3 comments/ 186387 views/ 7 favorites It's Another Family Tradition By: Canadagander Copyright © 2004. All characters, events, and text in this story are purely fictional, and are created by and the sole property of the author. All rights reserved. - - -- - - - - Writer’s Note: This piece is a sequel to the previous story of Sam and the Powell women entitled “It’s A Family Tradition.” If you haven’t already read that one, I recommend that you do to get acquainted with Sam, his wife Callie, and her sisters. In any case, I hope you enjoy this story. It was fun for me to write it. Consider the usual warning: this story contains sexually explicit content. Do not read it unless you are an adult. - - --- - - - My wife, Callie Powell Taylor, comes from a lineage of Powell women with some most unusual traditions. As you may recall, last summer Callie and I were chosen to initiate our eighteen year-old niece, Sue Ann, into the pleasures of adult womanhood with a week of instructional and recreational sex at the family cabin retreat. That is a rite that has happened with every Powell girl since Callie’s grandmother’s generation. Six months after that initiation week, I thought that I had performed all my duties toward the sexual traditions of the Taylor/Powell family. I should have known better. On the second Friday in February, I arrived home from an exhausting day of court appearances, and late client visits at the office. Callie greeted me with an especially warm welcoming kiss, and handed me a gin and tonic, one of the all-time great refreshments, in my opinion. “Hi, sweetie,” she said. “We’re not expected for dinner at Momma’s for another hour yet. Go sit in the living room and have your drink. You look like you could use some wind-down time, Sam.” I didn’t argue. I flopped into my favorite over-stuffed chair, rested my heels on the coffee table, clicked the remote to watch CNN, and took generous swallows of the G&T. ‘Life doesn’t get any better than this,’ I thought. Callie ambled into the room with a know-it-all smirk on her face. Plopping the mail on the table next to my chair, she said with a teasing tone in her voice, “Here’s the mail, Sam. The usual stuff – bills, catalogs, and advertisements. But there is an interesting letter on the top. Looks like you’ve got some sort of invitation. Now I wonder what that might be?” I looked down at the mail. There, right on the top of the pile of catalogs and window business envelopes rested a cream-colored, almost square envelope, the kind that wedding invitations come in. Curious, I picked it up to examine it more closely. There was no return address either in the front corner, or on the back. The postmark was local (Augusta, GA). The neat, rounded handwriting, with tiny circles for dots on the ‘I’s’ appeared decidedly feminine, and the brown ink was a dead giveaway. I tried to recall what female clients I had served recently (by that, I mean in the lawyerly sort of way). “Well, Sam, aren’t you going to open it and find out who it’s from and what it says?” Callie inquired in her buttery-soft Georgia twang. She had that ‘cat who swallowed the cream’ sort of grin. I suddenly got the feeling that Cat already knew both who and what, like so many things that women first share with one another, and then later spring on some unsuspecting male. Since she was so interested in my opening the envelope, I tried to tease her by showing my indifference. “I’ll read it later, Cat.” I casually tossed the envelope toward the coffee table on which my legs were resting, but shot an air ball that had the card curving in a spiral down to the carpet. Giggling, Callie retrieved the fallen missile, and then straightened up with the letter in her extended hand. I could feel the warmth in my blushing face, but tried to recover my composure. “Nice try, hotshot,” she said. “Come on, Sam. Open your invitation. I know that you’ll like it.” “Why is this invitation addressed only to me, Cat?” I asked, as I slipped my thumb under the flap of the envelope. “Why not both our names?” Cat decided to sit on the arm of my chair with her arm around my neck. She looked at me with that ‘what a dumb thing to say’ look. “Sweetie,” she said, “This party doesn’t work that way. We each get invited separately, and I’ve already opened mine. Just read it, and then I’ll explain.” I opened the envelope and extracted a folded note card of high quality stock. The note was printed with that fancy raised ink used for formal invitations. There was no signature on the note, so there was no way I could identify the sender. I read the following message: “The ladies of the Powell Family Heritage Association cordially invite you to participate in the 2004 Powell Family Scramble. This tradition has been celebrated in the Powell family for several generations, and contributes to the bonding of all members of the family, both blood relatives and their married spouses.” There was a small piece of computer printer paper with additional instructions: “Your rendezvous location is the Holiday Inn Resort Hotel on Jekyll Island. You will meet your two Powell family partners 4:00 PM Friday, Feb. 27, at the address below, and return the following Monday morning. Enjoy the weekend, and respect the tradition of discretion.” Callie grinned when I showed her the note. “Well, congratulations, Sam. Now some other Powell women will get to appreciate you almost as much as I do. I’m going to Savanna that weekend, by the way. I wonder whom the committee has worked out for our partners. Whoever they are, I’ll bet we’ll have a great time.” “Ah,” I replied. “I think I get it, Cat. This Powell Family Scramble is another one of your family’s zany sex traditions, like the initiation of Sue Ann, isn’t it? What is this one about, and how does it work?” “Well, Sam, my grandma Powell felt that after a woman gets married, she doesn’t always get to express her sexuality when or how she’d like to. For the most part, that’s OK, ‘cause if she’s made a good choice in the man she weds, then she gets enough sex of the good, loving kind, and she’s happy with that. But it’s only natural for a human being every now and then to feel itchy to try something new or different. You know, the longer you have a thing, the more interested you get for an alternative.” “You mean like a guy and his car, for instance, or the kind of cooking you eat routinely at home, Cat?” I asked. “So the Powell family has created a solution for trying new partners outside of the usual married routine.” “You got it, Sam, only in this case, it wasn’t the family that created the idea. It was a she. On her tenth wedding anniversary, Grandma Powell decided that when she reached thirty, she would get a taste of another man. But she didn’t want any tangling affair or embarrassment to her family, so she came up with the idea of asking one of her brothers to spend a weekend with her and a girl cousin, unbeknownst to their husbands and his wife. The clever part of her idea was having a threesome. That made sure that the weekend was just sexual fun, without any possible romantic affair getting started between either woman and the brother-in-law.” “And I gather that her little escapade grew into a family tradition, Cat,” I added. “That’s the way it happened, sweetie. When Grandma Powell returned from her little party, she told her sisters to try it for themselves. They did, and the idea kind of just grew. But I’m told that early on, there were so many scheduling hassles, that Grandma Powell and her sisters finally decided on one special weekend every Leap Year. Kind of prevents the thing from getting to be too much of a habit. That’s the way it’s been going on for over twenty years now. Only, now, of course, most of the husbands at sometime or other get invited, so the idea of a secret getaway has kinda got lost over the generations. We all know what’s goin’ on, just not with whom and where.” “So that’s how the tradition got started,” I replied. “And its chief objective is to give a married woman the taste of another man, but without the predictable risks, as well as keeping it within the family. Fascinating. And it must be working for all you Powell women, because