Moms at the Beach Ch. 05

This chapter and the two that follow were written in response to readers' comments, observations, etc. regarding Moms at the Beach. The narrator of the first four chapters was Sharon, one of the moms at the beach. For this and the next two chapters Lisa, one of the twins, assumes that duty.

As always, all story characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.

* * * *

If you read the preceding four chapters you know the broad outline of my sister's and my life. Our parents adored each other. There are lots of examples, but my favorite is a simple one. Whenever Mom walked into a room there was always this moment when Dad caught his breath and completely focused on her. He'd walk over to her, take her hand in his, kiss her, say something kind or complimentary. It would happen no matter where they were, at the house, at a party, at a reception for the university's chancellor. I believe he'd have done it in while talking to the President of the United States. They were the most important people in the world to each other. Cindy and I felt protected, ensconced in their love.

It was also true that while in public they were appropriate, in private they couldn't keep their hands off each other. I'm not talking about making out, although there was plenty of that. No, what I mean is that if they were in the same room, they touched. Maybe a foot resting on the other's legs. Maybe holding hands, maybe leaning against each other, but if they could touch each other, they did touch each other. They were also always emerging late from the bedroom in the morning or hitting the sack early at night or heading upstairs for a late morning/early/mid/late afternoon nap. We weren't fooled; they had no idea how loud they were.

Dad and Mom had both related their history. Mom's version was a bit raunchier.

Dad was a 29 year old civil engineer hired by the Huejulos Group to evaluate a mountainous region in central Columbia for the construction of a pipeline. The area was inhabited by the Chibchan-speaking Arhuaco people. It was essential that someone who spoke the dialect accompany the group. Salvador Huejulos, our grandfather, had just the candidate: his daughter.

Dad had met the girl. She was stunning, bright, and engaging, but, Dad thought, far too pampered to live out of a back pack and sleep in a tent for weeks. But Grandad was paying the bill and Grandad had a secret agenda. There was an international soccer tournament in town and his wild child daughter was already trolling the locker rooms; some weeks in the wilderness would be just the thing. When he broached the idea he was surprised by her enthusiastic agreement. We'll get to that in a second.

To Dad's surprise Mom not only fit in, but was the first one up in the morning to tend the fire and did more than her share of the work. Her upbeat attitude infected the entire mission and her wild bawdy sense of humor kept everyone laughing.

Now, as to why Mom agreed to eschew the soccer studs. Mom said she fell helplessly hopelessly in love for life with our father within seconds of meeting him. She spent the first six nights of the expedition trying to crawl into his sleeping bag. Dad dutifully resisted. On day seven Mom and Dad met with a band of Arhuaco who, as part of their ritual greeting, offered to share a beverage with my father. Mom owned up that she might have mistranslated the Chibchan, "Used in our fertility rituals," as "Share with new friends." In any case, when Mom crawled into Dad's tent that night he was putty in her hands. As far as I could tell he'd been so ever since.

Dad was concerned about returning to Bogota; he'd have to tell Grandad that not only was the land was unsuitable for the pipeline, but that he'd fallen in love with and was sleeping with his daughter. It turned out not to be a problem. Grandad had expected the first, he just wanted to shut up his partners; as to the second, he was overjoyed that a sensible successful older man had finally tamed his daughter. They were married before they left the country; Mom was carrying me and my sister.

Mom, whose facility for language never failed to amaze, majored in English, got her PhD, and accepted a position teaching at the College of Charleston. Dad, who had established his own firm, renovated a 1820's building in the historic district for his office. We lived in a happy, social world. Mom and Dad loved to entertain; our house was ever filled with guests. Mom was also a fairy godmother to her department's graduate students and they were a constant presence in our home. I now know that the constant hum of activity was unusual, but for Cindy and I it was the norm. We thought everyone lived that way.

* * * *

Treicia Johnson called at the beginning of our freshman year at Duke University. While a grad student she'd been a regular visitor to our home. She was now an associate professor at Duke teaching African-American literature.

We met her for lunch at the Blue Corn Café, a vegetarian bistro near campus. A diminutive woman, five feet tall, 110 pounds, she greeted us like old friends. She was also, as I remembered, quite pretty. Her skin was a creamy brown in color, her face triangular and featured high arching eyebrows that framed intelligent brown eyes. She wore her hair in braids.

"Your Mom called and told me you were coming here. She asked me to look you up, show you the ropes. It's so good to see you two, you're all grown up."

