8 comments/ 68785 views/ 28 favorites The Wife/Daughter Cuckold By: rikkitampa2014 I never found T. particularly attractive as a man. However, I have to admit, he had a certain magnetism around women, especially older women. For one thing T. was a natural-born salesman; for another, he had no inhibitions around married women. If he was attracted to you he would openly come on to you regardless of your husband's presence. The latter could be in the same room with you and it wouldn't matter. T. was all hugs and caresses and massages and flirty talk-and if you were a woman in your forties or fifties or even sixties, all the better. Must've been a mother thing-but he was hung up on older gals. The joke around our house, among my wife K. and my mid-twenties' daughter B., was that T. must be between girlfriends whenever he started to show up on our doorstep Saturday nights. Invited or uninvited, I might add. B. liked to claim that T. was a closet gay ("Why doesn't he just come out and admit it?") but that didn't stop him from putting his hands all over the two of them when he was "hanging" with us. When K. was in the kitchen fixing dinner, for instance, he would stand close behind her massaging her shoulders and neck. My daughter B. would roll her eyes at me and say: "Why don't you DO something?" But what was I supposed to say? It was all pretty innocent. If the four of us went to the movies together T. would insist on sitting between K. and B. If something funny or poignant happened he would squeeze both their bare thighs, point at the screen and whisper his opinion on how cool that was. Or whatever. Once I looked over and realized his hands were resting-semi-permanently-on both their thighs. I elbowed K. and she pushed his intrusive hand away. But did she mean it? K. variously referred to T. as "freshy," "that horny man" and "my boyfriend." Sometimes we would be planning our weekend evening and she would say, "Oh, don't forget to invite my boyfriend T." B. might roll her eyes but I made the phone call. And got a secret hard-on doing it. So given all this it was not unsurprising when I arrived home early from work one day and found T.'s blue-and-white Toyota FJ Cruiser parked in my driveway. The truck was his pride and joy and it had the vanity plate "Ayn 2," in homage to his philosophical hero Ayn Rand, bolted to it. Apparently some other asshole in the state had beat him to "Ayn 1." B.'s Sentra was also parked in the drive, as was K.'s Camry. The whole gang was here! I opened my front door expecting to find the three of them in or around the kitchen slurping down beers or bad margaritas and flirtily insulting each other with jokes. Instead I heard the cries and moans and flesh-slapping of sex. It was somewhat faint. It was coming from upstairs. I climbed the carpeted stairs and arrived, surreptitiously, outside the open doorway of the guest bedroom. What I saw quite literally dropped my jaw; it knocked me back a step; momentarily knocked the wind out of me. My wife K. and daughter B. were both naked on their elbows and knees, their asses perched high up in the air and their feet hanging over the side of the bed. T., naked and tall and even skinnier than me, was currently between K.'s parted feet, slamming her big pinkish-white ass against his narrow abdomen. With each slam K. let out a loopy pleasure-cry or said, or moaned, "Oh god...you're killing me..." I watched in continuing amazement as T. stopped fucking my wife, pulled out his long, stiff, lubricated cock, moved between my daughter's feet and pushed into her. He was fucking my own daughter now! "Oh no...don't," K. moaned, reaching-futilely-a left arm out at him. "I was about to...cum!" "Don't be so selfish, mom!" B. complained. "Don't worry, baby," T. said, apparently to my wife, as he began pumping B. "There's more to come. How many orgasms have you had so far?" "I've...lost track. You're wearing me out." "If he's wearing you out then don't complain about me getting my turn," her daughter countered. "Ladies," T. the referee said, "be nice. I got plenty more for both of you. I could do this all night." "Not ALL night," K., her breath back, and her right hand beginning to finger her swollen, reddened pussy, replied. "S.," meaning me, "will be home soon." "Fuck S.," my old friend T. said, as he butt-slammed my daughter. (Nice, I thought. Real nice...) "No, fuck US!" K. said, as she busily attempted to pleasure herself, while waiting her next turn. "Yeah!" B. chimed in. "Oh! Fuck me, darling! Oh!" I think it was K. who first noticed me. Yes, it was. Since K. was positioned on the righthand side, and T. was busy with B. over on the left, she had a clear view of the doorway over her right shoulder. I remember her twisted face. She looked a little dazed. Or stoned. "Oh hi, honey," she said as if half-asleep, her fingers still in her own wet vagina. "When did you get home?" T. stopped his motion in my daughter. He looked around. He was grinning. "Hey, old man! Welcome to the party!" Old man. T.'s term of "affection" for me. What was he, a member of the British aristocracy? In the 19th century? Born to Empire? And yes, I was