I don’t see an unhappy marriage among all of you. Will this be the first time, like me, that you went to one of these Scrambles, Cat?” Callie blushed. “Actually, Sam, this one will be my second,” she said. “My first Scramble was in 2000, just before we moved from Boston. I told you that I was going to a family wedding.” “I had no idea, Cat. Your family traditions are positively incredible.” She kissed me tenderly. “Believe me, Sam, I was not bored or disappointed with your lovemaking. All that I was doing was satisfying some normal human curiosity, and perhaps acting out some fantasies. And that’s what will happen this year for you, too. And, just like with Sue Ann, once the weekend is over, nothing more happens.” She giggled. “At least for four more years, that is.” “And you have no problem with me spending a weekend with two other women?” I asked. “Of course not, sweetie,” she replied. “After all, I’ll be going somewhere, too. We’re husband and wife, and best friends, Sam, but we don’t own each other like property.” “So with whom will I be at the scramble, Cat? I don’t want to sound particular, but I am more than a little curious as to whom I have sex with.” “That’s part of the fun of the Scramble tradition, Sam. You don’t really know with whom you’re going to be until you arrive at wherever you’re told to go. There is a secret committee of the last generation Powell women who match up the partners. I have a suspicion that Momma Powell and Aunt Jess are both on the committee, but they won’t admit it.” She giggled and grinned mischievously. “But it wouldn’t surprise me, Sam, if one of your women is Sissy. There’s another sort of a tradition that when a Powell woman has her fortieth birthday, she can drop hints on men she’d like to get linked up with at the next Scramble. And believe me, sugar; Sissy has been dropping lots of hints. She was interested in you before Sue Ann’s week, and afterwards, she definitely has the hots for you.” “You know, Cat,” I said, “I seem to recall that Sue Ann said something last July at the cabin. It was something about her mother and me getting it on together, and you shushed her up. Was she referring to this Family Scramble thing?” Callie kissed my cheek. “She was, darlin’. Wouldn’t that be something – you getting to screw both momma and daughter. You sure are a lucky man, Sam. Now go get cleaned up. In thirty minutes, we’ll go to Momma and Poppa’s.” While showering and shaving, I pondered over this zany proposition, and whether or not I should participate. My legal and logical mind conducted a debate with my lustful body over the issue of extra-marital pleasures vs. the risk of consequences. My testosterone-driven lustful side kept visualizing Sissy’s luscious breasts with large, begging-to-be-sucked nipples, along with the rest of that sensual body of hers. My logical mind countered that extra-marital sex is dangerous. Then my legal brain argued that there was a precedent. After all, if doing it with Sue Ann in the summer was OK, how can that be any different from doing it with her mother in the winter? By the time I had slapped on some after-shave, I was convinced. I would do it, especially since Callie approved without any reservation, and she was going to scramble with another man as well. Fortunately, the following two weeks were quite busy, so my mind was not permitted to fantasize too much about the Scramble Weekend. However, I did manage to do some shopping for surprises and treats for my unknown partners, to help spice up the recreation. Finally, the Friday morning of the Scramble Weekend arrived. As I left for work, I kissed Callie warmly. I have to tell you that I still had some ambivalent thoughts as I placed my suitcase in the trunk of my car and waved goodbye. But, to be honest, by the time I had merged onto the expressway, I was imagining how Sissy’s ass would look in thong panties. On certain matters, males have short memories. At 3:45 in the afternoon, I gathered up some papers to make it look like I would work at home over the weekend. I stuffed them in my attaché case, and left my office to drive to the designated address of my fellow scramblers. In the reception area, I said goodbye to Jody, the receptionist/para-legal in my office. She also happens to be a second cousin of Callie, but four years older. Her middle name is Pearl, keeping with the Powell tradition, and she displays that sauciness I find so attractive in the Powell women. I said to her, “I’m taking off a little early, Jody. I want to get a head start on the weekend.” “A head start - that’s kinda cute, Sam,” said Jody, smiling teasingly. “Well, I’m sure that your Powell women will oblige you with the head, but just remember that you’re there to please them. Hold your tongue, except for special moments.” She grinned, eyes daring me to reply. It suddenly dawned on me. “Jody, are you by any chance going somewhere special this weekend?” Jody’s eyes widened with mock curiosity. “Special, Sam? Special how?” “I think you know, Jody. Well, I hope that you have a great time scrambling, but don’t spend all the time laying about.” Jody laughed, accepting that her tease had been one-upped. Not to be outdone, however, she got in the last dig of the day. She asked, “By the way, Sam, why are you taking work home? When are you going to find time to do it?” “Oh, I’ll squeeze it in,” I replied, trying to be as nonchalant as I could. “The social activities this weekend are no big deal. ‘Bye now, I’ve got to get home.” “Liar,” Jody shouted, as I went out the door, bound for the Holiday Inn on Jekyll Island. It was unseasonably warm for Georgia in late February, and the extended weather forecast was for five days in the high 70’s on Jekyll Island. On the drive to the designated pickup address, I speculated whether the women would take along a skimpy bikini, for possible beach trips. The designated address turned out to be a house in a new Augusta development, where I had never been. I rang the doorbell, and an attractive woman with medium length brunette hair expectantly opened the door. She was unfamiliar, but I recognized the Powell breasts and long legs. I judged that she was in her early thirties, and thought her to be very attractive. Her ample bust, hips and shapely legs were elegantly displayed under a black, sleeveless knitted dress with skirt a few inches above her knees. I was invited inside, and sitting on the sofa in the living room was a lovely woman whom I did know. Sissy saw me, and squealed with delight, rushing up to me and giving me an affectionate wet kiss. “It’s you, Sam!” she exclaimed. “How wonderful to see you. I got my wish for the Powell Scramble. Oh, Sam, I’m so excited! Let me introduce you to my Aunt Gladys’ youngest daughter, Mary Pat Carter. Mary Pat, this is Sam Tonnelli, who is married to my sister Callie. My daughters and Tanya’s girls all call him The Hunk. Sam, Mary Pat is the third member of our Scramble party.” Mary Pat blushed while extending her hand. I took it and squeezed gently. “I’m pleased to meet you, Sam,” she said. “I’ve heard a little about you from my momma and Sissy’s momma. Sissy and I are excited about going to Jekyll Island. I haven’t ever been there. I think we’re going to have fun the next couple of days.” “Well, Mary Pat,” I replied with what I hoped was a sexy smile, “It will be my pleasure to try to make it so. Shall we get going? We can get acquainted on the way down.” The drive from Augusta to Jekyll Island is a little over three hours, so we had plenty of time to become familiar and get in the proper mood. Being a lawyer, I pride myself in putting people at ease when we first meet. Mary Pat was nervous at the beginning of the drive, but, by the time we had passed Savannah on I-95, she was relaxed and laughing at Sissy’s earthy jokes, even adding some sexy innuendos of her own. We shared the fact that this scramble was her first, like me. Mary said, “I’ve been married eight years now, but Jeremy, my husband, was working in Greenville, North Carolina, up until last year.” Through the rear view mirror, I looked at her sitting in the back seat of my Explorer. She lowered her eyes suggestively. “I’ve been