by Van999 04/08/03
And then I felt the tingle, starting in my balls and running up my cock, and I knew I was about to cum. A moan formed deep in my throat, and made its way out of my mouth only to be muffled in the wetness of Brenda's pussy. I felt a spasm in my cock as the first spurt of cum sprayed out.
"Oh, fuck! Fuck!" she cried out as I felt another blast of cum gush out.
Now, Brenda was grinding her crotch into my face, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe as her wet cunt pressed hard against my mouth and nose.
She screamed again, and I felt my cock spasm once more and then again, as her hand pumped up and down, and my hips flew up off the bed as my cock released its last load of cum. And then, I felt a little tremor run through her body. And the tremor intensified, until I felt her entire body shaking on top of me.
"Oh, my God!" she screamed, "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
She ground her cunt hard against my face and one last spasm went through her, and she froze, motionless, until a moment later, her body went limp and she collapsed on top of me. I could feel her head on my now softening cock, and the red, swollen lips of her cunt rested just inches in front of my face.
Finally, she slid off me and knelt at the side of the bed. Her face was covered with my cum. As she turned toward me, a long string of it dripped down from her chin. One of her eyes was hidden under a pool of white liquid. Another strand hung from her nose. She drew the back of her hand across her face to wipe her eye, then she looked down at me. Her face moved closer to mine, until our lips met, our open mouths pushing against each other, our tongues making contact, and I could taste my cum on her wet lips.
Beside me, mom's breathing had become more labored. Each gasp for breath alternated with a little whimpering moan from the back of her throat. Suddenly, she released my hand from her grip, and in one slow, fluid motion, she raised her leg and rolled on top of me, positioning her body so her open cuntlips were pressed against my cum-covered cock. Brenda momentarily pulled her head away from mine, and I looked up at mom as she straddled me. Her eyes were half shut, with a glazed-over look to them.
Reaching down, she took my now flaccid cock in her hand and roughly stuffed it into her gaping cunt. Her other hand went to her clitoris, and I could see the muscles in her thighs and ass contracting as her hips began to buck up and down, pounding her pelvis against my body. Her breasts flew in wild circles against her chest as she continued to grind her cunt against me.
A visible tremor shook through her body and suddenly her head flew back and her mouth opened wide as a long, high-pitched, whimpering moan escaped from deep in the back of her throat. Her entire body was now shaking uncontrollably as her fingers pushed hard against her clit. She moaned again, and then her body gradually became motionless and her breathing returned to normal. She slowly rolled off me, my cock slipping out of her cunt with an audible plopping sound.
Lying on her back beside me, mom took my hand and rested it lightly on her cunt. Meanwhile, on the other side, Brenda slid closer to me until her breasts rested against my shoulder. She reached out and gently held my soft cock in her hand.
Exhausted from our exertions, the three of us fell into a sound sleep until the alarm clock woke us an hour later.
It was almost ten and we were just finishing dinner. I'd agreed to meet mom and Brenda at the hotel where their trade show was being held. They'd been held up at a seminar that hadn't ended until eight o'clock, so we agreed over the phone to eat at the hotel restaurant. There was a young Asian woman with them when they caught up with me in the restaurant bar.
"Tom, this is Trish," mom said, "She's here alone, so we invited her to have dinner with us."
"Glad to meet you, Trish," I said, shaking her hand. Trish was probably about the same age as Brenda, I figured. Maybe twenty-two or twenty-three. But all similarities between the two ended there. She was probably four inches shorter than Brenda. And in sharp contrast to Brenda and mom, with their full hips and large breasts, Trish had a very petite figure. Her waist looked small enough to put my hands around, and the fluffy sweater she wore barely changed its contour as it moved over her breasts.
Trish was a newly hired assistant manager at a store in Texas, mom explained, and the owner had sent her to learn a little more about the business. At first, I'd been a little disappointed they'd invited her, the three of us hadn't said a word about what had happened between us, and I figured dinner would be a good time to discuss it, to make sure no one was upset.
As it turned out, I'm glad they'd asked her along. Trish was a wonderful dinner companion. Her eyes seemed to have a constant sparkle to them as she talked, she had an infectious laugh, and she had a way of looking at you as if everything you said was important to her.
"So, can I ask what your heritage is?" I asked Trish as the waiter cleared the table.