older than him. By nearly ten years. But K. was my age and B. was a good ten years younger than him. Whatever, the term "old man" burned my ass. Especially now that he was fucking my wife. Not to mention my daughter. For a moment time stood still and I was very clearly able to study the tableau. The grinning, triumphant T., his upper body twisted right, toward the bedroom doorway I stood in. His stiff dick, though pulled away a little (I could glimpse his dark pubic hair), still six inches' deep in my daughter's vagina. His hands resting poised on her hips, the white flesh branded pink with finger marks from where he'd grasped her, and slammed her buttocks against his own coarse-haired body... I gave my head a shake. Of disbelief. And the world sped up. "Join the party, old man! Which one do you want?" I was stunned by the question. The audacity of it. On the other hand, what could be more audacious than boning a man's wife-and daughter-in front of you? With a big grin on his face all the while. I was angry-but, frankly, too horny to be VERY angry. I stepped forward, into the room. I was unbuckling my belt. "Well I'm not going to screw my own daughter, am I? That would be incest last time I checked." T. shrugged. B., his dick deep but stationary in her, said, in her most petulant voice: "Oh, incest. It's such a crock! The law's are so...medieval! As long as it's between two consenting adults, and you're using birth control, what fucking difference does it make?" I started to upbraid my twentysix-year old daughter for her language but, under the circumstances... I was naked now, from the waist down. Well, except for my black socks. I moved forward. T. said: "OK, you fuck your wife and I'll fuck B., OK old man?" "Fuck you," I muttered. An impatient B. said, to T.: "Yeah, as in fuck. You know?" "I'm on it, baby," T. replied, resuming his frantic motion. K., still looking back at me, said: "Jeez, honey. I haven't seen you this hard in ten years. Is this all it took, a threesome?" "A foursome," her daughter corrected. But K. was right. My cock was so stiff I had to bend it down-somewhat painfully-to guide it into her waiting vagina. I pushed in, deep, hoping that would shut her up. "Oh god, you're big," she purred. "You're almost as big as HE is!" (Thanks a lot.) I looked to my left. At B.'s slightly smaller but otherwise carbon-copy pair of pink-and-white buttocks. Which T. was slamming against his own body, teeth clenched, with a force that drew a passion-cry from B. with every thrust. I knew there was no way I could keep up with this. In my current state of excitement I'd cum within five strokes. I had to cool it, go slow. Take my time... "What's the matter?" K. asked, from her elbows. "Nothing." "Fuck me then. I'm dying for it! Fuck me hard!" Ohhhh...I came, I admit, within seconds of my wife's command. Came silently. I tried to keep going but my cock, predictably, was going soft. I pulled out. Or was pushed. "Did you cum?" she asked, again over a shoulder. I nodded-as if she could see that. I was humiliated. No wonder she needed a guy like T. in her life. In her sex life, anyway. I backed away, in silence. The small bedroom was filled with the sound of B.'s flesh slapping against T.'s. And with her passion-cries. My rival's motion finally slowed. He looked down at K. At my premature sperm leaking from her and spotting the bedsheet below. "Honey," he said, to my wife, "go clean up OK? I don't do sloppy seconds. OK?" It got confusing. I was pulling my clothes back on, and backing up in the process. K., with a head of steam, was coming forward. For some reason I was trying to close the bedroom door. "What are you doing?" she asked crossly, out bodies nearly colliding. I yielded, and watched her naked body waddle quickly down the hallway, dripping my semen to the floor... I returned three hours and many, many beers later. Somewhat to my dismay, T.'s truck was still parked in the driveway. Jesus, I thought, are they still at it? Is he some kind of sexual Superman? He's a piano-tuner for christsake! But I found the three of them, fully dressed, arrayed around the livingroom listlessly, watching a movie. Some kind of chick-flick from all appearances. T.'s favorite. Maybe telling women he loved sentimental chick-flicks was his secret. His secret, his first step, into gaining entry to their panties. "Hey, old man," he said, as I entered the conclave. "Welcome back." T. and K. were seated together on the reclining love-seat to my right. And I could not help but notice his hand was on my wife's plump right thigh. B., on my left as I looked down, had the entire three-cushion couch to herself. She was stretched out. And she was the most scantily clad of the three, wearing nothing but panties and a men's football jersey. Number 19. "Where have you been?" my wife asked, showing a muted level of concern. "Hey," my daughter offered, indifferently. "I'll scoot up," she added, lifting her bare knees, reddened from having been on them for so long. "No!" I swayed unsteadily. I was drunk enough to be, for once, halfway authoritative. "T.," I said, jerking a thumb over my right shoulder, "would