can’t hear you. You must be honest to Mum. You do trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I trust my mother.”

“So tell me how … well, tell me what you’ve done. In as much detail as you can. Er, like. As much detail as you like.”

“Mum, I’ve never even kissed anyone.”

“What?”

“There’s no need to sound so disappointed, Mum.”

“Sorry dear, I just … sweet sixteen and never been kissed?”

“No.”

“Not even Rebecca?”

“What!? Mum!!”

“Well, all girls do it, you know. All girls practice.”

“Mu-um!”

“So … have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Have you ever … practiced with Rebecca?”

“Mum!!”

“I just … I’m just surprised, I suppose. It almost … it almost seems like a waste.”

“Mum, are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m just thinking. Some of my fondest memories are of those boarding school days. Practicing kissing, with the girls. God, we’d go on for hours…”

“Mum!”

“It just … it just seems like a pity, that you’re going to miss out.”

“Miss out on what?”

“Hmm?”

“What are you talking about, Mum?”

“Oh, nothing dear. I’m just … thinking. Mother knows best, you know.”

“Can I go now?”

“Yes. Yes, certainly. Just … close the door behind you, would you dear?”

Redheads Waiting – Chapter 2

I should start by pointing out that I’m not a lesbian, y’know?

That might sound like a weird thing to start with, but it’s important. Me and my sis Bec had been raised to be all “gay yay” and all that and honestly I’ve got no issues with it – until lately I always thought it was a bit gross, but whatever. Do what you gotta do, y’know?

And I mean, you hear that one in ten people are gay or whatever, and you wonder if you’re that one. And I did wonder for a while, but then I’d think about a girl and I’d think about a guy and there was just no competition, y’know? I like guys, and I always have.

But then I heard there’s a thing where you can fall in love with a person and not a gender, I guess … but then I’m not really talking about love, just sex, so … lol, this isn’t making any sense. I’ll start at the beginning.

My name’s Brianna, but everyone just calls me Bri. I’m 16 and four months, and I have a twin sister (who’s the same age as me, surprise surprise.) We’re not identical twins, but you can tell that we’re sisters. We’ve always been close – not creepy close or anything like that, but we’ve always got along.

About a month or two ago, Bec (that’s my twin) and I went through our own little “sexual revolution”, if that makes sense. We were talking, and we both came up with the same idea at the same time – we realized that we were sick of wearing what society says we have to wear in order to be “good girls”. We’re both sexual women, and we decided that we wanted to start showing it, so we decided to start wearing what we wanted when we wanted, y’know?

I think part of us wanted it to be a big “fuck you” to our parents, too, for telling us what we can and can’t do, but it didn’t really work out like that. For one, our Mum’s pretty cool – recently we’ve realized that she’s the kind of person you can really talk to about anything you like, and Dad’s so harmless that it’s really hard to rebel against him. It’s like trying to rebel against a piece of soggy toast – it’s not really worth it. Dad’s like that.

So me and Bec started wearing our “out” clothes around the house, waiting for Mum or Dad to say something, but neither of them did. Dad didn’t even seem to notice, and Mum … almost admired it? It was weird, I saw her checking out our legs a few times. Maybe she was just remembering the days when she used to look like that. I’ve seen pictures, Mum used to be a bit of a hottie. Even now, she’s kind of sexy, in a “mum” kind of way.

So I was waiting for Mum to start lecturing us, but it never came. Instead, she had this really gross conversation about an old girlfriend she used to have (yeah, I know – ew, right?) and asked the weirdest question that anyone’s ever asked me ever – she asked if Bec and I ever “practiced kissing”.

At first, I was grossed out. Then I told Bec, and she started laughing, and then I started laughing, and we couldn’t stop. It was just so weird – Mum telling me about how she used to kiss girls, and then asking if I did … after we finished laughing, there was a weird silence, and we haven’t really spoken about it again. Bec probably didn’t even think about it again after that, and I completely forgot about it … for about a week.

I dunno why, but after a week I started thinking about it again, and the thought just got stuck in my head. Kissing Bec. Kissing my twin. Kissing my twin is hot.

You see why I wanted to make it clear that I wasn’t a lesbian? I mean, I’ve never kissed a guy, but I’ve defs thought about it. A lot. But then the image of kissing a guy sort of got displaced by the idea of kissing Bec, and the thought wouldn’t go away.

What’s worse is that I was starting to notice how good Bec looked in her more slutty clothes (which she was starting to wear, more and more.) It was an unexpected side-effect from our little sex revolution; I’d find myself staring at her cleavage, or checking out her arse as she bent over to pick something up. I even considered going in and watching her shower, pretending that I was just brushing my teeth or something. If she caught me, I could just be like “We’re sisters, it’s cool.”

I had this weird crush on my sister. It should have bothered me more than it did, but … I kind of liked it.

Bec’s always been better with guys than I have. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think she’s hot and I can definitely see what guys would see in her, but … I’m not exactly Queen Ugly myself. If I had to put it down to one thing, I’d say it’s her boobs. The difference between a B and a C cup, y’know? Guys notice that sort of thing, and when you’re in front of two similar-looking redheads, you’re going to go with the one with the bigger cans.

So I’ve never kissed a guy. I’ve been on a few awkward dates (the worst was the one where my Dad came along. Yeah.) and I’ve had crushes before, but it’s just never happened for me. Bad luck, I guess, or maybe I’m uglier than I think I am. How much would that suck? If I was the one teenager in the world without low self-esteem, and it turned out that I was ugly.

Bec’s had better luck with guys; she had a boyfriend once for two whole months, and she told me that they kissed a bunch of times, and once he even put his hand up her top.

So yeah, if we were going to practice kissing, it would be me asking Bec. Bec’s got the experience, and she’s never been a bitch about it or anything. She always answers questions that I ask her, and one time she even showed me what it had felt like when Mark (her ex) had felt her up. Well, she started to, but it was a bit weird so we stopped.

We’d always been open about stuff. She’s a cool little sister. (“little”. Younger by 6 minutes, bigger by one cup-size, lol)

This next bit is weird. Just warning you ahead of time. It shouldn’t have happened the way it did, but it did, and I’m not complaining.

So it was a Sunday night, and Bec and I were sitting on our beds, in our shared room, chatting about what we were going to wear the next day to school (I was pushing for her to mix it up a bit and try one of my miniskirts. She was saying I should go without a bra and see if anyone noticed) and I just … asked. It had been going around my head like a chant for the last few hours, and I guess I just had a moment of weakness and couldn’t resist it any more, y’know?

“Hey Bec,” I said quickly, before I let myself change my own mind, “could you teach me how to kiss?”

It could have gone any way. She could have laughed, she could have been grossed out, she could have … she could have done anything. It’s a weird question, especially from your twin, and especially when we’d laughed so hard at the idea just two weeks ago, y’know?

But she just stared at me, with those dark brown eyes, and nodded.

If I’d been thinking, maybe I would have thought she was kidding, or that she’d misunderstood me. But I’d had the image of kissing Bec, kissing my own twin, running through my head all day (for the last few days, in fact) and so I didn’t question it for a second. I just got up, moved over to her bed, and sat directly in front of her.

We were wearing matching nighties that Mum had bought us a few weeks ago. Pink and frilly; when we’d first opened the box, we’d thought she was trying to dress us up as little girls, as Mums sometimes do. It wasn’t until we’d tried them on that we’d realised how sexy they were – they were so short that if we weren’t wearing panties underneath, bending over would completely expose us, and the neckline was low-cut enough that a boob would occasionally pop out (Bec’s more often than mine.) Mum mustn’t have realized how short they were when she got them.

We both looked h-o-double-t hott wearing them, and they’d quickly become our favourite choice of nightwear.