looking forward to this weekend for some time now. My momma has told me some of the goings-on that she’s done on her Scrambles. Land sakes, she let loose!” Sissy was riding in the front seat next to me, and turned her head to speak to Mary Pat. “Well, then, honey, let’s have our own fun, just like your momma. Mary Pat, you and I are going to make good use of our boy Sam here. You just start imagining the kinds of things that you want to try, and we’ll make it happen.” It was dark, but still warm when we checked into the Holiday Inn Resort Hotel. February is definitely the off-season for Jekyll, and there were only six or seven other cars in the lot. To my surprise, the girl at the check-in counter did not even raise an eyebrow that we were a threesome. Sissy registered under her Powell name, and claimed that she was Mary Pat’s sister, and I was Mary Pat’s husband. The clerk gave Sissy three passkeys and directions to our suite. It was on the second floor, with its own private balcony off the sitting room, overlooking the beach. The moon glistened silver on the Atlantic Ocean, and small white-capped waves broke on the sand. Inside, the suite had a sitting room with a wet bar, one bedroom with a king size bed, and a spacious bathroom with a large Jacuzzi tub and separate shower. Sissy must have noticed the uneasy feeling in both Mary Pat and me, as we stared at the large bed. She set down her luggage, and proceeded to pull back the red bedspread with white flowers and palm trees. “Help me with this damn thing, Sam,” she ordered. “We sure as hell won’t need this for the rest of the weekend, will we?” That broke the tension, and Mary Pat giggled. “Sam, you don’t get to pick which side of the bed to sleep on. You’re in the center. I’ll take the window side, Sissy. You get the bar side.” “Speaking of bars,” I said. “I noticed that there is a raw bar in the lounge. Let’s get in the mood with some margaritas and oysters on the half shell.” Both women agreed, and we were soon seated in the quiet lounge. There were only three other couples besides us in the place, and the waitress was grateful for more customers. I ordered drinks plus a dozen oysters for our table. Talk about your male ego – I was delighted by the envious stares of the men in the lounge. You could almost read their minds asking, ‘what has that guy got to have not one, but two beautiful women with him?’ I decided to make them even more envious, and perhaps get Sissy and Mary Pat warmed up. After the waitress had served us our margaritas and the raw oysters, I raised my glass. “Here’s to making the 2004 Powell Family Scramble a resounding success,” I said. I took two sips, one for each of my dates. “And now I have a request to make. It has always been my fantasy to be with a woman in a restaurant and feed her raw oysters. Sissy, you first.” Her eyes brightened with the concept of the fantasy. She smiled at me, then leaned forward, her mouth open and her eyes closed. I garnished one of the oysters with the special house sauce and leaned across the table to give Sissy a French kiss. She pulled back in surprise, but I held her chin with one hand, placed the oyster shell on her lower teeth, and tipped up the shell. The raw oyster slid from the shell down to the back of her mouth, almost gagging her. She blinked, then rolled the oyster around in her mouth, and swallowed. She concluded with a ladylike dabbing of the corners of her mouth with the cocktail napkin. I heard some audible sighs of envy from the bar crowd, including some female ones. I repeated the oyster feeding with Mary Pat, who touched my cheek while she slurped the slippery oyster over her lips and down her throat. More sighs and groans from the spectators. It's Another Family Tradition I turned around to face my audience and gave the old arms extended, shoulder shrugging ‘it was nothing, fellows’ gesture. Two of the couples grinned back, and began to applaud. Sissy threw back her head and laughed earthily at the reaction. “You are a very sexy man, Sam. Now, let’s give them something to really talk about. Mary Pat, let me feed you an oyster, like we’re two lesbians.” Mary Pat giggled, and she played her role to the hilt. The two women were seated side by side in our booth, and Mary Pat looped her arm around Sissy and held her open mouth about a foot away from Sissy’s to receive her oyster. Sissy dramatically stuck her middle finger in the sauce dish, and then dribbled sauce on an oyster. Everyone in the room stared at the two women as Sissy tipped the shell over Mary’s lower lip. Mary Pat noisily slurped down the oyster, after which Sissy stuck her sauce-covered finger in front of Mary’s mouth. Holding Sissy’s hand with both of hers, Mary slowly drew Sissy’s finger into her mouth, and licked it clean. Awestruck silence prevailed in the room, but I noticed some women squirming and licking their lips with arousal. We quickly devoured the twelve oysters. They were followed by another round of margaritas and a second dozen oysters, all lustily poured into Sissy’s, Mary’s, and my mouths by one other. I was reminded of the classic Tom Jones movie scene of the lovers eating and becoming aroused. “Mmm, those were delicious, Sam,” Sissy murmured, after she consumed the final bi-valve. “You know, when Tanya and I were just beginning our teens, our Uncle Jake insisted that we learned how to slurp and swallow a whole raw oyster. He said that it was a very important skill for all girls to learn. I never knew why he said that, until a few years later. That was the first time I experienced a boy coming in my mouth.” “I was told the same thing, Sissy, but by my Uncle Billy Ray,” added Mary Pat. She smiled, and looked directly into my eyes before she continued. “He also had me practice picking up a hard boiled egg from the table and carrying it to my plate, using just my lips. He said that once I learned how, I would be guaranteed a date to the high school prom.” Sissy and I both laughed at Mary’s story. “Ladies,” I said, “The more stories I hear about your uncles, the more I realize how much we husbands of Powell girls owe to them. I hope that one day, Sue Ann and, perhaps, some more of her cousins will tell similar stories about their Uncle Sam. Sissy, your daughter is one fine girl, by the way, and that initiation is one helluva family tradition.” “Yes, it is, Sam. And I happen to think that all us Powell women have made our husbands happier because of that tradition. And you should be proud, Sam. Sue Ann thinks that you are the hunk of all hunks. You should have seen the glow on her face at Momma and Poppa’s on Kiawah Island following her week with you and Callie. All her girl cousins and even Momma Powell tried to get her to tell us what happened. But she never disclosed a thing, apart from the tattoos that she was showing around.” “All of them, Sissy?” I exclaimed. Sissy’s mouth curled into an ‘O’ of astonishment, then burst out laughing. “You mean there were some tattoos that her bikini covered up, Sam? You naughty, naughty boy!” “Well, let’s us do some naughty things this weekend, Sissy and Mary Pat. I’ve been fantasizing for the last two weeks, and I’ve got some things to give to you.” “Well, bless my soul!” Sissy exclaimed. “Sam Tonnelli, I do believe that you are ready to do some serious tom-catting. And here I was wondering for the last month how we were ever going to persuade you to come without Callie. Callie said that it took you quite a while before you would go along with Sue Ann’s initiation. What’s made the difference now, darlin’?” “Let’s just say that last summer I was initiated as well as Sue Ann, Sissy. There was some fantastic sex that week, so what kind of guy wouldn’t jump at another opportunity like that?” I looked at Mary Pat. “And now that I’ve met you, Mary Pat, it’s more than an opportunity. It’s a dream come true.” Mary Pat tilted her margarita glass to gulp down the remaining third in one swallow. With her other hand, she reached under the table and squeezed my thigh. “Sissy, this man seems too good to be true. I think it’s time to take him upstairs and see what he’s like in bed.” Sissy and I followed Mary Pat’s orders, and soon we were