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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

(Author’s Note: This is the third of my “Chaperone” stories – The other two being “Gangbang Chaperone” and “Glory Hole Chaperone” – all of which follow the sexual misadventures of Patty and her daughter Jane. These are all stand-alone tales, so don’t feel obligated to ‘catch-up’ before reading. However, you should because they’re awesome.

Also: a warning: The sexual activities in this work of fiction are diverse and occasionally extreme. Therefore, this tale is not for those of sensitive temperament or finicky tastes.)

***

Part 1: A Family Emergency

The pimply kid they dispatched to fetch Janie from class just about knocked himself out when he slammed into the doorframe on his way into the hall. I’d been facing the other way at the time, checking out the school’s sparsely populated trophy case, but I’d seen him in the reflection of the glass as he passed, ogling my ass like it was the first and last one he ever expected to see. I have to admit, I felt a shameful upwelling of pride at that: a whole building full of primo teenage tail and the kid couldn’t resist checking out my equipment. I might be thirty-four, but I still got it!

I continued to stand before the glass trophy case and covertly survey the room though the reflection. Since I’d arrived to pull Janie out of school for a “family emergency” the male population of the school’s administrative office had increased significantly: the vice principal was now standing behind the counter rifling through a small stack of what looked like blank papers; a bearded teacher showed up, spotted me and sat down to tap at a computer he wasn’t even pretending to look at; two janitors were fussing with a laser printer that seemed to work just fine and small clusters of boys had begun to accumulate in the corners and low-traffic areas like drifts of autumn leaves, speaking to each other in quiet, frustrated voices while gawking at my figure with hungry eyes. Eventually the girls’ field hockey coach showed up and shooed away the idle students before taking their place ocularly fondling me with a frankly lascivious stare. The only sour note in the reflected panorama of me-appreciation was an ancient secretary sporting a flame-red dye-job with gray roots who was flashing me some serious Stink Eye over the tops of her half-lens reading glasses.

I know some women just don’t like me. I’m used to it. But her gaze was making me feel uncomfortably conspicuous. The problem was that, because of my two jobs — I teach aerobics at the Blue River Spa on nights and weekends and bartend at Tiggle Jitz Gentleman’s Club on the daytime shift – my wardrobe trended towards the tight and/or slutty. So, although what I was wearing that day was the most conservative thing I could pull together, it was quite tight and I was displaying more cleavage and thigh than was probably appropriate. This in itself wouldn’t usually have bothered me, but the sight of the students in their matching outfits reminded me that the school district had switched to uniforms a couple of years ago after my daughter’s tendency to borrow (and lend out) my clothes had resulted in an epidemic of wardrobe infractions among her and her female classmates. I’d gotten a pretty stern talking to from the district about that. It was now belatedly occurring to me that I hadn’t learned a damn thing.

Feeling a little flustered, I turned around to face the room. There was a bustle of hastily assumed nonchalance among my admirers. “Oh, Jesus H Christ…” I heard the head secretary mumble to herself as she shook her head at the folly of the male sex.

I gave her a half smile and a “sorry – can’t help it” shrug.

She looked me up and down, cocked her head and gave me a “bullsh*t!” look. Finally, she sighed and spoke. “So what did you say this family emergency is?”

I hadn’t said. As Janie’s mom I assumed I was allowed to pull her out of school for the occasional ’emergency’, no questions asked. But the old woman’s suspicion and palpable contempt got me worrying: what if Janie has been telling tales around school or dropping hints about what she and her mom had been up to in private? Would anyone actually believe a teenage girl — even a ‘wild child’ like my Janie – if she told them her mom had escorted her to, and joined in with, a seventeen-cock gangbang, or if she told anyone how she and her mom ended up sucking and screwing a score or so policemen at a highway rest-stop glory hole a couple of weeks ago? Heck, even if she told people that we had been sharing a double headed dildo several times a week for the last month I doubt anyone would see it as more than somewhat disturbed lie from the school’s biggest slut. (And please let me note here that, although I love her unconditionally, I had no illusions about my daughter’s reputation – but better a promiscuous and well-protected slut than a naïve teenage mother, I say) However, the old secretary looked like she’d seen enough in her long, sour life to occasionally believe canlı bahis the unthinkable. I felt a prickle of terror-sweat bead up along the back of my neck.