So we were sitting on Bec’s bed, in our sexy nighties, just staring at each other. We just sat there, saying nothing for a few minutes. My heart was beating so hard I thought Bec must be able to hear it, and I think at this stage we both knew that this wasn’t about “learning how to kiss”.

Maybe I hadn’t been as subtle as I thought, and Bec had picked up on my crush and decided to help me get over it, or maybe (impossibly) she’d had the same reaction to my recent style of dress as I’d had to hers. Maybe she had a weird crush on me, just like I had a weird crush on her?

She leaned in, without a word, and pushed her lips against mine. They were soft, slightly moist, and made my mouth feel all tingly. My first kiss. After a few seconds, she pulled back, and looked at me questioningly. I don’t think I reacted, but I must have nodded or something, because she was suddenly kissing me like her life depended on it.

She was kissing me like I was the hottest boy in class, and I was kissing her back just as hard. At some point, my tongue came out (or maybe hers came out first?) and we started using our tongues to play with each other’s tongues, y’know? I don’t know if there’s a word for that, but it felt amazing.

Bec’s smell is one that I’m used to; it’s been there my whole life. Maybe I smell just like her and just can’t smell myself, but at that moment, with my tongue in my twin sister’s mouth, I felt like I was swimming in her smell, or drowning in it. Drowning in a good way though. Like … drowning in sexiness. I’d never been so turned on. I loved it.

The next hour or so was a total haze. I remember kissing her, passionately, at length, and I remember her hands roaming all over my body. I remember feeling, for the first time, exactly what her boobs felt like, what it was like to handle boobs slightly bigger than mine. I remember grasping her arse (it felt so great!) and her grabbing mine. And I remember that my knee was the only part of my body that went near her pussy, but even through her panties and her nightie, even though I was only feeling with my leg, I remember feeling that she was turned on. It turned me on so much, to know that she was as turned on by me as I was by her.

I remember that I didn’t want to stop.

But after what must have been an hour, an hour and a half, we detached, and we just lay back on her bed, panting, covered in sweat. We just lay there for a while, holding hands, before a shyness that I’d never felt with Bec before, the shyness that normally overcomes me when Mr Phillips asks me to answer a question in class, or when I have to talk to my crush. It overcame me and I mumbled “thanks”, leapt over to my bed, and turned the light off.

Bec didn’t say anything, or try to follow. I don’t know if I hurt her feelings, or if she was feeling just as shy, but I’m glad she didn’t say anything, ‘cos if it had been bad I would have died of embarrassment, and if it had been anything else, I would have jumped straight back into her bed and neither of us would have slept that night.

Ever since we started sharing a room, we’ve unspoken rule about masturbating: If the other person can hear you, you’re doing it wrong. It’s a manners thing more than anything. It just prevents embarrassment, or any weirdness…

That night, we both broke that rule.

Redheads Waiting – Chapter 3

I should start by pointing out that I’m not a lesbian. Maybe Bri is, but not me. I just … I was just trying to be a good teacher, trying to teach my older sister how to kiss. I swear.

It wasn’t my fault that it turned into a few hours of making out, okay! And afterwards, when I heard Bri getting off, I joined in because … well, it would be rude not to. Right? I didn’t want to give her, like, bad self-esteem or whatever. But I swear, I’m not a lesbian.

The next day was awkward. We awoke, dressed, and went to school without saying anything. The tension was so obvious at breakfast that even Mum picked up on it.

“What happened?” she kept asking, looking between the two of us. “What happened? Tell your mother … you can trust your mother. Tell mother what happened. Tell Mum what happened.”

I knew that I could trust Mum, and that I could talk to her about anything, even sexual stuff … especially sexual stuff. But I didn’t even understand what had happened yet. I wanted to run through it in my own head before I even thought about talking about it with my mother.

Mum dropped us off, we went our separate ways, and we didn’t see each other again until that afternoon, when we both got home. We headed to our room, and stripped out of our school uniforms.

Now, normally Bri and I would unclothe separately, in different rooms. Normally we’d do it at different times, or at least one of us would go and change in the bathroom, but on that day, the day after we … the day after I taught Bri how to kiss, we undressed at the same time, in the same room, without ever breaking eye contact.

It was while we were stripping that I started to admit a few things, even if only to myself.

While Bri was peeling off her stockings, I finally confessed, in my own brain, that yes, I’d brought myself off twice last night, just thinking about her body, thinking about how her lips had felt, and about how much I’d enjoyed her roaming hands, touching my legs and my waist and my arse and my boobs. While Bri was unbuttoning her blouse, I admitted that I’d drifted off at least three times today in class, imagining us doing the same thing (and more) without our nighties on. When Bri’s sexy little black bra came into view, I realised that while I’d been playing with myself, I’d also been wondering if that was how her pussy felt, too, if she’d enjoy it as much as I did if I ran my fingers over her clit…

I’m not a lesbian. Really, I’m not. I’d spent the whole day at school looking at girls, imagining kissing them, and none of them did anything for me. I don’t like girls, I like guys. I like guys … and my twin sister. I can’t explain it, but it’s true.

And it’s something that I couldn’t even admit to myself, that I had a huge crush on my twin sister, that she turned me on, and that I wanted to do what we’d done last night again and again and again. It was something that I couldn’t admit … until I was standing there in our bedroom, watching her step out of her skirt, watching my twin sister Brianna standing in front of me, wearing nothing but a bra and panties…

And all the time I was watching her, and finally admitting some hard truths to myself, she was watching me undress. She was watching me undress, and she was breathing harder and harder, faster and faster.

We didn’t say a word, we just moved towards each other slowly, and started to kiss again. It was just as good as I’d remembered it being: better, as there was more of her skin touching mine. I felt electricty on my lips as she kissed them, my legs felt alive everywhere her fingers moved over them. When she moved her mouth down to my neck and started to kiss and bite me, my eyes rolled back in pleasure, and my brain turned off…

…

… I didn’t think again until a few hours later. We were lying, naked in my bed, legs and arms intertwined, both of us soaked in sweat and juices and saliva. I’d brought Bri off three, four, maybe five times, and she’d done the same to me. It was the most intensely sexual feeling I’d ever had, nibbling on my sister’s pussy and looking up to see her face contorted in pleasure. She’d suckled on my breasts as her fingers pumped in and out of me, and I’d left more than a few hickeys on her neck and inner thigh.

Other than “Oh god”s, moaning and the occasional high-pitched squeal, we still hadn’t spoken, and I knew this was the time.

“Bri… -” I started, but she cut me off.

“Want to go again?”

I just nodded.

After that, we were inseparable. Bri seemed to be as constantly horny as I was, and every chance we got, we would sneak off somewhere and get each other off – we got adept at using our mouths, our hands … if we needed to, we could get each other off in less than 5 minutes, standing up, without removing any clothes. Every chance we got to be alone, we were at least making out (if not much, much more) and even when there were other people around, we were always holding hands or touching in some way.

I’ve always loved Bri – she’s my sister! But despite what they taught us in school, I didn’t find myself falling in love with her or anything like that. I loved her as a sister, even when I was touching her in an utterly non-sisterly way. I wasn’t in love with her, I just thought she was pretty fucking sexy; a sentiment I’m sure she reciprocated.

One time, we both had a free period at the same time, so we snuck into the girl’s bathroom, and spent the entire 40 minutes in a cubicle, playing a game we called ‘nipps’ – seeing how much we could turn each other on, just using our nipples. First girl to touch herself (or the other) loses.

(I lost.)

Another time, we were at Youth Group, and I noticed Bri give me a strong look, immediately after she asked if she could be excused. We snuck off to the empty church next to our meeting, and “did it” at the pulpit. It was so naughty … and the fact that anyone could have come looking for us at any point, caught us fucking in the house of God really added something for some reason.