inside our suite. Earlier, I had ordered room service to deliver champagne and hors d’euvres. I thought this moment was the appropriate time to give my two partners their gifts. I opened my suitcase, and handed each of them identically wrapped packages from an Augusta jewelry store. Both Sissy and Mary Pat squealed with delight when each opened her box and discovered an ankle bracelet with one small diamond and a delicate gold chain. I said, “I wanted each of you to have a memento from our weekend here. Later, you can wear it whenever you want to feel extra sexy. Now let’s drink some champagne, and then I get to put on your new bracelets.” Sissy threw her arms around me and hugged me tight. As she rubbed her pelvis against my leg, she gave me a long, wet kiss. Our tongues explored our mouths for at least a minute. Then I received the same kind of gratitude from Mary Pat. All three of us sat together on the sofa, and sipped our bubbly. It was Sissy that made the first overture to move on to a sexier phase of the evening. She stood up and handed me the bracelet box. She said, “Sam, honey, I want you to put your bracelet on me. But for that, you’ve got to take off my stockings. Unzip my dress, please, and then it’ll be easier.” I did as I was told (what male wouldn’t?), and Sissy wriggled the tight dress over her head to stand before me in a pale beige underwire bra, matching boy-leg lace panties, and thigh-high hose. I recalled seeing the same lingerie on a model in the Victoria’s Secret store window at the mall. Except that mannequin did not have breasts and derriere anywhere near Sissy’s class. She caught me admiring her voluptuous body, and smiled. She placed her left foot on the sofa cushion, between my legs. “Sam Tonnelli, stop ogling, and please remove my stocking,” she directed. “It will be my pleasure, my lady,” I replied, and I leisurely and softly slid my fingers up her calf, past her knee, and onto her soft, white thighs. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mary Pat staring at my hands and Sissy’s pussy, all the while one hand was rubbing her breast. By this time, my fingers had reached the elastic top of the stocking, but I deliberately let my hands overshoot so that my fingers lightly brushed Sissy’s panties. They were already moist. I let her feel my knuckles rub against her labia for a few seconds to further stimulate her, then slid my fingers inside the stocking to begin to peel it off Sissy’s leg. It took only a few seconds to have the stocking rolled past Sissy’s knee and over her foot with a final tug, but my fingers had done plenty of stimulating. Sissy was sighing with satisfaction, and her right hand slipped down between her legs to rub her panties. I took the bracelet out of its box, and fastened the tiny clasp on the inside of her ankle. As a final flourish, I lightly brushed my lips over her thigh, about where her stocking top had been only moments ago. I repeated the process with Sissy’s right leg, and by the time that two stockings were in my lap, she was getting flushed, and breathing more heavily. “And now it’s your turn, Mary Pat,” I said softly. “Let me take off your stockings and put on your bracelet.” She blushed and stammered, “But this dress is cut so low, and is so tight, that I’m not wearing a bra, just pantyhose. If I take off my dress, and you take off my stockings, I’ll be naked.” “Then I’ll take off my underwear, too, honey,” Sissy declared. “Then we’ll both be nude for Sam to admire.” Without hesitation, she unhooked her bra and tugged down her panties. “Now let’s see your boobs and pussy, Mary Pat.” Mary Pat blushed, but stood up to unzip her fitted dress. She reached down for the hem of the dress, which was just above her knees, and pulled the garment over her head. Tossing the dress onto a chair, she moved to stand in front of me. Grinning and stretching out her arms to display her breasts, she announced, “The rest is up to you, Sam.” I didn’t hesitate to strip off Mary Pat’s pantyhose and encircle her ankle with the gold bracelet. Once the jewelry was in place, I paused a moment to admire the two naked women standing side by side in front of me. Mary Pat was about the same height as Sissy, yet her body made her appear taller, because she was slender with more angular body curves. Sissy’s breasts and body were more mature and voluptuous, decidedly female. I felt like I was looking at two nude paintings somewhere in a museum – one done by Renoir, and the other by Modigliani. Each was different, but both were exquisite. I couldn’t help myself. Impulsively, I grabbed Sissy’s ass cheeks, pulled her body into my face, and kissed her pussy affectionately. She held my face tight against her pussy lips, and moaned softly as I licked her labia and tongued her clit. I continued to eat Sissy’s pussy until she stiffened and gasped with a small orgasm. After getting herself aroused, Sissy gently pushed my face away. “That felt really good, sugar,” she said. “Now it’s your turn, Sam. Off with the pants and shirt.” I removed my shoes and socks, and then tackled the shirt, tie, and pants. Sissy took a few steps to reach me, and gave me an open-mouthed kiss, her tongue darting into my mouth. Then she slipped her hands under the elastic band of my boxers, and slipped them past my hips. Needless to say, between seeing two sets of naked breasts and neatly trimmed pussies and Sissy’s hands in my crotch, my cock was decently aroused. She gently lifted my balls and stroked my cock until it was fully rigid and pointed toward her head. “You have a very handsome cock, Sam,” she whispered as she kissed me on the cheek. “I don’t think I could ever say no to a man when he’s got a hard on. I want you to fuck me, but first eat Mary Pat’s snatch until she comes.” I kissed Sissy tenderly on the lips, and smiled at Mary Pat before pulling her body into my face as I had done with Sissy. The two pussies each had distinctive aromas and textures, and I reveled in being able to use my lips and tongue on both. By then, I was fully aroused, and that yearning feeling was boiling in my groin. I licked and tongued Mary Pat’s labia and clit in earnest, and she quickly responded. “Oh, God, that feels good!” she moaned. “Don’t stop, Sam. I want to come. Please make me come!” I rose from the sofa, and took Mary Pat by the hand around to the side of the sofa, which divided the sitting room. I backed her into the arm, until she had to lie on her back on the seat cushions, her legs draped over the upholstered arm. Smiling into her eyes, I lifted and spread her legs over my shoulders, and pressed my face into her open pussy lips. At the same time, I massaged her breasts and tickled her nipples. She moaned with pleasure when my tongue contacted her wet clit, and she thrust her hips in rhythm with my tongue movements. While I continued oral and breast foreplay with Mary Pat, I felt one of Sissy’s hands cup my balls and the other squeezed and stroked my cock. I sensed Mary Pat’s arousal climbing, and I flicked my tongue more energetically in and out of her vagina, until she was writhing and moaning to bring off her climax. It took about a dozen more flicks of my tongues and pinches of her nipples to bring her to the edge. Suddenly, her body stiffened, and she screamed with her orgasm. I kept on licking and sucking until she pulled her body away from me. “Oh, please, no more!” she begged, gasping for breath “Please, Sam, I can’t take any more.” Having excited Mary Pat to her climax, along with Sissy’s experienced hands expertly massaging my cock, got me close to my own limit. I removed myself from Mary Pat’s legs, and tossed the seat cushion from the overstuffed chair onto the floor. I grabbed both of Sissy’s shoulders and not too gently pushed her down to the floor, her bottom resting on the cushion. Sissy was as aroused as I was, and she eagerly bent her knees and spread her thighs wide. She held her arms open, inviting me to mount her. I knelt down between Sissy’s legs, and pointed my rigid cock over her wet vagina. Sissy smiled tenderly, and her hand guided the head of my cock past her lips. There is something very special about that sensation when a