“Um…What?” I asked, having realized that, during my little anxiety break, I’d lost the thread of the conversation.

“Who died?”

“Her Grandparents.” I blurted, immediately wishing I hadn’t used the plural.

“What? All of them?”

“No… Just her father’s parents…” I said.

“Janie’s father? I’d thought… well…”

“Well what?”

“I thought she had no idea of her father’s identity,” the ancient secretary said. She twisted her thin lips into a smug half smile.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t believe everything eighteen year old girls tell you.”

“Well, Miss Graham, I find some tales more believable than others.”

My face grew red and my fists clenched. You could hear a pin drop in that crowded room as I fought to control my temper. I was still fighting the urge to slap that old judgmental bitch across the face when I heard Janie’s voice behind me, sounding worried: “Mom? What’s wrong?!”

I turned to face her and suddenly realized I’d cornered myself. The thing is, I really didn’t know who Janie’s father was and neither did she.

“It’s your father’s parents,” I said. “There was an accident…” I looked at her conspiratorially, hoping she’d get the hint and play along.

Her big dark eyes looked at me with confusion as she processed this, they flitted over to the secretary and suddenly she seemed to get it. “Nooo! Not Nana and Pop-pop!”

(That’s my girl!)

“I’m sorry, honey. They’re… gone.”

She rushed into my embrace and buried her face in my shoulder. I held her close and stroked her silky, sable hair, telling her it was OK to cry. As she gasped out a crocodile sob I could feel her hot breath washing across the nape of my neck. She shifted slightly and pressed our breasts together as her tongue flitted out to dance along my collarbone. I tried to squirm away but she held me tightly, lightly taking the flesh of my neck in her teeth as she pressed against me while wracked by conjured hysterics. I tried and failed to will away the bloom of gooseflesh she aroused as her lips danced up my neck just out of view of the curious, surrounding eyes. I could feel a welter of wetness between my thighs. Finally I had to push her away.

“Janie, we really need to go,” I said.

***

Finally free of the office and striding together through the school’s empty foyer, I spied our reflections in the glass doors of the darkened auditorium. From a distance we didn’t seem to look much alike: I was a couple of inches taller; she had straight, dark hair instead of my curly, blonde locks; her eyes were big and brown while mine were narrow and hazel and she had slightly darker complexion. But in the details — facial shape, nose, mouth, big boobs and shapely butts — we were cut from the same cloth. Not for the first time I mused that our love-life would be so much easier if our shared genetics weren’t quite so obvious. But perhaps that was for the best.

Jane brought me out of my thoughts when she whispered: “So, what’s really going on?”

“You’ll see.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the airport.”

“Will Tom meet us there?”

“Who said anything about Tom?”

“Well duh, who else would…”

“I said you’ll see, Janie.” I took her arm as I stopped outside the girl’s restroom just inside the school’s front doors. “Wait a minute; you need to use the bathroom.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes. You do.”

I reached into my purse. It was my big purse; the one Janie jokingly called my ‘diaper bag’. I withdrew a small, oblong box of polished cherry-wood. Janie’s eyes grew wide in surprise as I opened it and revealed a row of tapered slugs of black plastic arranged in order of increasing width and set into molded recesses within the box. They were numbered in order of increasing size: one through four.

Due to her alarmingly vast sexual experience I sometimes forgot that my Janie is still a high school student who still had some of the lingering ignorance and naiveté one would expect from a kid. “What’re those?” she asked with both curiosity and trepidation.

“Butt plugs,” I said as I took out the thinnest one. It was about the width of my pinkie finger. “We’ll start with the smallest and work your way up.” I put it in her hand, dug into my purse and passed her a small tube of lube. “Go put that in your bottom.”

“Wh…Why?”

“You’ll see.”

“Can’t I do it at home?”

“We’re going straight to the airport.”

“In this!?” she sneered, looking down at her white blouse, navy blue skirt and flat-soled, patent leather shoes. Janie hated her school uniform so much that I rarely got a chance to see her in it; she always changed out of it at the first convenience, usually before she even got home. That was a shame because I think it kaçak iddaa made her look cute, maybe even a little innocent.

But, to her question, I merely nodded.

“But I don’t have any luggage.”

“You won’t need clothes where we’re going.”