The closest we ever got to getting caught was when Mum came into our room, late at night, without knocking. Bri was under the covers, going down on me at the time – I guess I must have been moaning pretty loudly. When Mum came in, she just thought Bri was in the loo, and she stood there chatting to me for quite a while. Bri must have been feeling cheeky, because she didn’t stop. Little minx; I had to keep making conversation with Mum even while I came. (if Mum suspected anything, she didn’t let on. She just asked if I was feeling okay, right before she left, and reminded me that I could tell her anything, that I shouldn’t have any secrets from mummy.)

The most public we ever did anything was at the movies. Mum, Dad, me and Bri all went, and Bri was sitting at the very end, with me next to her and Dad next to me. It was a James Bond flick, and while Dad was engrossed, neither me or Bri found it very interesting at all. Without anyone noticing, I managed to get my hand up her dress, and brought her off during the film. She came during a particularly loud action sequence; anyone who heard anything would have thought the screams were coming from the film.

All the time we were doing this, sneaking around, sleeping in each other’s beds, getting each other off any chance we got – while everything was happening, I just couldn’t get over how sexy we were. I mean, Brianna is insanely sexy, and I know that I’m considered a bit of a looker, but I mean … the whole thing. The fact that we were twins, and the underwear we wore…

Oh yeah, the underwear. I don’t remember how it came up, but I was talking to Mum and we were discussing underwear. (Mum’s cool about stuff like that; I know I can talk to her about anything. Especially sex. I trust my mother.) Anyway, by the end of the conversation, she’d said we could borrow her credit card and go lingerie shopping – she didn’t even act like she was doing us a huge favor, she was really pushing for it! I would have invited her to come along, but I sort of wanted to just go with Bri, y’know?

The trip started with us looking at fairly conservative stuff, but then our competitive sides took over. I would suggest something for Bri that was a little bit saucier than she’d normally wear, she’d come back with something twice as naughty. It wasn’t until we were both trying on thongs and peephole bras, comparing aureola sizes and mock-spanking each other’s arses that we realized we’d attracted an audience.

For some reason, this really fueled our fires. (mine definitely, at least, and by this point I’d gotten pretty good at reading when Bri was turned on.) We pretended not to notice the small crowd of guys (and a few girls) looking through nearby knickers, trying to give off the appearance of innocent shoppers, and started role-playing a tiny bit. I pretended to be dominant, tried out some leather stuff … Bri pretended to be my obedient servant girl, and tried the French Maid outfit we’d laughed at when we first entered the store. Then we found some cuffs and whips…

Ten minutes later, the crowd had grown so large that we were worried about someone we knew coming by; we bought far too much stuff, and went home. We weren’t in the house five seconds when Bri jumped her – performing for the crowd had gotten her as worked up as it had me.

It’s a good thing that Dad wasn’t home, and that Mum didn’t come out of the study; Brianna and me would have had a tough time explaining why we were naked in the living room, let alone why I was spanking her…

Anyway, like I was saying, I got sort of obsessed by how sexy we were, as a couple. That day in the store did nothing but amplify my obsession. Two hot young twins who had sex with each other – people would pay by the bucket-load to see something like that. Not that I wanted to put anything online or anything like that, but I wanted to see what it looked like. Every time me and Bri were having “alone time”, I couldn’t stop trying to imagine what it looked like. I couldn’t get the image out of my head. I knew we were hot, but … how hot?

I dunno how obvious it is, but…”talking” isn’t exactly our strong spot, as a family. Mum and Dad once went six months without talking to each other, and it’s something that me and Bri must have inherited. Talking to Mum is great. I love talking to my mother; I can tell Mum anything. I should tell Mum everything. But … well, even after we hit our two-month sexiversary, Bri and I still never sat down and had a talk about what we were doing or anything like that. We just did it.

Fortunately, we’ve always been on the same wave-length: it’s a twin thing, y’know? And I think this shared secret has brought us even closer in terms of how we think – it’s like we share a brain lately. If I ever want to change up our sex stuff, I don’t even have to say anything – I just do it, if Bri doesn’t beat me to it. It’s crazy.

So I decided not to ask Bri about taking photos. I figured if she didn’t want to, she’d probs make that pretty clear pretty quickly. I went and got Dad’s camera out of the basement! (by this point, Dad had moved on from his photography craze and onto board games. I swear, if he made us settle Catan one more time… ) and next time me and Bri were alone in our room, I pulled it out from the bedside drawer where I’d stashed it.

I assume every girl has their own little sexy faces – faces that tell you that they’re turned on, and which help turn you on even more. Bri has at least a dozen, and when she saw the camera I was watching carefully to see her reaction. She bit her lip nervously and moaned … before I’d even taken the lens cap off! It was so cute, and so fucking hot. I’d learned to read Bri’s faces pretty well, and this was an easy one – she was excited, in both senses of the word.

When we’re feeling playful, I’m always the dominant one. I dunno why; maybe Bri is just naturally submissive, or maybe it’s because when this all began, I was the teacher and she was the student. We love playing servant and mistress, or mummy and naughty daughter. (we’ve been playing that one more and more lately.) With the camera in my hand, and Bri kneeled in front of me, looking so cute and obedient, I decided to really get into it, and started telling her what to do.

“Stay still, I need to get focus. Oh great, it’s got an auto … okay. Stay there. Smile up at the camera. Bite your lip a little. No, actually, lick your lips. Yeah, that’s great. Mmm. Okay, now unbutton your blouse a bit. Don’t look down, keep eye contact with the camera! Come on Bri, show a bit of cleavage. Yeah, I know you don’t have much … don’t look at me like that! Do the best with what you’ve got. Okay, great. Now unbutton a few more … oh wow, I didn’t know you were wearing that bra today. How did you get away with that in dance? No, wait. Don’t talk. Shut up … bitch.”

I’m not great at playing dominant, but Bri really gets into it. Sometimes I set her random tasks throughout the day – stuff like “you can’t use your thumbs”, or “whenever mum is in the room, you have to touch yourself without her noticing”. If she doesn’t do it right, she gets a spanking. I’ll completely forget about them, but she’ll come back to me at the end of the day and tell me exactly how many times she broke the rules, and how many smacks she deserves to get as punishment. Like I said, she really gets into it.

“Okay, now show me a nipple. Just one. Make it look like an accident. Oh man, these are turning out great! Okay, now put one finger in your mouth, and show the camera how naughty you are. You’re a naughty girl, aren’t you? You’re a naughty girl, and you need a spanking from your mummy. You want Mum to spank you. You want to be spanked by your mother.”

That night, we only took a few dozen photos before we both got too horny to continue. Taking a few snaps before setting the camera aside and enjoying each other’s young bodies became part of our nightly routine; over the next week or so, we went from slightly naughty photos of Bri in all her various naughty undies, to full nudes, to her spreading her legs for the camera to short videos (the camera could take videos of up to about 2 minutes) of her masturbating, cumming while staring at the camera and screaming my name. She took some shots of me, too – my favorite was one she took from behind, of me on all-fours, showing off my arse and pussy and swinging tits, looking back at her and smiling.

I loaded a whole heap of Bri’s photos onto my phone. I liked looking at them when Bri wasn’t around. That’s probably the closest we’ve come to being caught – Mum asked if she could borrow my phone, and it wasn’t until half an hour later that I realized what I’d done. Fortunately she hadn’t found any of them – she was just backing up my contacts onto her computer. Close call!

Things really escalated when we discovered one of the camera’s attachments let you set a timer, so you can take a photo every hour or every ten minutes or whatever. Dad got it so he could do those time-lapse things, like they do on Breaking Bad. I set it to take a snapshot every ten seconds, and got in front of the camera with Bri.