cock first penetrates a lover’s vagina. I could feel her vaginal muscles reflexively respond to having my organ inside her by contracting to pull my cock deeper. I wanted Sissy to be pleased with our first fuck, and I proceeded slowly and tenderly, letting her mind and body set the pace. She was an experienced and energetic lover, and we alternated between slow, short strokes with only part of my cock sliding into her, and hard, deep thrusts that had my balls slapping against her buttocks. I felt myself on the brink of coming, but I bit hard into my lip to restrain myself until I could sense Sissy’s orgasm erupting. It happened quickly. I heard Sissy moan more loudly and felt her belly and hips shudder, just before she screamed with her orgasmic ecstasy. I felt her nails dig into my back, and she lifted her hips off the cushion with each thrust of my cock. That was all it took for me to explode, and I gave out a gurgling growl as I came. I ejaculated three times into her vagina, each splash eliciting a gasp of pleasure from Sissy. We both tried to force some more sensations through additional thrusts, but both of us were physically and emotionally spent. I had been supporting myself on my elbows and knees, but I was too weak to continue to do so, collapsing my body on top of hers. Sissy wrapped her arms around me, and we lay entwined together for some time. Eventually, we both had regained most of our composure and breath, and I rolled off Sissy’s body to lie alongside her on the rug. Sissy giggled and knelt over me, moving her nipples back and forth across my mouth. I grabbed her shoulders to make her halt, and sucked firmly on one nipple, sometimes giving it a playful nip with my teeth. “Oh, sugar!” she said. “That was glorious! Just imagine; the very first fuck we have, and we both came at the same time. You are terrific, Sam Tonnelli.” “And so are you, Sissy,” I said, after discharging her nipple from my mouth. “You are positively terrific. But we are neglecting Mary Pat.” “No you’re not,” came Mary Pat’s voice from the sofa. “I was enjoying the show you two put on. It got me so turned on that I played with myself and had another orgasm. I’m spinning down as well.” I rose from the floor and grabbed the champagne bottle. “Why don’t we relax together on the bed, where we have more room and a nice soft mattress?” I said. The three of us adjourned to the king-sized bed, where we leaned against pillows supported by the headboard. I was in the middle between Sissy and Mary Pat, and I put an arm around each of my two naked women. Sissy passed the champagne bottle back and forth, and Mary Pat became the dispenser of veggie pieces and cheese cubes from a snack tray. We sipped the wine and ate snacks while we gaily chatted for about half an hour. By then I was refreshed, and my libido started to kick in once more. Taking turns, I kissed Sissy, then Mary Pat, on the lips, followed by a suck on a nipple. The women were recovered as well, and Mary Pat began to lightly scrape her long nails across my chest, centering on my nipples. There must be a direct nervous link between my nipples and my penis, because shortly after Mary Pat began to touch me, my cock started to swell and lengthen. Mary Pat noticed my response to her stimulation immediately. “Well, bless your heart, Sam,” she cooed. “I do believe that little ole cock of yours is coming back to life. Sissy, this time you can watch, and I get to have fun with Sam. Slide over to my side, sugar, and let’s get started.” I moved to Mary’s side, and she knelt between my legs to place her head in my crotch. She smiled and winked at me, then began to massage my cock with her hands. That soon had the desired effect, and my shaft was becoming more rigid and erect. “Show me how well you learned to hold an egg with your lips, baby,” I said. “Lick and suck my cock, Mary Pat. Get it nice and hard for your pussy.” “Oh, I just love sweet-talking lawyers. You sit back and enjoy. I’ll know when you’re ready.” Mary Pat definitely knew how to excite a man’s cock with her tongue and mouth. I was especially turned on when she would lightly run her tongue all the way around my cock, just behind the glans. Another wild trick was tracing her fingernail in the crevice in the head of my cock, which stimulated considerable pre-cum from its orifice. Sissy supported Mary Pat’s work on me by going to her cosmetic case and returning with a jar of Albolene cream. Callie had introduced me to this stuff, and it is ten times better than any of the other lubricating lotions and gels. Mary Pat stopped her cock sucking and sat down on my legs with her knees outside of mine, effectively pinning me to the bed. She grinned at Sissy, took a generous dollop from the jar, and proceeded to insert some of it into her vagina with her fingers. The remainder was massaged onto my cock, and she started to slide her fingers up and down on my shaft. She began slowly and teasingly to masturbate me, while I played with her breasts and nipples with my hands. Then Mary Pat’s rhythm grew faster, and her fingers squeezed my cock more firmly. The sensation was terrific, amplified by the fact that my legs were immobile under the weight of Mary Pat’s body. It felt like a cross between torture and pleasure, and my balls and cock were on fire, like I was going to come any second. “Oh, God, that feels good, Mary Pat,” I managed to croak out. “Let me fuck you, please. I want to come inside of you.” Mary Pat’s eyes brightened with desire, and she raised her body until my hard cock was under her vagina. She slowly slid her lips over my cock until all of it had disappeared into her pussy. I let her set the pace, and she raised and lowered her hips to have my cock rub against her clit. My hips began to thrust up and down in harmony with her motions on my cock, and Mary Pat sighed, then moaned ever more loudly as she approached her climax. I felt myself ready to explode, but I wanted Mary to come with me. My mind and body were totally wrapped up in the pleasure/pain moment that happens just before you come, when I heard Mary screaming. “Now, Sam!” she cried. “I’m going to come! Fuck me. Fuck me hard!” That was all it took. I spurted my semen into Mary Pat with two hard bursts, and then crumpled in exhaustion. Mary Pat continued to thrust her hips to extract the last of my potency and achieve a second orgasm. She succeeded, and then collapsed on top of me. Our bodies were slick with sweat, lubrication, and our own fluids, but we were totally satisfied. Gradually, our breathing returned to normal, and Mary Pat stirred and rolled off my body to climb out of the bed. “God, that was sensational, Sam,” she exclaimed. “I am one satisfied woman. And, Sissy, isn’t it kind of a turn-on to watch another man and woman fucking?” “Ladies,” I said. “I wish to thank both of you for one of the greatest evenings I’ve ever had. I’m sorry, but, please, don’t ask me for any more. Raw oysters can only do so much. I am totally drained for the night.” Sissy gently kissed me on the lips. “You have nothing to apologize about, sugar. You made tonight very wonderful for Mary Pat and me. Now let’s all rest, and we can think of more ways to scramble tomorrow.” It's Another Family Tradition We pulled the top sheet over the damp bottom one, and pulled a blanket over the three of us. I felt so satisfied, lying on my back, with a beautiful and sexy woman snuggled on each side of me. I whispered, “Sleep well, Sissy and Mary Pat. You Powell women are every man’s fantasy.” When I woke up the next morning, I was alone in the bed. The pillows on either side of me still had a faint fragrance of Sissy’s and Mary Pat’s colognes. There was also the musky scent of sex permeating the sheets. But even stronger was that wonderful aroma of morning coffee, and I could hear a woman’s voice singing in the running shower. I stood up, did some morning stretches to unkink my muscles, and put on a new Japanese style silk robe, purchased especially for this occasion. Following the trail of the coffee aroma, I went into the sitting room. Behind the sofa was a tea trolley, loaded with a silver coffee server, a glass pitcher of orange juice, and