"Oh, darn! So you noticed," Trish said with a giggle, "why don't you guess."
"Well, I'd say you were born in the United States, because you don't have an accent, but beyond that, I'm not sure."
"You have to guess," she said.
"Uh...Let me think..." Then I had an idea. "You're in Texas, right?"
"Were you born there?"
"A coastal town?"
"Very good! Better than someone this morning who asked if I was from India!" she said with a laugh, "My parents arrived here shortly after the war and made their living shrimp fishing, like thousands of other Vietnamese. Is that how you figured it?"
I nodded my head.
"Hey guys," Brenda said, "It looks like they're closing down the restaurant. Want to have a nightcap in the bar?"
She looked at Trish.
"That's fine with me," Trish said, "as long as I'm not intruding on your private time together as a family."
Mom glanced at me, an ironic smile on her face.
The bar was nearly empty. Maybe because it was a weeknight, I figured. We sat down around a little glass table in large, padded, wingback chairs that seemed to engulf our bodies. The waiter came to us immediately, as if he was relieved to finally have something to do.
"Merlot? Like at dinner?" I asked.
The ladies nodded.
"A bottle of Merlot, please," I told the waiter.
"A bottle. I don't know," mom said, looking at me, "we already had two bottles at dinner."
"Is anybody driving tonight?" I asked with a smile.
"It's not driving I'm afraid of," mom replied, "I just don't want to lose control. Like...like last night."
"I'll keep my eye on you," I said.
"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," mom replied.
"What happened last night?" Trish asked, "Don't tell me a lady as sophisticated as you got drunk." She smiled at mom.
"Uh, something like that," she said.
"Wouldn't life be easier, if there weren't so many things that were bad for you? So many rules to obey?" Brenda asked with a sigh.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I mean all the limits placed on us. Alcohol, food, sun, even sex."
"But those are self-imposed limitations," mom said, "for our own well-being. There's no law that says you can't sit out in the sun all day."
"Self-imposed limitations can be worse," Brenda continued, "Because they're self-imposed, they cause doubt, and guilt and insecurity."
"I don't understand," Trish said.
"It has to do with personal responsibility and free will. If someone puts a gun to your head and commands you to eat a greasy hamburger," Brenda explained, "you wouldn't think twice, you'd eat the hamburger. It's different though, if eating the hamburger is entirely your choice. You know you really want it, but you think about your waistline, and cholesterol and suddenly you feel guilty about having a desire for the hamburger, and you're insecure about your willpower, and your mind becomes filled with self-doubt."
"Wow, all that over a hamburger," Trish said with a giggle.
"So what you're saying," mom said, "is if someone commands you to do something, even something enjoyable, you won't feel guilty because you didn't choose to do it out of your own free will."
"Exactly," Brenda said.
"Great!" mom exclaimed, "the next time we're in a restaurant, Brenda, I want you to command me to order something especially fattening."
"And Brenda," I added, "command me to order another bottle of wine."
"That's why..." Brenda started to say, but abruptly stopped.
"Why what?" mom asked.
"Nothing," Brenda said, blushing.
"I was only going to make the observation that's why some women, when they're, you know...fooling around, like to have the man command them. That way, they don't have to feel responsible for their actions. If they do something out of character, they can blame it on their partner."
"It sounds like you're talking from experience," mom said with a chuckle, "Do you like men to command you?"
Brenda blushed again.
"So what if I do?" she said.
I laughed and Brenda glared at me.
"So what? Do you think I'm weird?" she asked with a scowl on her face.
"No, I was just thinking your fantasy and mine are pretty compatible."
"You like to be dominated, too?" Trish asked with a giggle.
"I think it's a common fantasy for men, to want to have control over a woman," I said, "To know she'll do anything he wants."
"Like she was hypnotized?" mom asked.
"No, that would take some of the allure away," I answered, "It's more exciting if the man knows the woman is willingly giving up control to him. Here's the whole thing about it - there's a big difference between a woman waking up and saying to herself, 'I can't believe what I did last night', and 'I can't believe what he made me do last night'. The first sentence allows far more guilt to creep in than the second sentence. And it's the same for the guy, too. 'I only acted that way because it was a game. I was pretending to be in control, and she was pretending to obey me. That's not the way either of us are in real life' See, he's off the hook too because he can blame it on 'the game'."
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