It was, and keep in mind that it had some pretty tough competition, one of the hottest sessions we’d ever had. It was just what we’d normally do, but angled slightly towards the camera, but thinking about the images, the fact that we’d be able to look at these forever, the idea of photos leaking out onto the internet, and thousands of guys and girls getting off to images of us kissing, playing, fucking…

It just made everything so much more electric. When I was sucking on Brianna’s nipples, I wasn’t just sucking on her nipple, I was forever capturing the image of one sexy teenager pleasuring another … when I was spanking her, I wasn’t just spanking her, I was punishing my bitch, for the world to see … when I came, I wasn’t just cumming, I was broadcasting my orgasm to everyone with a computer, showing everyone how horny, how wet, how sexually charged I was … we were amateur pornographers, and it was so damned hot.

I really didn’t think it could get any hotter than that, but when the camera had run out of battery and we lay back, exhausted, cuddled up on my bed, Brianna whispered something in my ear. Something that I knew was fundamentally and logically a terrible idea, but an idea so hot that I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist it.

“Bec,” she whispered. “Let’s get caught.”

Redheads Waiting – Chapter 4

Redheads Waiting

Redheads Waiting, particularly this chapter, was inspired by the video of the same name. Enjoy!

xxxxx

I should start by pointing out that I’m not a bad person.

Knowing what I’ve done, I can see how one would come to that conclusion. But if you think about it, for what I was doing to truly be wrong, I’d have to be manipulating my daughters somehow, changing them. But my tapes never once made the girls do anything they didn’t already want to do – no matter how many references to washing the car or keeping the WC clean I included, it didn’t make a difference. I mention stockings once, and suddenly they never stop wearing them.

Not that I was complaining, mind you.

So while, at first glance, it may seem like I was brainwashing my daughters, I don’t think that’s a fair description. I was just unlocking urges that they’d always had inside them. I never made them do anything that went against their own desires; if anything, I was speeding up the process, accelerating their sexual education.

It made sense; I was the same way at their age. When I graduated high school, I don’t think there was a single fellow in my senior year who I hadn’t gone down on, if not much much more. As a family, we’re sexually charged creatures – that’s just the way it is. I didn’t cause it, I was just the catalyst in an inevitable chain of events.

This was further evidenced in the fact that they reacted completely differently to the exact same commands. I had one set of tapes that they both listened to, suggesting that they wanted to be obedient, submissive little sluts for mummy. Brianna took to it like a fish to water; there were times when I’d ask the girls to come help me cook, and Brianna would be in the kitchen almost before I was. I’d ask her to do something, and she’d snap to it. I’d yell at her, tell her she was useless, and she’d just lap it up … Rebecca, however, wasn’t having any of it.

I never made my darling girls do anything they didn’t want to. They’re teenagers; nature programmed them to be horny bi-curious sluts before my tapes ever came on the scene. Odds are they would have been “sleeping in each other’s beds” pretty soon even if I’d never done anything. I just provided them with an excuse to start. (I can tell you first hand, “teach me to kiss” always works; I must have used it with every bunkmate I ever had at boarding school, and even the ones who had seen me sneak the local college guys in for sex and kick them out a few hours later went for it. No one really wants to “learn how to kiss”; it’s like strip poker. It’s social lubricant, an excuse to start doing what you want to do anyway.)

So no, I don’t think that what I did makes me a bad person. I was just unlocking their natural desires, speeding up the inevitable course of events. I didn’t lose any sleep over my actions.

I’m not a bad person.

And what I did next didn’t change anything. It wasn’t bad.

It was, perhaps, a little bit naughty. But it wasn’t… wrong, per se.

I’ve always been a borderline nymphomaniac – even when I’m getting my sexual needs taken care of by the men in my life (or, at times, the women) I can’t think of a single day in my life that I haven’t masturbated as well, but since my daughters started “taking care of each other”, I’ve just been chronic.

It’s gotten to the point where I’ve been waiting until my darling Joshua gets home, taking him upstairs, and riding him before he can even take his suit off. (he hasn’t objected once, of course.) What my girls have been up to has just been so damnably HOT, it’s just left me in a constant state of horniness. I need to get off, all the time … fortunately Josh has been taking care of my needs. Sometimes I’ll wake him up with a blow-job, just so I can have him one more time before he goes to work.

But in the hours that Josh is at work, I need to take care of myself. I’ve almost worn out my collection of toys – when it was all theoretical, I found the idea arousing: images of my little Brianna and Rebecca practicing kissing, or going down on each other. Pressing their tight, young bodies against each other … bringing each other off, over and over again. Making love; sweaty, passionate love.

Since I’ve made it happen (not, of course, that it wasn’t going to happen anyway) my libido has just grown and grown. I’ll be sitting in the living room, knowing that the twins have made love where I’m sitting, probably in the past twenty-four hours. I’ll take a shower, and wonder if they’ve taken to showering together, long, soapy, sensual showers … I’ll be making their bed, and I’ll remember what my sweet little Brianna’s face looked like as she came. Everything I do reminds me of sex, my baby girls having sex. Everything I do turns me on, and when I’m turned on I simply must take care of it…

Fortunately, I came up with a solution.

It wasn’t my first solution. No, at first I thought that all I needed to do was see my daughters’ bodies and I’d be fine. So I had them take photos of themselves and managed to get myself a copy. But all that did was fuel my desires. I spent so much time looking at them … well, I’m amazed no one caught me with my pants down, so to speak. I feel like my computer shows naked pictures of the twins more than it shows the desktop.

But it wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed to see them in action.

So I pushed for them to start exploring each other in new and exciting locations around the house – the living-room, the kitchen, the lounge. Any time no one’s around, the tapes suggested they go out and make love.

After that, it was child’s play to tell the girls that I was going out, double back and watch through the window, or hide in a cupboard with a good view. (it felt strange at first – a woman my age, hiding in a cupboard – but strangely, I started to find sneaking around sexy in itself.) The tapes had already suggested to the twins that when making love, they were “oblivious to the outside world”. Fortunately, this suggestion seemed to take – I suppose we all want sex to be like that, a wholly immersive experience. If they hadn’t gone for it, I don’t know how quickly I would have been caught – I’m quite noisy, even when I’m only pleasuring myself.

I thought for sure that would do it, that seeing them make love in front of me, physically no more than a few feet away … I was certain that would satiate my desires, but it did nothing but stoke the fires of my fantasies. I went from getting myself off twice a day (not including time with my husband) to four, five, sometimes six times a day. After seeing them in action, it played in my head constantly. Images of my girls making love to each other would go through my mind no matter what else I was doing; at the gym, on the phone, doing the shopping…

And so I spent weeks fighting with my conscience before I took the next step. I’d like to tell myself that I only did it because I needed to, because I’d brought myself to a point where I had no choice, if I hadn’t found a new release I would have done something terrible, like cheat on my darling Joshua or start exposing myself in public…

But the truth is, I didn’t do it because I needed to. I did it because I wanted to.

I believe it was Freud who said that all children, ultimately, desire their mother. I kept this in mind as I made my next set of tapes – all I was doing was tapping into their natural urges. If all children want to have sex with their mother, by encouraging my girls to do the same, you could hardly call me a bad person. Similarly, we all reach a stage where we find people in their forties attractive, even if it takes until we’re well past that age ourselves. Again, all my tapes were doing was speeding up the process for my girls.

Luckily, some of my earlier tapes had inadvertently laid the groundwork. I’d found, all too often, the girls wouldn’t come out and cavort where I could see them out of a fear of being caught – to remedy that, I’d simply given them the desire to be caught. Purely as a fantasy, of course, but it was a foundation I could build my plan on. While watching them, I’d imagined myself participating, making love to one of my darling little angels – to help my fantasy play out, I’d encouraged them to call each other “mother”, and even engage in occasional mother-daughter role-play. This was all easily tweaked to lead towards my eventual inclusion…

The next month was agony, as each tape brought me closer and closer to living out my wildest fantasies. The first had been basically the same as the last few, but with a few phrases that would point them in the right direction…

“You are a dirty little slut for your sister. You are a slut for your family. You are always turned on. You are always horny. You want sex all the time, and you want to get caught having it. You put DVDs back in their case when you’re done with them.You want to get caught having sex. Your parents are sexy. Your family is sexy. Your family turns you on. Your parents turn you on. You want to fuck your mother.