Cindy, the extrovert of us two, carried most of the conversation during lunch. We were finishing our coffee when Cindy asked about fun clubs in town.

"There are a number of places. I'm going to the Pinhook tonight. Why don't you join me?"

We'd heard a positive buzz about the Pinhook. Cindy answered for both of us. "Love to."

Treicia wrote down her address. We arrived promptly at 8:00 and found a different Treicia. Instead of the conservative blue dress we'd seen at lunch, she wore a daring black number, it was short and featured a plunging neckline. Her black shoes featured five inch heels and were held on by four straps. Her hair was down; she sported long dangling earrings.

Cindy scanned her up and down. "Damn, you look good. I didn't know we were supposed to dress up."

Cindy was wearing a gray sack dress. It ended several inches above her knees and was tight enough to show off her body. I wore a simple red dress with half-length sleeves and wedge shoes. It emphasized my legs, my best asset.

Treicia, inviting us in, replied, "It's not a dress-up place, people come in everything, gowns to jeans. It's a fun crowd."

We sat on a large comfortable red couch. Sweet slow jazz music was playing. I sniffed, there was a definite smell of marijuana. Treicia noticed I'd noticed.

"You guys indulge?" she asked.

"I do," I answered, "Cindy doesn't."

Treicia turned to my sister, who returned the gaze. "Yeah, I tried it a few times. I got nauseous and walked around for days feeling addled. You go ahead."

Treicia opened a small wooden box on her coffee table, lit a joint, we passed it back and forth, held the smoke in our lungs. Treicia leaned back into her chair and said, "Seeing you two makes me think back to when I first met your mother, and father. They opened up a whole new world for me. We had some wild times."

What new world? What wild times?

Cindy was as confused as me but more pro-active. "Mom and Dad said you opened up some new worlds for them also."

"Really, that was kind of them. I wasn't sure if you guys knew."

"It was not that big a house. It was hard to keep secrets."

I didn't know what was going on, but it appeared I was going along for the ride.

Treicia reached for another joint, lit it, passed it to me. I took a toke, handed it back. She took a deep hit, let it out, laughed.

"Y'know your mother was the first woman I ever kissed."

Whatthefuck.

"Well, you guys ready to go?"

Whatthefuck.

We piled into Treicia's car, pulling up ten minutes later at The Pinhook. It was hip; not a gay and lesbian bar, but gay and lesbian friendly. There was a DJ when we got there; an hour later a band took the stage. We drank some local beer, ate some vegan food, danced with each other, with total strangers, mostly women, and with everybody en masse. The dance floor was dense with bodies, the air conditioning system failed to keep up, we were drenched in sweat.

And, over the course of the evening, fueled by the beer, the pot, the atmosphere, and Cindy's prodding, Treicia kept talking.

We knew that Mom had been a bit of a wild child. That, it turned out, was an understatement. Mom had had an omnivorous sexual appetite, inviting men and women, contemporaries and adults, multiple partners - black, white, red - to her bed. She had calmed down during the marriage, straying only on vacation and then with Dad's permission, bedding women she'd never meet again. And although invited, Dad had always refused to participate.

When Treicia became a graduate student, however, she and Mom felt a powerful and not to subtle attraction to each other; they could see the desire in the other's eyes. Treicia had long struggled with her sexuality; she liked men but felt an ongoing attraction to women; when she met Mom she accepted it as real.

Mom came home day after day gushing about Treicia, her new grad student; Dad understood; he had known this day would come and, after making ferocious love to his wife, agreed to take Treicia on as their lover. We were sent to visit Grandad; Mom and Dad rented a beach cabin and invited Treicia to join them. There Treicia discovered she could balance her mutual attraction to men and women and Dad found he could learn to like the arrangement.

Treicia had been the first. Since then there'd always been a grad student who'd been Mom and Dad's lover. I remembered them, constant visitors to the house.

Around midnight I dragged Cindy outside.

"What are we going to do about Mom and Dad?"

"Do? There's nothing we can do. They're grown-ups. I mean, I knew Mom and Dad were sex-crazed, but I'd never imagined this. But when you think about it, it explains a whole lot of shit that happened at the house."

I'd already thought about it, she was right.

And then my crazy-ass sister said, "And, you gotta admit, it's fucking hot."