you mind?" He seemed surprised. Looked at my wife. "Is this what you want?" he asked. K. yawned and replied: "I'm falling asleep. I'm ready for bed." "Come to bed with me," he said, with a grin." She pushed him away. "Bad boy." "I AM a bad boy." Leaning over he kissed K. on the lips. Just a peck. Then, putting a hand behind her head, he gave her a big, juicy smooch. On the painted lips. Right beneath me. Asshole! Then T. rose and went over to my daughter. He bent toward her but she turned her head away. He pecked her cheek, as consolation. "Next time," B. said, head still turned, "cum in ME." "I can only cum in one of you!" T. challenged, hands raised. "Still, you owe me." "Oh, get over it, B.," her mother said. "Screw you, mom. You got yours." "Nice," she replied. T. bent over and tried to kiss her again. "Good night, little girl," he said. "I'm not a little girl. I'm 26." "But as long as you're living at home you'll be my little girl." "Excuse me for having a quarter-life crisis," B. said, drawing her thick bare legs up and crossing her arms, tightly. T., audaciously, sought her right breast out. He cupped then squeezed it. "Asshole," she said, swatting him away. T. laughed. He rose up from my daughter and threw his arms wide open. I endured his hug. Anything to get rid of him. "Thanks, old man," he said in my ear. "You have two beautiful, sexy women in your life. You're lucky. Thanks for sharing them." Before I could respond-"WHAT?"-he was off, heading for the front door, giving a wave. "Take care, all! It was fun! See you next time!" Prick. I thought. But at last, as the door closed, I had my wife and daughter to myself. "So THIS is what you do when I'm away?" I said, trying to sound fatherly, or husbandly, or whatever, hands on my hips. I was quickly rebutted. "Oh, get over it, dad. You were part of it. You joined in. You're as guilty as the rest of us. Not that there's anything to be guilty about." "Yeah, but..." My daughter had me, as usual. I was defenseless. I HAD joined in. Still, it seemed... "Honey," my wife offered, "I swear to god, we had no intention of...did we B.?" "Did we what?" she asked impudently. She may've been in her mid-twenties but she was still a petulant teenager at heart. "T. came over, unannounced-" "That's not true," B. said. "OK. He called first. But he came over, we weren't expecting him, B. made margaritas-not anywhere near as good as your margaritas, honey-" "Thanks," B. said. "We were sitting around chatting," K. continued, "T. wanted B. to show her something upstairs, on the computer..." "That's right, mom. Blame it on me." "I'm not blaming you I'm just...and I swear to god, honey, the next thing I knew we were in the bed and T.'s cock was in me. He has a magic cock, that's all I can say." "Magic?" my daughter asked. "I would call it...mechanical. I've experienced more passion from a dildo" "I guess you're the expert," her mother said. "Yeah, right. Tequila makes your clothes fall off," B. laconically offered, with a smirk. "It was just that innocent," my wife alleged. "It wasn't that innocent. Like when you and T. were downstairs making out?" "Like I said, I got drunk. And you're just jealous, young lady, because T. finished inside me." "Oh yeah, mom, like I give a shit who he cums in. I hate cum! It's disgusting! I wish I was a lesbian. I wish men would just...keep it to themselves..." "That's not what you were saying in the bedroom," my wife challenged. "You were pleading for it." "The hell! YOU were pleading for it! You're such a...prima donna, mom!" "ME?" I staggered backwards. I was waving my arms, like an umpire making a "safe" call in a baseball game. "Hey," I said. Then, "I need to lie down..." My daughter jumped up. "Are you drunk?" she said. "You smell like a...fucking brewery." "I..." "You can't even stand up straight. You're criticizing mom and me for having, you know, recreational sex with T. while you're out...driving drunk! What if you killed somebody! ASSHOLE! Lie down here," my daughter said, indicating the couch, "and go to sleep. You're...pathetic!" "Night, hon," my yawning wife said, as she headed upstairs. I plopped down into my daughter's vacated space, thankful for it. It was warm. Warm from her body. What if I HAD chosen to penetrate her? What if I'd taken T. up on his reckless offer and steered left instead of right? And shoved my hard cock into my own daughter's vagina? What if I'd penetrated her and fucked her and shot my load in her? The load she so bitterly resented T. for spending elsewhere? In her mother's vagina. The "girls" were going to bed. I lay on the livingroom couch stroking myself. I was hard again. I couldn't wait for the lights to go out, upstairs and down, so I could shoot my load... Next time, if the opportunity presented itself, I told myself, I would choose my beautiful, ornery, twenty-something daughter. I would penetrate her, while my wife looked on, distracted by T.'s hard cock seven inches' deep in her, slamming her home. I would fuck my own daughter and shoot my load in her, deep in her, and she would purr afterwards: "Oh daddy, thank you. I love you so much..." I couldn't wait.