You want to fuck your mother.”

The changes were subtle, but in the course of normal events, I started to notice them. At breakfast, I would bend over to pick up a teaspoon, and turn just in time to see both my daughters pretending not to check out my behind. I’d be hiding inside a shrub as my girls made love in the back garden, and I’d hear one of them call out ‘mother’ as she came, even when they weren’t role-playing. And more and more, after I walked into a room, they’d continue making out for a few seconds before stopping and offering flimsy excuses – as soon as I’d leave, the noises that started up showed how much being caught excited them.

Little things, but they confirmed that my plan was working. The next tape took a bigger step:

“Older women are sexy. You are always horny. You are always ready to fuck. You want to get caught having sex. Your parents are sexy. You want to fuck all the time. You want to fuck your parents. You will vacuum after you spill crisps, not just pick up the large ones. Your mother is sexy. You want to fuck your mother. Your mother needs sex. Your mother needs sex from you.”

This time, the difference in their behaviour was slightly more obvious – both girls suddenly stated asking me, concerned, about my sex life. When I assured them that yes, I was getting plenty of sex from their father, both their eyes glazed over for a few seconds, and I knew that they were imagining it. The only problem, I told them, sighing, was that it had been so long since I’d had sex with a woman. They looked at each other as I said this, and I could see the seed of an idea forming in their mind.

As I saw their reactions to the next tape, I was filled with hope. My plan was working.

“You want to be more sexually inclusive. Your sex should include the whole family. You want to include your mother in sex. You want to have sex with your mother. You want to fuck your mother. You want to make sure your shirts are the right way out before you put them in the washing. Your parents are sexy. You are always turned on. You are always horny. Your parents make you horny. Your parents can teach you to fuck. You want your mother to teach you to fuck.”

Again, the changes started out small. They weren’t at the stage where they were just going to invite me to jump in the sack with them, but it was starting to get close. Brianna walked in on me masturbating once or twice, and each time she watched for a few minutes before pretending to be grossed out and leaving. When I ‘accidentally’ came across Bec’s vibrator while cleaning her room, she offered to share it with me. And both of them had suddenly started asking me a lot more questions and advice about sex than they’d ever asked before. It was funny, in a way, listening to them ask questions for “a lesbian they know”, or “a friend who is having sex with her sister.”

Being so close to the fruition of my plan was making me absolutely climb the walls. If I didn’t have three or four of my own, I would have taken Bec up on her offer to share her vibrator…

One more tape, I told myself. One more tape, and then … it would be time.

“When your mother catches you, you will invite her to join. You will fuck your mother. You want to fuck your mother. You want to get caught by your mother, and have her teach you to fuck. You are constantly horny for your mother. Your mother turns you on. You will remember to put the lid back on your lubricant when you’re done with it. Your parents are sexy, and should be included in your sex. You want to make your mother happy. You want your mother to teach you how to fuck.”

I’d set the stage carefully. I’d told the girls that their father and I were going out, and that they’d have the entire house to themselves. I’d told Joshua that I’d drop him off for poker night with the boys. I’d even picked out outfits for the girls – a black halter top and matching short skirt for Bri, and a strapless black dress for Bec. Everything was ready.

After dropping Josh off, I’d gone almost double the speed-limit the whole way home. Fortunately I wasn’t pulled over, but I’m sure I would have been able to fuck my way out of it – I can’t even count how many speeding tickets or parking fines I’ve gotten out of, in exchange for a blow-job or a quickie. When I got home, I snuck around the back, and was delighted to see that everything was going just as I’d hoped. Bec and Bri were on the couch, kissing passionately, their hands between each other’s legs.

It was so romantic; the two obviously cared for each other, as they tenderly brushed each other’s hair back, even while they spread their legs lewdly and groped at each other’s breasts. Their kisses were slow and heartfelt, with closed eyes, and the pair occasionally stopped making out to giggle over an in-joke.

I stood and watched for as long as I was able, the anticipation building inside me, before I finally couldn’t take it any more, and entered the room.

“Brianna! Rebecca!”

“Mum!” the girls exclaimed, as they jumped back. They were genuinely shocked; if they’d been expecting to be caught, they would have continued the kiss for a few minutes before “noticing” me.

“What are you girls doing?”

“Nothing,” they said, trying to keep a straight face.

“Nothing? That doesn’t look like nothing to me.”

There was a pause, as the girls stared at me, agog.

“I decided to let your father go out alone,” I explained pre-emptively, hungrily watching the girls try to brush down their dresses and appear as if they hadn’t spent the last half-hour making out. “I thought we could spend some quality time together.”

I crossed the room and stood in front of them, my hands on my hips. I wasn’t angry, but wondered if I appeared to be; towering over them, dressed in a long slinky black dress of my own.

“Well?” I continued. “Do you want to explain yourself?”

The giggles broke at last, as they both looked at each other and my dress, around the room and anywhere except my face.

“We were … practicing.” Brianna explained, which set off a fresh set of laughter from both of them. I had been a teenaged girl once too; I knew it wasn’t humour that was causing their reaction, but sheer nervousness. This was a big night for all of us, and giggling was how they expressed their excitement.

I stared at them for a few seconds, glad that they weren’t looking directly at me – if they had been, they would have noticed the smile on the verge of breaking out. At last, I broke the silence.

“Here,” I said kindly. I’ll show you how to kiss,”

The laughter was suddenly gone as I sat down between them. I turned to Brianna, and simply leant in and kissed her. Rebecca watched in awe as Bri and I duelled tongues for almost a minute. When I finally pulled away, she was speechless.

“Wow mum,” Bec said. “You kiss good.”

Each girl had one hand on my leg, as I turned to face Bec, brushing her hair out of her face.

“Well, I’ve had a lot of … practice” I said, and demonstrated. I had one hand on each of my girl’s heads, as Bec stroked my leg and Brianna brought one hand up to my boob.

I was in heaven, as I kissed one girl and then the other, my hands exploring their legs, their bodies. I loved stroking their hair, and feeling them stroking mine. I held Rebecca’s head in my hands, and felt Brianna tentatively kissing my shoulder. I saw Rebecca put one hand between her legs, and replaced it with my own.

“I’ve practiced this too…” I said, inspiring a new round of giggles.

It was everything I’d ever dreamed of – Brianna took off my dress (I’d had the forethought not to wear a bra) and for the first time in almost sixteen years, my two daughters suckled on my breasts as if they were newborns. I remembered how erotic I’d found it at the time – I couldn’t think of a day in their lives when I hadn’t been turned on by my daughters, and now, at last, I was able to have them as I pleased.

The next few hours were a wild mix of different sexual positions – all three of us were naked within minutes, and there wasn’t a moment when I didn’t have at least one of my daughter’s mouths on me, somewhere. I had both my twin daughters between my legs, alternating between making out with each other and licking me. Brianna fingered her sister, and then brought her fingers up for me to taste. I suckled on Bec’s nipples while Brianna went down on me, and then later we reversed positions.

It was well past midnight when we stopped – Josh had called about an hour before to tell me that he was going to stay the night at his friend’s house. Fortunately he had no way of knowing that when he called, one of his daughters was licking my nipples while his other daughter was between my legs.

If it hadn’t been a school night, I’m sure we would have kept going until daylight, but I wanted to make sure the girls got to bed at a reasonable hour.

I’m not a bad mother, after all.

On the way to school the next morning, I fingered Brianna to orgasm while Bec played with herself in the back seat. That afternoon, I greeted them at the door naked, and within minutes they joined me in my state of undress. We stayed that way until Josh got home a few hours later.