We left the club shortly after 1:00 A.M. The pot, the hours of dancing in a sea of sweaty gyrating bodies, the continuing revelations about my parents; I was frigging horny. I needed to get home to my vibrator. When we arrived at Treicia's, however, Cindy plopped down on the couch. Fidgety, I sat on a nearby chair. Treicia passed out bottled water and sat next to Cindy; in an unladylike hurry we chugged down the water. Cindy pecked Treicia on the lips, then turned back around and leaned into her.

"Thanks for the water, thanks for the evening. Wow, was that fun."

Treicia, her arm draped across Cindy's chest, said, "You're welcome. I hope your parents don't accuse me of corrupting you."

"Don't worry, we're already corrupt," Cindy said.

That actually wasn't true. While Cindy and I weren't virgins, neither of us had had an ongoing sexual relationship. We'd fooled around with guys, and some girls - but our high school classmates were clumsy lovers, their performances more frantic than skilled. We discussed taking older, more experienced lovers, but Mom and Dad were too prominent for anyone who we'd want to take a chance with to take a chance with us. Thus we'd had been reduced to seducing a few adults on our occasional out-of-town excursions and, on our senior class trip, the little fox who taught Advanced Placement English.

Cindy rolled her head as if she had a crimp in her neck. Treicia saw it; her hands went to Cindy's shoulder. Despite her diminutive stature Treicia was strong; she aggressively kneaded the muscles of my sister's shoulders and neck. Cindy, murmuring her appreciation, snuggled into Treicia. Treicia slid a hand down Cindy's side; it came to rest on her thigh. Cindy spread her legs; I could see her panties.

After several minutes Cindy said thanks, kissed Treicia's cheek. Treicia intertwined her fingers with Cindy's, brought the hands to her mouth, kissed my sister's palm, then, her lips parting, teeth gleaming, she kissed Cindy on the side of the head.

Cindy turned to face Treicia, touched her lips; Treicia took the finger into her mouth, sucked on it.

After wallowing in the sensations, Cindy pulled her finger from Treicia's mouth, slipped her hand under Treicia's dress, pushed aside the bra, cupped the mound, squeezed, rolled a nipple between her fingers, rubbed the hard tip. Treicia murmured; kissed Cindy. Their lips played together. When Treicia's tongue emerged, Cindy's lips parted and accepted the kiss. Their tongues dueled with each other.

Cindy freed Treicia's other breast from her bra, pulled them free of her dress. Her breasts were nice, not too big, B's, the right size for her slender frame; the areolas were round, small and brown, the nipples were dark and erect. Fascinated, I leaned forward and ran an index finger over a nipple. Treicia groaned, twisted her torso, pressing her boob to my hand. I fondled it, squeezed it, stroked the nipple. Treicia's legs fell open, her dress crept up to the top of her thighs. She wasn't wearing panties; her pussy was shaved bare.

Cindy pushed Treicia's dress off her shoulders and ran her hands over Treicia's body, the movements gentle, exploratory. Treicia pressed her lips to Cindy's. Cindy kissed back, the kiss slow and loving. Cindy pulled Treicia's hair aside, licked and explored an ear, kissed her shoulder and neck, dipped her head and took a nipple in her mouth, then slowly and patiently, suckled on the breast, patently enjoying the womanly flesh.

When Treicia whispered, "I want to be naked," Cindy released the breast. Treicia raised her arms and Cindy drew Treicia's dress off her body, then pulled her own dress off and reached behind herself and undid her bra. She pushed Treicia against the sofa, kissed her. Treicia twisted away, bent down, caught Cindy's thick hard nipples between her lips, kissed down Cindy's body, placed her hands on Cindy's thighs, spread them. Treicia slid her fingers inside Cindy's panties.

I was watching, stroking my pussy lips. Cindy interrupted my reverie.

"Hey sis, come over and play."

I joined them on the couch and Treicia brought her lips to mine, her agile tongue delighting my mouth.

I'd made out with girls before, but it was nothing like this. I pulled away for a moment, trying to calm my racing heart, closed my eyes, caught my breath, but the couch shifted. Now it was Cindy's face that was an inch from mine. She leaned in and kissed me; her tongue brushed past my lips into my mouth. I offered no resistance. Kissing my sister felt good.

Treicia stood, reached for Cindy's hand, helped her up, curled her fingers around the hem of Cindy's panties, pulled them past the curve of her hips. Cindy, a saucy smile splitting her face, wiggled her ass; the panties slid down her legs. Treicia ran her fingers through Cindy's thick bushy cunt.

"Nice and furry, just like your Mom's."