Janie’s eyes grew wide as saucers and a cute but wicked little smile crept across her face. Her fingers closed around the butt plug and lube. She leaned in close to me. “Wanna help?”

I thought about what Tom had said about “exercising discretion” when he had visited me at work last week to suggest this trip. I thought of the reason why he’d suggested this trip. “We’d better not. Not here,” I said.

“Here is perfect! I’ve used this bathroom, like, a zillion times for a quick midday fuck.”

“Janie,” I said. “Why must I keep telling you? Watch. Your. Language.”

Janie rolled her eyes. “… a quick midday, um… making-of-love, then? OK?” She laughed. Smiling impishly at me, she turned, braced her hands against the frame of the restroom door and stuck her beautifully pert, heart-shaped rump at me. “I sure could use some help back there…” She gave it a wiggle and peeked alluringly at me over her shoulder as she went in.

I felt that giddy-panicky arousal I always felt when my child was deliberately tempting me like this. I thought of the long distance we would have to travel today and the ordeal awaiting us at our destination. I was on edge and, yes, I could certainly use some release. I promised myself, again, that after this trip we’d stop doing this… for real this time. And, most of all, I hoped and prayed that Tom was right and that he and his secret “Society of Erotics” (his phrasing, not mine) could finally instill some discipline and restraint in my increasingly sexually out-of-control daughter.

But not yet.

I followed her into the lavatory. Janie slammed the door shut behind me and locked the deadbolt. She pulled the key from the lock and dropped it in her purse.

“Where did you get that key?” I asked

She smirked and arched an eyebrow at me, silently daring me to ask again while implying I probably didn’t really want to know. I dropped the issue. Instead, I pulled my daughter in for a deep kiss. Our lips met and we tasted each other hungrily. Our tongues parried and dodged as our hands scouted along the undulating contours of our crushing bodies. We pushed and ground against each other, raising an erotic heat that burned inward and set us both aflame.

Janie’s hand was under my dress, tickling up my thigh, fingers questing for my honeypot as I opened my legs, physically urging her to continue. When her fingertips encountered the sheer fabric of my tiny thong she brushed it aside and began to slip her digits along the moist channel of my sex. I moaned loudly in the small, echoing room.

“Shhhh,” warned Janie as she sank to her knees.

She helped me up onto the counter where I leaned back against the mirror with my legs spread wide. Her face was between my thighs before I knew it and Janie began eagerly tracing the folds of my pussy with the tip of her tongue. Within a minute she went from soft teasing licks along the length of my labia to soggy sounding slogs along my rapidly flooding furrow. Briefly coming to my senses, I pushed her away. We had a lot of traveling to do today. It would never do if my daughter was soaked from head to toe in my broth.

“What’s wrong?” she asked while looking up at me, her face shiny with thick flows of my juice.

“I don’t want to drip all over your clothes,” I said, my voice unsteady, panting. “Take them off.”

Janie smiled at me and stood. She began doing a strip tease for me but I shook my head. “No. Just hurry up, Janie.”

So she quickly unbuttoned her blouse, unzipped her skirt and draped them over the door of a stall. She stood before me in a lovely lacy set of matching bra and panties (I recognized them; they were mine) and white knee-high socks. “The rest of it too?” she asked, standing with her arms akimbo and her hips cocked to the side.

“Of course,” I breathed.

She pushed her (or, rather, my) panties down her legs, revealing her adorable young quim sporting a velvety strip of well manicured fuzz. I could see that her already moist inner lips were uncoiling with desire to hang temptingly from the dampening slit of her womanhood. I just had to reach forward and slide a finger into the hot trench of her pussy. She closed her eyes and her body bloomed pink to my touch. Again we kissed.

As we broke the kiss I saw she’d removed her bra and her large, pert breasts were bouncing free between us. Unable to resist the tempting sway of her lovely mounds I dropped off the counter to bring my mouth to her nipples. I lightly bit the soft flesh of her beautiful breasts and teased her nipples with my tongue as my fingers continued to arouse a deluge of desire between her thighs. Before I knew it I was falling to my knees and kaçak bahis lifting one of Janie’s tanned and toned legs over my shoulder, eager for unhindered access.

“Um, mom, shouldn’t you take this off?” Janie asked me as she plucked at the strap of my dress.