Clearly I’d passed on my nymphomaniac genes – for the first time in my life, I’d found sexual partners who could keep up with me. They were as constantly wet and ready-to-go as me, and perhaps it was their youth, but they actually seemed to surpass my energy. I couldn’t believe how flexible they were, and how talented they were with their fingers and tongues … a few months ago, Brianna had never even been kissed, and now the two of them were practically sexual goddesses. The man who married my girls would be a lucky fellow indeed.

Whenever Joshua was out of the room, the three of us were exploring each other’s bodies. When the girls were home, it was rare for me to go more than half an hour without having a tongue in me somewhere. When it got too much, I would sometimes go into school and take one of the girls out for a “dental appointment”, just to make love to them in the school parking lot.

The girls’ desire to get caught was contagious – on weekends, even with Josh home, we would spend hours together. One of us would be lookout, but there were more close calls than I’d like to describe. At first, Joshua had tried to hide his poker obsession from me, but at my encouragement he started attending a few games a week. It gave me and the girls more time to be alone, but meant that he came back at irregular times. We’d never been caught, but if my darling husband was a more suspicious man, I’m sure he would have wondered why we were so often short of breath and flustered in the kitchen at 10pm as he came through the door.

As their mother, I had the power in the relationship. I won’t pretend I didn’t enjoy this – it didn’t seem to bother Rebecca, but oh my did Brianna get off on it. Spankings, time-outs … even just catching her doing something naughty would get her pulse racing, and anything that highlighted our mother-daughter relationship would practically cause her to cum on the spot. She surprised me once by squeezing into her old primary school outfit and wearing her hair in pigtails – there was something so delightfully wrong about eating out my little girl in that outfit, I was wet just thinking about it for weeks afterwards.

Whenever possible, I would organise a ‘shopping trip’ – often we would actually go shopping, for lingerie or new sex toys (the store clerk, bless him, never once judged me for bringing my two daughters into the store and testing some of the new stock. Truth be told, I think he rather enjoyed it) but sometimes we would just drive around the corner, and bring each other off in the car.

I had continued making tapes for the girls for a while, despite the fact that they were everything I desired, and more. Just to make sure that they were growing up to be strong, confident women – the tapes were full of positive messages, about being completely honest, respecting (and obeying) their parents, and loving their bodies. Loving to show off their bodies was a not entirely unforeseen side-effect; more than once, I got a phone call from the principal warning me about the school’s dress code. When I came to visit him, wearing essentially the same outfit that had gotten my daughters in trouble, I think he realized where they got it from, and stopped calling.

Sometimes I would sneak into their room at night, after Josh had gone to sleep, and just watch them sleep. Sometimes I would wake them up, and the three of us would make love all night, to the sound of their sleep-tapes. Sometimes I would wake them up with my tongue.

After a nudge from a tape, the girls showed me all the photos they’d taken over the last few months … the few I’d gotten my hands on were just the tip of the iceberg. I must have spent hours looking at their photos; while the girls were away at school, I’d spend entire days just going through the thousands upon thousands of photos of my daughters, sometimes naked, sometimes dressing up, almost always touching each other…

They got me in on the fun, and soon I had to go and buy a few external hard-drives just to fit all the photos that we took. Solo pictures of me, shots of me and the girls just posing, action pictures, costume pictures … the combinations were endless. The photos were so hot that it was almost sad that I couldn’t show them to the world, but even as I masturbated to the idea of all those men, all those jealous men watching me make love to my daughters, I knew it could never happen.

My life was perfect. It was everything I’d ever wanted, the culmination of years of desire … but something wasn’t quite right.

To make sure that their father didn’t suspect anything, I made sure our sex life didn’t slow down – it seemed to speed up, if anything. Even after the hours of orgasms my daughters could provide, I’m always ready for more, and I think Joshua enjoyed the increase in my already-high libido.

It took a while for me to realize what was niggling away at me, what the only problem in my otherwise perfect life was – we weren’t being fair. I’d made endless tapes about sex being inclusive, something to include the whole family in, and here we were neglecting poor Josh. He was a man, after all – three scantily-clad women running around the house was bound to invoke a reaction to him, and who was to say that we all got to make love to each other while he missed out.

I know that when I was a teenager, I’d fucked my fair share of middle-aged men. They’d all loved it, and Josh was missing out on two horny teenaged girls in his own home, ready to make him happy, to fulfill his every dream.

It wasn’t fair.

I do try not to be a bad person, so I spent more than a month of struggling with the morality of it; lesbian sex hardly “counts”, after all. (and if you’re talking about cheating, I’ve always believed oral and anal don’t really count either.)

If we were to introduce a man into the relationship … well, there’s always a risk of pregnancy (god, that got me hot … imagining my two darling daughters, knocked up, with tits out to here and bellies twice as big… ) but of course, the pill can easily reduce the risk of that. (I’d made sure both the girls were on the pill … knowing how I was at that age… ) I didn’t want to make the girls do anything they didn’t want to do, but as a good Christian wife, my first duty is to my husband, after all…

The debate played out in my head over and over again, until I eventually I made a decision. I decided that I was going to make one last tape. One last tape, and then I was done…

“Rebecca, sweetie, can I talk to you?”

“Yeah, what’s up Mum?”

“I want to talk about sex.”

“Haha, I could have guessed that one. Is Dad out already?”

“Yes, but … darling, I think you should stay dressed for this conversation.”

“Do I have to?”

” … well, no, I suppose not. Anyway, I’ve been thinking, and … oh god, Bec, that feels fantastic…”

“Thanks Mum! I was online and I found a guide. I thought I’d try it out.”

“Mmmm, definitely send that link to your sister. That’s amazing. How are you…”

“It’s easy, you just put your thumb and pinkie together, and… -”

“Wait, we’re getting distracted. I really wanted to talk to you about … wow!”

“Yeah, that’s the easy bit. Hang on, let me show you what happens when you get some ice…”

“No wait, Bec, I really do want to talk to you.”

“Oh, of course. Is this about the tattoo we’re thinking of getting?”

“Bec, no! You are not getting a tattoo.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think it was a good idea either, but Bri is really keen to get something that says ‘Mummy’s little slut.'”

“I’ll have a word with her later.”

“Haha, I think she’d like that. I think she may have only suggested the idea so that she could get punished…”

“Hmmm. Anyway, I want to speak to you about your father.”

“Dad? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, he…”

“He doesn’t suspect anything, does he?”

“No, no, I’m sure that he doesn’t. Why? Has he said anything to you?”

“Nah. I don’t think Dad would notice anything if we made our porn site his homepage.”

“Porn site!?”

“Oh, another one of Bri’s ideas. Sorry, I think she wanted to do a mock-up before she told you. Probably thinks that’ll get her a harder spanking. I told her you’d be against it.”

“Actually … actually, that’s not too bad an idea.”

“Wow, really?”

“We’ll talk about it when you’re older. Anyway, about your father – I think you’re right; he wouldn’t notice anything even if you made love right in front of him.”

“Oh definitely. We’ve done that heaps of times.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Remember last week when you were out at the shops? The three of us were watching a movie, and Bri and I got each other off three times without him even noticing.”

“Rebecca!”

“Chill, ma. We were under a blanket…”

“But still! What if you’d gotten caught?”

“Well yeah, that was sort of … that was sort of what made it exciting.”

“Well…”

“Oh come on Mum, I know you think it’s at least a little bit hot.”

“Rebecca…”

“You’re imagining it, aren’t you? The two of us, playing with each other under the blanket … Dad just a few metres away … if we make one wrong noise, he’s sure to notice…”

“Mmm, Bec…

“Dad’s cock getting all nice and hard at the smell of us, and he doesn’t even know why…”

“Bec, no! Stop it. Take your hand out of there, I’m trying to talk to you about something.”