a plate of baked breakfast goods. Mary Pat was sitting in the easy chair, buttering an English muffin. All she was wearing was a royal blue silk shorty robe. She had loosely tied the robe at the waist, which exposed all of her legs and pussy when sitting in the chair. It was tempting, but I wanted coffee more. “Good morning, Sam,” she said brightly. “It appears that Sissy and I really did wear you out last night. You were out like a light. I’ve been up for an hour, and ordered room service. There was a very nice young man who served us. I put his tip on the room tab.” “If you showed him what I can see right now, Mary Pat, that would have been sufficient gratuity.” Mary Pat giggled. “No, I was standing and all covered up, Sam. All he saw was a little cleavage and some bare legs. He did seem to appreciate it, though.” We continued our light conversation while I rejuvenated myself with juice, a croissant and coffee. While I was buttering a second croissant, Sissy came into the room, wearing a towel like a sarong. A second towel was wrapped around her damp hair, and draped over one shoulder. Sometime I must ask Callie to show me how women do that trick. Mary Pat and I said our good mornings to her while she went to the trolley and buttered a croissant for herself. She sat on one end of the sofa, and I refilled our coffee cups before sitting on the other end next to her. To make pleasant conversation while nibbling and sipping, I remarked, “You know, I think that a woman looks her most beautiful when she first gets out of bed after she has had good sex the night before. There’s something about the look in her eyes and the softness in her movements at that time. It’s different for guys the morning after. We need to shower and shave before we look presentable.” “Well, you do need a shave, Sam,” Sissy replied. “But that robe is pretty sexy. What do the Japanese letters say?” “Good question, Sissy. I have no idea. I picked this one out because I liked the pattern and color.” “Then let’s pretend that it says ‘after a shower and a shave, what’s underneath is prime stuff,” said Mary Pat. We all laughed at her joke. “Okay, Mary Pat,” I said, “I can take a hint. Give me fifteen minutes in the bathroom, and then let’s get dressed and go exploring the island. It looks like it’s going to be a fine day.” By 10:30 we were dressed and in our car, ready for a day on what I consider one of the real jewels of the state of Georgia. Near the end of the nineteenth century, some of the rich New York moguls pooled their money and bought the entire island to build opulent “cottages” that they called hunting lodges for their families’ late winter vacations. The Jekyll Island Association lasted until the Fifties, when the island became the property of the state of Georgia, which assures that it will not be overrun with high-rise condo developments, or similar God-awful corruptions of the environment. This was Mary Pat’s first visit to Jekyll Island, so Sissy and I showed her our favorite places on the tiny coastal island. We began by taking the tram tour of the historic district, which is a collection of restored mogul cottages, some of which are open for tourists. The centerpiece of the district is the Grand Hotel, an old white, yellow and green wooden multi-storied structure built in the Victorian grand resort hotel tradition. I felt like J. P. Morgan, as we dined on its sunny, wooden-decked veranda. That particular Saturday, the hotel was busily prepping itself for an afternoon wedding and reception, and the three of us engaged in people watching. When we had finished our deli sandwiches and sweetened iced tea, we drove down to the South Dunes beach. The tide was just receding, so the few beachgoers that were coming that day had not yet arrived. We took off our shoes at the stairs going over the dunes and walked on the beach. This was the first really warm spell of the season, and the sun felt especially good as we waded in the cold ocean water and searched for shells in the sand. The three of us all felt in high spirits, like colts let out to pasture after a long winter in the barn. “This sun is too nice to pass up,” said Mary Pat. “Let’s get a jump on our tans this year and go down the beach behind those dunes, and lie in the sun for a while.” Sissy protested, “But we didn’t bring our bathing suits, Mary Pat.” “So we strip to our bras and panties,” Mary Pat argued. “If anyone does notice us from the beach, it’ll look like we’re wearing bikinis. And Sam’s boxers will look like his trunks. Come on, don’t be a coward.” We found a secluded spot behind the first rise of the dunes, sheltered from the ocean breezes but still in the sun. I spread out a hotel blanket I had taken along, and we all stripped down to our underwear. The girls began by lying on their stomachs to tan their backs. After about five minutes, Sissy got up on her knees, satisfied herself that no one else was around, and took off her bra. “No tan lines this way, except for a thong,” she said. “You ought to try it, Mary Pat.” Which she did, and I was treated to admiring two lovely female bodies. Both sides, since Sissy commanded that she and Mary Pat roll over every ten minutes to assure an even tan. By the second rollover, I was dozing on my back, and the idea of breasts and bellies next to me on a beach triggered lustful thoughts until my boxers were raised like a tent from my erect cock. Mary Pat noticed my condition and changed her prone position so that her head was above my groin. She gently kissed my sun-warmed belly, and kneaded my hard cock through my shorts. “Sissy, this hunk has got his equipment armed and ready for more action,” she said. “We’ve all had enough sun for the first day, so let’s go back to our hotel room, and have some playtime.” The two women didn’t bother to put their bras back on, just slipping their dresses over their slightly pinked bodies. Once back in the privacy of our room, Mary Pat immediately unzipped her dress and stripped off her panties. She beckoned Sissy and me into the bedroom. “Sissy, let’s both of us suck Sam’s cock, and then I’m going to let him fuck me doggie style. I’ll eat your pussy at the same time.” This idea had two eager participants, and Sissy was out of her clothes in a flash to join Mary Pat in helping me struggle to get my pants and boxers off while I had a raging erection. They soon succeeded, and I was rewarded with the double treat of having my cock licked by two tongues at the same time, while I lay on my back in the middle of the bed. I groaned with the pleasurable sensation. All at once, Sissy stopped her stimulation, and pulled Mary Pat away from my groin. Her eyes were bright with excitement, and she wore a mischievous smile. “Mary Pat, I want to see Sam jerk off before we let him fuck us.” She grinned at me. “You’ll have to do it, Sam, or no more pussy for that good-looking cock.” Sissy and Mary Pat pushed me onto my knees, and then they sat up, propped with pillows against the headboard to watch me. The open jar of Albolene was still on the nightstand, and Sissy slathered some on my cock, which was now fully erect and swollen. “OK, Sam, start thinking of something really exciting, and shoot a load at Mary Pat. We both want to see you come while we turn ourselves on.” I had not expected this, and my initial reaction was one of inhibited embarrassment. But the eroticism of the moment, with three naked bodies each masturbating, captured me. It was a real ego trip to observe two women staring at my erection, desire crackling in their eyes, while their fingers played with their clits and labia. The whole scene had my cock and groin throbbing with sexual tension, demanding any form of release. I began stroking my cock, and I visualized the time last summer at the cabin when I watched Cat and Sue Ann getting it on together. After the first half-dozen strokes of my hand, I was wholly into this unusual scene. All you guys reading this will understand that there is that certain moment when you are masturbating, that your whole being is transported to a level of excitement from which there is only one way to return. All I wanted at that moment was to make myself come, and