Treicia sank another finger inside Cindy, decided she was ready, and knelt, facing my sister. I slid to the end of the couch for a better view. Treicia took a deep whiff, savoring my sister's strong scent, and licked along the length of my sibling's cunt, following with short darting licks, like a kitten at a milk bowl. She moved up to the clit, sucked it into her mouth, ran two fingers along Cindy's pussy lips and, slowly, theatrically, sank them into Cindy's pussy. She lifted the juice coated fingers to Cindy's mouth. Cindy licked one side clean and, taking hold of Treicia's wrist, moved the hand in front of my face.

This was my sister's pussy juice. Oh, whatthefuck. I licked. Treicia sank her fingers back inside Cindy's pussy.

Cindy said, "Uh, sis, you got way too many clothes on."

Was I willing to join the orgy? Whatthefuck. I peeled off my clothes. Treicia, her eyes fixed on my naked form, said, "Cindy, your sister's beautiful. She grew up well."

I sat and smirked, self-conscious at my nakedness.

Treicia pulled her fingers from Cindy's sex, dropped to all fours and, in a sensual feline motion, crawled to me, let out a gentle purr, and pushed the fingers that had been inside Cindy into me. Cindy, who was sitting next to me, ran her hands over my body, paying special attention to my breasts and nipples. My lingering inhibitions were hopelessly outgunned, any remaining reservations incinerated by the burn between my legs.

Cindy slid to the floor and kissed Treicia; a quick peck that quickly escalated. Cindy reached between Treicia's legs and explored her bald pussy lips, then pushed two fingers inside. Treicia shuddered and started rotating her fingers within me. I watched my sister finger-fuck the woman who was finger-fucking me.

Treicia sensed I was ready. She pulled her fingers from my pussy and attacked my sex with her fierce talented tongue. Shit, guys had eaten me before, but no guy had been like this. I let out a long low animal groan. Treicia looked up at me, her lips smeared with my flow, and then brought her head back to my pussy. She sucked and licked, sometimes softly, often on the border of obsessed. She tongued my clit, sucked on the lips of my vulva. The beautiful black woman, who had been my mother's lover, who had been by father's lover, was now my lover.

Cindy kept fingering Treicia's sex, but slowed the action, letting Treicia focus on my cunt. Treicia licked my clit with the soft underside of her tongue. Treicia's mouth visited every sensitive spot between my legs. Treicia sucked my clit between her lips, bathed it, flicked it; she pushed two fingers into my fuck tunnel, found my g-spot.

And then I felt it coming with the certainty of guided missile. My breathing accelerated; my body tensed; the muscles of my legs, arms, and back tightened; my ass cheeks puckered. My cunt muscles clamped down on Treicia's fingers and then it was here, a long sweet joyful climax. My body spasmed; muscles convulsed; nerves tingled. Treicia kept at it, sucking and licking, drawing out the experience. I came again, then again, short sharp orgasms, powerful punctuation marks to the joy already spreading between my legs. My arms and legs became flaccid, I melted into the couch, eyes half-closed, savoring the sensations.

By the time I opened my eyes again Cindy was on her back, legs spread, her feet on the back of Treicia's calves. Treicia was atop her. Their pussies were mashed together, grinding into each other. Treicia placed her hands on Cindy's shoulders and moved forward. Cindy grabbed Treicia's butt, forcing their pussies tighter together. Cindy lifted her head, licked Treicia's mouth; Treicia kissed back, forcing Cindy's head to the floor, her tongue exploring my sister's mouth.

They rubbed their vulvas and vaginal lips into each other. Cindy moved deliberately, wanting to treasure each sensation, each nuance. Treicia accommodated Cindy; the undulations of her tight ass were unhurried. Treicia reached between their bodies, cupped Cindy's breasts; Cindy's nipples hardened. Cindy was gurgling, losing herself in the pleasure.

They want on and on. I could see that my sister was ready to come.

"Fuck her harder Treicia, she's ready."

Treicia glanced in my direction and started rocking her hips. Cindy's head rolled back, making a sound that merged gasp and groan.

While Cindy and I both had dark skin, the contrast with Treicia's chocolate brown was striking; Cindy was almost pale in comparison. Treicia was slim and slight; Cindy and I stocky, big boned. Treicia's breasts were small and light; Cindy's thick and heavy with those extraordinarily large nipples. Treicia's pussy was shaven, my sister's bush dense and infested with the cunt juice of two women.