“Sorry Mum. What’s up?”

“I’ve been thinking about it, and … I don’t think we’ve been fair. It’s very important to be fair.”

“It’s very important to be fair.”

“We’ve been leaving your father out of our … escapades.”

“You mean when we fuck?”

“Bec, you know I don’t like that kind of language.”

“Really? You seem to forget that whenever I do this…”

“Fuck, Bec … no, stop that. You keep distracting your mother.”

“I’m sorry Mum, I’m just horny.”

“After this conversation, we can… -”

“Fuck?”

“You can sit in my lap and we can see where it takes us. Anyway, your father. I’ve been thinking about it, and I think the fair thing to do would be to start to include him.”

“Seriously? You want us to fuck Dad?”

“Well, that’s not how I’d put it, but … yes. I think that would be fair. It’s very important to be fair. What do you think?”

“Oh god, me and Bri have been talking about it for months now. The only reason we haven’t is because we thought you might get mad.”

“For … months?”

“Yeah! I can’t even remember a time when I didn’t want to fuck Dad. God, we’ve peeked at him in the shower so many times … you’re really lucky, Mum.”

“Yes, your father is…”

“It’s so hot when we hear you two fucking…”

“You hear us?”

“Mum, when you come I think the whole street hears it.”

“Well, if you girls are for the idea … excellent. Here’s what I’m thinking…”

Redheads Waiting – Chapter 5

I should start by saying that I’m not a bad poker player.

Joshua, bless his heart, is dreadful. He’s spent the last month or so learning as much as he can, but he just doesn’t have the head for it. He’s a short-term thinker; he gets excited by a good hand, and doesn’t realize that to win in the long run, you have to prevent people from being able to tell if you’re bluffing or not. Frankly, I don’t know how he can afford to go and play three times a week … he must be getting cleaned out. (and I wish I could say that this was the most expensive hobby he’s ever had.)

He’s a smart enough fellow, but I just don’t think he’s capable of coming up with a long-term plan, and following it through until he gets what he wants. And so it was a genuine challenge to lose to him, night after night.

“Strip poker?” he’d asked, surprisingly shocked when I suggested it. “Why?”

“It’ll be exciting,” I told him. Unlike my husband, I think long-term. “I know we’re naked most of the time anyway, but this will … it’ll add something.”

/Our daughters/, I thought, but kept my poker-face on.

“Besides, it’ll be good practice for when you play against the boys.”

“Okay…” he said doubtfully, and each night before we went to bed, we played strip poker until one of us (almost always me) was nude. The sight of my nude body did what it’s always done to my husband, and it wasn’t long after I’d stripped of my last piece of clothing that he couldn’t hold back any longer, and the two of us tumbled into bed.

Moving the game to the kitchen was harder, but I think my desire to get caught was infectious – we’d started having sex without closing the door (that was actually a favour to Brianna, who’d discovered the cupboard across the hall has a great view into our room) and sometimes even kept the blinds up, risking our neighbour peering in and seeing everything. Josh has always loved my exhibitionist streak, and I think he liked the idea of someone seeing what a hot woman he had at his beck and call.

So it didn’t take too much convincing before Josh agreed to start playing strip poker in the kitchen.

The next step I knew would be the hardest; it would be make or break … if Josh didn’t go for it, I have no idea how I was going to include him in the new “family activities”, but I trusted the girls to play their part, and I had an ace up my sleeve – frustration.

Claiming to have my period, I deprived Josh of sex for four consecutive days. (fortunately, he didn’t pick up on the fact that I’ve never my cycle stop our love-making before… )

It almost killed me as well – I was lucky to have the girls around to attempt to keep me satisfied, but even their largest toys was no substitute for the feeling of a real cock sliding inside. When I told them that, their eyes fluttered and went blank for a second, and I knew that they were looking forward to the fulfillment of our plan as much as I was.

It was a Friday night – I remember, because I was so sexually frustrated that I’d made an excuse to take the girls out of school for an hour or two every day that week – when we settled down for our nightly game of strip poker. I’d insisted on playing it all week, winning just enough that I never had to remove my panties and reveal my lie, but stripping topless and driving Joshua absolutely crazy. As frustrated as I was, even with my nubile twins around to give me relief, his frustration must have been tenfold.

I’d told him that tonight was the night, that he was finally going to get a chance to fuck me in every hole, something we hadn’t done in a single night since our last anniversary (we like to make sure they’re always special occasions.) I “dropped the girl off to youth group”, and when I returned Josh asked if we could go straight to the bedroom.

“Anticipation,” I’d told him, “is the spice of life,” and he’d rolled his eyes and followed me to the kitchen.

The girls timed it perfectly – nothing overly revealing was off, but it was clear what we were doing. They walked in, claiming that youth group had been cancelled and they’d gotten a lift home. Bless them, they’re such little actors. Watching them, you’d never have guessed that they’d been outside the whole time.

When they saw what we were doing, they pretended to be shocked, Josh apologised, and then they asked if they could join in.

“What!?” he’d exclaimed, his eyes open so wide I thought they might fall out of his head. “Girls, of course you can’t…”

“Why not?” I asked sweetly, shocking him just as much. “They’re almost adults now – this is an adult game. Better they learn it at home than with strangers, don’t you think?”

The combination of sexual frustration and two hot teenage bodies in front of him must have been clouding his brain something fierce, because he didn’t even question my incredibly dodgy logic. He just threw up his hands in amused frustration.

“Fine!” he said, “They’re your daughters!”

We all laughed at that – it’s a line that he’s used on more than one occasion; when I’d taken them to get their ears pierced, when I’d bought them their own stereo for their room, and most recently when I’d taken them to get their pubic hair lasered off.

I explained the rules to the girls, and pointed out that since their father and I had already been playing for a few rounds, the convention was that newcomers “caught up” by removing a few pieces of clothing. They looked at each other and giggled once more, and I think all three of us were watching Joshua’s reactions out of the corner of our eyes.

Trying to act cool, he sat back with a satisfied half-smile on his face. The girls removed their shoes, and the game began in earnest.

Fortunately for our plan, Bri and Bec are terrible at poker – they just had to play naturally, and I had to work twice as hard to make sure I was losing to all three of them. I made sure that I was stripping the fastest, but it wasn’t easy … Bec frequently got confused about the difference between a flush and “all red”, and I saw Bri fold at least twice with pocket aces.

For every few items of clothing the rest of us took off, I tried to make sure Joshua removed at least one, and it wasn’t long before the twins were sitting there in nothing but their underwear, myself with only my bra remaining, and Josh in the lead, only having taken off his tie and glasses.

I’m sure the girls would have quite happily jumped their father that night, but I ensured that I was the next to lose, removed my bra, and declared the game over. I didn’t want to rush things, after all. I took Josh to bed, and wasn’t surprised when he came just minutes after our love-making began. I’ve never seen him so worked up.

I know exactly how guilt works, so I didn’t let him dwell. Immediately after his orgasm, I made him go down on me, and before he had time to think, he was hard again.

As promised, Josh sampled all of my holes that night, and it wasn’t long before the girls became a regular fixture in our nightly games of strip poker.

The next step was a stroke of genius on Bri’s part – I don’t know where she gets her manipulative streak, because it’s certainly not from me. I implemented her suggestion the first night one of the girls “lost” at strip poker, the first time that their father had seen one of his daughters entirely in the nude since they were babies.

We ended the game, Josh and I retired as normal, and just as he was on the brink of orgasm, just as my pussy was about to milk the last of his cum from him, I stopped, and whispered in his ear.

“Did it make you excited, seeing your little girl like that? Did you like it, watching your baby girl’s tits jiggle as she laughed?”

I didn’t say anything more than that, and was delighted when it set him over the edge, and even without any motion, his cock started firing off inside me.