for these two women to be pleasured by it. I cupped my balls with my left hand, and began jerking off my cock with my right. I tried to keep my eyes open, to see Mary Pat’s expression, but the nerves in my body would not permit it. The throbbing in my cock grew with each stroke of my hand, and I began to breath heavily and moan with excitement. I could hear words of encouragement from both Mary Pat and Sissy, but it was unnecessary. I moaned loudly, and felt my balls tighten. With my cock pointed straight at Mary Pat’s face, I erupted, shooting several streams of semen. The first landed on her neck and breasts, while the second splashed her open mouth and chin, as she leaned forward toward me. I continued to kneel in front of Mary Pat and Sissy, recovering my breath and composure after my orgasm. Mary Pat grinned at me and wiped up my cum on her face and chest, offering her fingers to Sissy for licking clean. Then she knelt in front of me to lick my now softening cock. Her tongue felt wonderful. “That was a total turn-on, Sam,” said Mary Pat. “Now you catch your breath and watch me eat Sissy’s pussy until she comes. Feel free to join in and fuck me when you’re ready.” Mary Pat slid her body over Sissy’s reclining torso, and buried her face deep into Sissy’s pussy. Sissy encouraged her by running her fingers through Mary Pat’s hair while thrusting her hips up and down. Her groans and murmurs of tenderness revealed how effectively Mary Pat’s tongue and fingers on her breasts were arousing Sissy. Just as it had at the cabin with Cat and Sue Ann, the spectacle of Sissy and Mary Pat having sex together overwhelmed me with loving and tender thoughts about them. Even though I had been invited by Mary Pat, and my cock was hardening with second desires, I was reluctant to intrude. Sissy and Mary Pat were both givers and takers to and from each other, and it would have been selfish of me to satisfy my own lusts until their intimate communication had reached its satisfying conclusion. But Sissy had other ideas for the pleasure of the three of us. She smiled at me and said, “Take Mary Pat now, Sam. Fuck her and make her come while she is doing me.” I did as she directed, sliding my now hard cock into Mary Pat’s wet vagina from the rear. Somehow Mary Pat sensed and understood that there was a bond between Sissy and me, and at that particular moment, it was Mary Pat’s pleasure to communicate that bond. Each time I would thrust deeper into Mary Pat, she would more earnestly suck and lick Sissy’s clit and vagina, as if she were an extension of my cock. I know that this sounds preposterous, but then sexual experiences seldom can be related well to someone who was not involved. You’ll just have to take my word for it – at that moment, there were three sexually excited bodies and mutually bonded minds on that bed, and each of us reached our personal climaxes at nearly the same time. I came in Mary Pat; she climaxed from my orgasm; and Sissy jerked and screamed with hers seconds later. The three of us continued to have fun and great sex together for the remaining time on Jekyll, and I saw how the imaginative and playful sex had changed Sissy’s and Mary Pat’s spirit, as well as mine. Now I totally got the concept that Callie’s grandmother sought – scrambling actually was a re-creation of that joy of sex for the sheer pleasure of it. Our activities for the remaining time on the island were just like what honeymooning couples would do anywhere; only there were three of us. One of the most amusing times occurred that Saturday evening, when Mary Pat revealed how her Powell genes ran true to form in female earthiness and saucy tongue. We decided to go to dinner in the Grand Hotel Victorian dining room. The ladies’ dresses were modern sexy and short ones, and I wore my green blazer and slacks, but otherwise you could imagine yourself back in the heyday of the Jekyll Island Club, with ladies in full-length gowns with trains, and the men in formal attire. From the soft plush carpeting to the heavy silver place settings on the starched white tablecloths, the ambience oozed old-time elegance. After finishing a multi-course dinner, we peeked into the ballroom, where the reception for the afternoon wedding was in full swing. Sissy counted six bridesmaids and groomsmen throughout the many couples dancing waltzes and slow foxtrots played by a seven-piece orchestra. The father of the bride, dressed in tails with black tie, happened to be returning from the Men’s Room, and he noticed us observing the festivities. He was the quintessential glad-hander, and that night he was showing off to any audience he could find. “Hey there,” he boomed, as he placed his hand on my shoulder and grasped my right hand. “Y’all want to come in? There’s plenty of booze and food. Hell, there oughta be; this spread is costing me over two hunnert big ones.” By the time he stopped talking, he had pushed me into the room, heading for the bar and buffet. Sissy and Mary Pat trailed along, and Cal (that was what he insisted I call him; all his good buddies do), soon was chatting to them while sneaking peeks down their necklines. He ordered us all champagne, and while the bartender filled four glasses, he asked where I was from, and what did I do. When I replied that I was an attorney from Augusta, his eyes returned to my green blazer. You could tell that he was putting two and two together, and he calculated six – I must be a member of the Augusta National Golf Club, sponsor of the Masters tournament. This made me someone special to Cal, and I didn’t try to correct his misconception. I made every effort not to show the Land’s End label on the inside of my blazer. Once we got our glasses from the bar, Cal hustled us over ‘to meet the little woman, and my daughter the bride.’ As much as Cal was babbity, his wife, Victoria, was every bit the snob. She immediately mentioned their last names after Cal’s first name introductions. “We’re the Langford’s, from Savannah, the historic district of course. My maiden name was Dalton, of the Macon Daltons. Hmm, Tonnelli. Are you any relation to the Tonnellis of Beaufort?” (The first syllable is pronounced just like the word beautiful, if you want to be in the know.) “Let me introduce you to my eldest daughter, Eleanor, and my new son, Trask Dunwoody. Trask is on the governor’s staff in Atlanta, you know, following the Dunwoody family line of state politicians. After the honeymoon, they will be residing in their new home in Fairmont Hills, a gated community in North Macon.” “Yeah,” Cal interrupted. “The down payment on the damn thing set me back three hundred big ones. But that’s OK; Trask’s old man has ponied up for the annual dues to the country club there. Say, Sam, old buddy, you wouldn’t want to invite me up to play a round at your club, would you? I’ve always dreamed of playing that sixteenth hole. Is that green really as tough to read as the TV guys say?” “Really, Langford,” his wife went on, “It’s rather vulgar to monopolize the talk to golf, that silly sport. We must be boring these lovely ladies to death.” She turned to Mary Pat and gave her a toothy smile. “That is a fetching dress, my dear, ahem, what there is of it. Where in Augusta did you get it? This one that I’m wearing was made especially for me at Boldt’s in Savannah.” Eleanor, the bride, showed as much snobbery as her mother. She also smiled at Mary Pat, who stood next to me, holding my arm affectionately. “Daddy didn’t say, Mr. Tonnelli, but I assume that this lovely little lady is your bride. How long did it take you to come up to scratch and make her an honest woman? I declare, I sometimes thought that Trask would never pop the question. And since they call you Sissy,” she said, turning to her, “You must be her older sister.” Sissy stiffened, but to my relief she said nothing. Mary Pat, on the other hand, had had enough of these condescending remarks and boasts. She flashed her best smile at me and pecked my cheek with her lips. Then she mimicked the thickest red-neck pine woods accent that you ever want to hear. “Wahl, hunnee,” she drawled, “Ah do believe there’s bin a sorta confusion heah. The truth o’ the matta