“Oh! Yeah…” I said. I reached for the hem as Janie took the straps and, together, we shed my dress in a few quick seconds.

“Come on, mommy, the bra too,” she said. I smiled uneasily at her. She only called me mommy anymore when we were making love.

I shed the bra and pulled the knocked-askew thong down my long legs. Both of us finally naked (except for Janie’s knee-highs that is), we regarded each other’s firm, curvy bodies with a palpably burning lust. Once our roving eyes met, we were upon each other with a ferocious, mindless intensity: kissing, fondling, prodding, rubbing and dripping; always dripping freshening flows of wet, silky desire.

I eventually found myself sweating and writhing on the counter, choking back truncated grunts of extreme pleasure as Janie’s face worked between my thighs. My eyes closed in rapturous delirium as she lapped and nibbled and probed and sucked at the quaking core of my erotic bliss. I came quickly with a sobbing sigh as my senses exploded in a blinding torrent of rampaging ecstasy. As I rubbed out the last shivering aftershocks of my orgasm against my daughters pussy-soaked face I moaned with deep contentment.

“OK, your turn,” I said around my labored breaths.

“Oh boy!” said Janie, her face a messy mask of anticipatory joy. “How do you want me?”

“On the counter,” I ordered, slipping off onto rubbery legs as she jumped up to take my place.

“Don’t forget…” she said, holding up the butt-plug, which I had indeed forgotten.

As I took the slender divot of rubber in my fingers I looked down upon my daughter. She was spread out luridly before me, her legs wide, her arms braced against the tiled walls of the lavatory, her face, neck and chest freshly glossy with my cum. She opened her legs wider still and her pussy bloomed like a flower, opening its damp musky folds and tempting me downward into ultimate depravity. Beneath her sultry womanhood, her dark pucker awaited. Already, syrupy flows of her feminine nectar seeped from the ruby vale of her pussy to drip along the tight, umber crevasse of her bottom.

I fed a finger into her vag, plumbing her depths as she writhed. Another finger joined in and then my mouth was on her clit. I slowly pulled my fingers from inside her and slid them down into her ass-crack. I carefully pushed at her anus.

“Oooo…” she keened at the uncomfortable pressure.

My fingers took the place of my mouth on her clit as I dropped my face down, slurping up puddles of juice as I went. As my tongue slipped into the cleft of her bottom I let it leak out, painting her pucker with her own slime. I pushed at her anus again, with my tongue this time, and she reacted with a wild trashing at the intense but disturbing pleasure.

“OHHH…” she cried before biting on the heel of her hand to silence herself.

I began to replete the cycle: probing at her ass with my fingers as I lapped up her juice with my tongue, then slavering my mouthload onto the threshold of her back door as my fingers tickled and probed along her sex. I watched as her firm young body coiled like a spring under my fevered attention. I took my time.

Finally I knew she was on the brink of release. I drew the plug up along the cleft of her ass to swirl it around her dark star. As I did this I took her clit between my lips to suck it gently and pushed the plug into her. With an animalistic whoop Janie came vividly. Her body slammed into the mirror behind her as her back arched and her limbs quivered uncontrollably. A gush of feminine cum jetted from her vulva to soak my face. I pressed my mouth to her gash and drank it greedily. I got up off my knees to pull her close and I kissed her deeply, sharing the taste of her.

Time fell away until, finally, our senses returned.

We looked about. We’d made quite a drippy mess on the counter and on the floor by the sink and an unmistakable impression of a sweaty back was imprinted on the mirror. The little room sweltered in the heady mist of our coupling. It occurred to me that Tom was right, my daughter and I really were out of control.

“Wow, it really smells like fucking in here.”

“Jaaane…” I said wearily.

“Sorry. It smells like sex, I mean.”

“Yeah, it sure does… We should probably go.”

***

Part 2: Sister and Brother

Up over the darkening Atlantic I was working on a crossword on my phone with its alarm went off, informing me that it was time for Janie to change her plug. I gritted my teeth at the unwelcome reminder that time continued to flow onward and that we were rapidly approaching our destination. There, Tom waited, his plan ready to kick into gear as soon as I gave my daughter to him. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. I told myself it was the right thing to do.

Finally, I retrieved my purse and pulled out the cherry-wood box. Janie looked over and her eyebrows rose up her forehead.

“Already? I only just got used to the last one.”

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