Afterwards, I didn’t mention it, he didn’t mention it, but each night I went just a tiny step further. The next night, Bec lost our nightly game, and it was her name that I invoked just before his orgasm. I was going down on him that night, and when I felt the familiar signs that said he was about to cum, I paused, and looked up at him.

“I bet you’d like it if Bec were down here, sucking on your big ole cock. Would you like that, honey, would you like that?”

Things escalated quickly after that, and it was less than two weeks later when we were roleplaying from start to finish. He’d say that I’d been a bad daughter and spank me, and I’d call him ‘Daddy’, and bring up extremely specific descriptions of our two girls as he came.

It was time for the final step.

xxxxx

I’d pretended to be at a PTA meeting the previous night, and when I’d come to bed, uncharacteristically claimed that I was “too tired” for sex. (ha! I hadn’t been too tired for sex since my daughters were a month old – having twins takes it out of you, but since then I’d gotten off at least twice, three times a day, every day of my life.) This ensured that Josh was frustrated – not nearly as badly as he had been when we introduced the girls to strip poker, but this wasn’t nearly as big a step.

“Truth or dare?” he’d asked, and I hoped that he didn’t notice the bated breath that the three of us shared. “Why?”

“We’ve grown so much closer since we started playing games together each night,” I replied, hoping that the girls weren’t overdoing it with their enthused nodding. “Why not use a different party-game to get to know each other a little better?”

“Well,” he said dubiously, “okay … but let’s not go crazy about it.”

“Great!” I cried, and the girls cheered. He continued to watch us suspiciously, and so the first few rounds were completely tame – “Which daughter do you love the most, mum?” (“I love you both the same, sweetie.), break an egg using just your hand, stuff like that.

When Brianna dared Bec to do jumping jacks for a minute, I realised that neither of my daughters were wearing a bra … fortunately, I don’t think Josh knows enough about female clothing to spot that, so it wasn’t long before we moved onto the scripted part of the evening.

“Truth or dare, Brianna?” I asked, holding my breath and trying to look like I wasn’t staring at my husband, waiting to see his reaction.

“Truth!” she replied, exactly as we’d planned.

“Who was your first kiss?”

There was a pause, and once more I appreciated my daughter’s acting skills. She looked embarrassed, stretched out the word “Mum”, and tried to change it to dare, but I wasn’t having any of it. Finally, her cheeks went red, and she whispered her sister’s name.

My husband almost choked on his tea, and we stayed silent for a few seconds, allowing the image to sink into his head. From where I was sitting, I couldn’t see his pants clearly, but both my daughters could and based on their fascinated stares, it seemed that my husband was getting hard.

Before he could notice, I hurried the game along.

“Truth or dare, Dad!” Brianna asked, and we all crossed our fingers, hoping he’d ask for a dare. We had an alternate plan for truth, but we wanted to strike while the iron was hot, put our plan into effect while images of his daughters making out were still dancing in his head.

“Dare,” he replied, and we all noticeably relaxed.

“I dare you to let me try some of your Bourbon!” Brianna said excitedly, and pouted when he shook his head.

“I think this game has gone far enough,” he said, swallowing the last of his tea. The twins looked at me, panicked, and I shook my head gently.

“Come on darling,” I said. “Everyone is having so much fun. Brianna, you can’t have any of Dad’s bourbon … but honey, do you want me to pour you a glass? It’s been sitting there for so long, we’d better use it before it goes off.”

“Jo, bourbon doesn’t … you know what, never mind. I’d love a glass – thanks, sweetie.”

I took his teacup, and moved to the kitchen while the girls continued the game. Their instructions were to keep it tame until I returned, and I just hoped that they’d listen to their mother, and not to their raging hormones. The first time I had sex with my father I was much older than them, but I still remember the excitement, the knowledge that every man in my life was mine to fuck, whenever and wherever I wanted.

Knowing what I know now, I wish we’d tried to get Mum involved as well – family fun is the most fun when it includes the whole family. Ah well.

I poured Josh a generous quantity of bourbon – not enough to get him black-out drunk, just enough to lower his inhibitions a little bit, make it easier for him to do what I knew he wanted to, deep down.

I’d considered using the tapes on him, but something about that just felt wrong. If my husband was going to have sex with our two daughters, I wanted it to be of his own volition, not because of an idea that I’d planted in his head. I did not want to use tapes on my husband. It did not feel right.

Trying not to be too obvious, I watched as he downed his drink. If I know anything, I know my husband, and it wouldn’t be more than a few minutes before the alcohol started to take effect. At my signal, the next stage of our game continued.

“Dare!” Bec said, and Brianna smiled that wicked smile of hers.

“I dare you to kiss me,” she replied, “just like you did when I taught you how to kiss.”

The sudden shift from embarrassed to sexy didn’t strike me as even remotely believable, but fortunately my husband didn’t seem to notice. He just stared, agog, as his twin daughters moved their lips together, and soon the pair of them were making out, just feet away from him.

I leaned over and whispered in his ear as the show continued.

“Do you like that, Joshy? Do you like watching your daughter’s tongues down each other’s throats? Look at how hot Bri is getting … she loves the feeling of Bec’s hands on her ass like that.”

Josh didn’t even seem to notice as I slipped one hand down his pants – lines between the world of fantasy and the world of reality were quickly blurring, and I don’t think he quite knew how to react. Bec started unbuttoning Bri’s shirt, and he moaned as her tits came into view.

“They’re nice, aren’t they? Such perky little titties … and believe me, they’re so nice to suck on. I must have spent hours sucking on my daughter’s tits … how does that make you feel, hon? Knowing that your sexy wife has been fucking your daughters for the last few months.”

I had originally planned to go slower than this, but when the girls lost control, so did I. Fortunately, the blunt hammer method seemed to work just as well, and Josh recoiled from the sexual onslaught surrounding him.

Stroking his cock up and down with one hand, I unbuttoned his pants with the other, and the girls turned and watched as his hard dick came into view.

“Oh, Daddy…” Brianna softly moaned.

“It’s so … beautiful,” Bec added.

“Will you share it with them?” I asked, as cutely as I could. “Will Daddy share his cock with his two horny daughters?”

“Can’t…” he gasped, unable to think, unable to breathe as the girls crawled towards him, their tits freely dangling, their faces filled with lust. “Wrong…”

“What’s wrong about this?” I asked, watching as our teenaged twins leaned forward, each of them licking one side of his cock. “Everything about this seems so … right.”

Joshua just nodded as Bri felt her first taste of daddy’s cock slipping deep inside her mouth, and Bec moved up to let him suckle on her young teat. I sat back and casually played with myself; even though I wasn’t directly involved, I felt more satisfied than I’d ever felt before, like I’d achieved my purpose, like I’d obeyed some kind of celestial order.

It wasn’t long before I came, triggered by Josh’s daughters bringing him to orgasm for the first time. The first of many, I hoped. This was exactly what I wanted.

/I want to see my daughters have sex with their father, / I chanted in my mind. /I am a good mother. A good mother helps her daughters have sex with their father… /

Epilogue

I should start by saying that I’m not a bad father.

Ah, who am I kidding, I’m a terrible father, but who can blame me? In my situation, I’m sure you would have done the exact same thing.

Still, all’s well that ends well. I think those tapes were the best purchase I ever made…

THE END

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REDHEADS WAITING

Redheads Waiting – Chapter 1

Redheads Waiting – Chapter 2

Redheads Waiting – Chapter 3

Redheads Waiting – Chapter 4

Redheads Waiting – Chapter 5

Epilogue

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Redheads Waiting – Chapter 1

Redheads Waiting – Chapter 2

Redheads Waiting – Chapter 3

Redheads Waiting – Chapter 4

Redheads Waiting – Chapter 5

Epilogue

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