is that none of us ahr wedded to the otha. We each got summon else back home neah Augusta. Sissy an’ Ah have double-wides in the same traila pahk, an’ we only just met Sam, heah, in the WalMaht this week. But he’s been godawful gen’rous, and been so sweet to take us down heah.” She was a perfect comedienne, who waited for the effect of her parody to sink in before continuing. I could barely keep a straight face, and Sissy was already shaking with the giggles. “Ya’ husbin surely has bin gen’rous to you, too, ma’am,” Mary Pat drawled on, looking at Mrs. Langford, and then turned to Eleanor. “An’ y’all, too, Miz Trask. Ah thenk it positively ahdohable that both momma and dotta catched theirselves rich men. So tonight, ah hope that y’all both do the right theng to show yer gratitude, lahk Sissy and Ah inten’ t’do with Sam heah.” “And what might that be?” Mrs. Langford managed to hiss out between her teeth, her mouth frozen in a polite smile. Mary Pat grinned mischievously at Cal and Trask before turning her eyes on the mother-of-the-bride. “Jus’ get to bed earleh, and fuck his brains out.” She playfully tapped Cal on his arm. “Lan’ sakes, y’all got that much comin’ to ya. Y’all have a good time, y’heah?” I hustled my two women, now giggling audibly, out of the ballroom before I lost my composure and doubled over laughing. From behind me, I heard Mrs. Langford’s final remarks. “Well, I never! Langford, don’t you dare invite anyone else to our nice party, do you hear me?” Once outside, the three of us convulsed with laughter, until tears were running down my face. When I finally calmed down, I told the two women that I was holding them to Mary Pat’s pledge, once back in the Holiday Inn. Sissy tried to imitate Mary Pat’s accent. “Lissen, suh, us double-wide sluts heah in Gawga allus keeps our word. ‘Sides, heah in Dixie, it’s only propah to remove the brains of a Yankee lawyah from Hahvahd.” And let me tell you, Sissy and Mary Pat put forth their best efforts, until I was beginning to think that sexual lobotomy was a real possibility. I was one tired, but happy puppy that night. We slept late on Sunday morning. The sun was promising a gorgeous day, and we ordered a picnic basket lunch for another day on the island. This time we rented bicycles at a place next to the hotel, and we pedaled the length of the island on the bike trails until lunch. After sating ourselves with wine, bread, cheese and fruit, we stretched out on a blanket under the early spring sun and snoozed until almost three o’clock. On the way back to our hotel, Sissy got the idea that I should give her and Mary Pat a bikini line hair groom. After picking up materials at the local CVS, we had a silly and fun time in the room with bikini wax, Albolene, and a huge dildo that Sissy had brought with her. Both women insisted on comparing the oversized, but synthetic tool vs. my natural equipment under what Sissy called ‘ideal laboratory conditions.’ My macho pride was salvaged when both Sissy and Mary Pat diplomatically declared the real thing to be superior to the plastic monster, on the basis of my cock being able to ejaculate in their vaginas. It's Another Family Tradition For our final night out, we drove to mainland Brunswick to a tiny, hole-in-the-wall restaurant, where we were told the best Low Country Boil was served. For those who are unfamiliar with this dish, it contains potatoes, half-ears of corn, shrimp, Anduoille sausage, and some white fish, all boiled and simmered with Cajun-like spices. Eating these goodies is not a tidy spectacle, but there is nothing tastier with cold draft beer. The restaurant also served wedges of warm home-made pecan pie topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Like the song from ‘Carousel,’ our hearts were warm, and our bellies were full after that meal. As we departed, the waitress told us about a nearby roadhouse that had a live local Zydeco band, where we drank more beer, stomped our feet, and learned some Cajun lyrics. It was after midnight when we were back in our hotel room, and all three of us somehow understood that our feelings for sex for that night was ambivalent. None of us knew quite how to draw this weekend to a fitting close. Finally, Mary Pat said the words, as she symbolically unclasped her ankle bracelet and placed it in her purse. “This weekend has been something very special for me,” she said. “I came with the expectation of just enjoying good times and recreational sex, but you, Sissy, and you, Sam, have made it more than that. I think that I’m going to start bawling like a baby, because we’ll never be together like this again. I love you both so much.” I kissed Mary Pat on her cheek, tasting the salty tear that had rolled down it. “I think I understand what you are feeling right now, Mary Pat, and I feel the same way. This weekend has been extra special for me, too, and likewise Sissy, I’m certain. I suggest that we just undress and cuddle together under the quilt. No more sex. Let’s each of us close our eyes and imagine that we are back together with our spouse, with whom we share our whole lives. At the same time, we can feel how closely bonded we are to each other at this moment. That will always be one of our secret treasures.” And that is how our evening ended. I lay between Mary Pat and Sissy, all of us naked. Their warm, soft bodies, with their beautiful curves, felt wonderful to me. One by one, we fell asleep, gently stroking and touching the body next to us, yet each thinking of someone else, who belonged to us, and who completed our lives. Monday morning, we were silent and introspective while we re-packed our suitcases before checking out. It was as if we each had something to say to the others, but we couldn’t find the right words. The Powell Family Scramble of 2004 had come to an end. Never again would the three of us share times together like these. Our sexual appetites for variety and new experiences had been satisfied, but we knew that it was time to resume to our chosen lives with our permanent spouses. It could have been a very long and bittersweet ride back to Augusta, with the three of us feeling the way that we did. Fortunately, however, Sissy spotted a billboard on the side of I-95, just south of Darien. It advertised a ‘Nude Café – We Bare All.’ The idea of a topless coffee shop was too much of a curiosity, and we stopped to gape and ogle. Somehow, the sight of virtually naked women serving us coffee and heated Danish sweet rolls at 10:30 on a Monday morning touched our silly bones, breaking the spell of melancholy that had captured us. For the remainder of the ride home, we could chat, laugh, and feel relaxed and refreshed. I dropped Sissy off at Mary Pat’s house, kissed them both affectionately, and drove alone to my house. By the time I had unpacked and started the laundry, I heard a car pull into our driveway. It was a Lexus SUV, which I didn’t recognize. Callie stepped out on the right side and retrieved her suitcase from the back. I must admit that I winced a little when I saw her lean back into the car, obviously giving someone a goodbye kiss. She waved and watched as the car backed down the driveway and sped off. I wondered what she was thinking, as she walked up to the front door. When she saw me standing in the hallway, Callie squealed with delight and ran into my arms. “Oh, Sam, it’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed. “I was thinking about you all the way back. Well, maybe not quite all the time. Now, remember the rules, sugar – you don’t tell, and I don’t tell.” She then grinned at me with that special look for me. “But I’ll bet you had some real good times, didn’t you?” I hugged and kissed her with as much tenderness and warmth as I knew how. “Yes, I did, Cat. The Powell women and their traditions are truly something special. But you will always be the most special Powell to me.” - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - I hope you enjoyed the playtime of Sam, Sissy, and Mary Pat. I appreciate and value feedback and comments from readers. Tell me what you liked, and feel free to suggest improvements. That’s the only way authors can develop and improve. Canadagander