All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this story or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
The author authorizes Literotica.com to manage, maintain, and provide electronic access to this story submission via the Literotica.com service and related domains. No other entity, private or commercial, is permitted to distribute or disseminate any part of this literary work in any manner whatsoever without permission.
This story is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places should be considered an inaccurate portrayal incorporated into this literary work for entertainment purposes only. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
For compliance purposes, all sexually active characters are over the age of eighteen. Any underage activities are literary insinuations or take place only in the reader’s imagination.
——————-
This work represents an experiment on perspectives. Each chapter represents ongoing and overlapping events from a different character’s point of view.
——————-
“We?” I looked up at my infected daughter.
Staring at my daughter with what I knew was an expression of disbelief on my face as she spoke to me for the first time in months.
“Yes,” she nodded, “And we’re hungry too,” she added, lifting my heart in my chest. Filled with a renewed hope as she asked, “Mom, can we have a sandwich… and a soda?”
“Of course,” I smiled, rolling off the bed, not bothering to put on my robe as I raced to the kitchen. I almost woke Jim to tell him our daughter had returned, but he was sleeping so peacefully in front of the TV. My mind filled with enthusiastic thoughts, oblivious to the commercial playing in the background. Buoyed by an ocean of relief, I quickly created a plate of two half sandwiches and a handful of chips for our daughter. Forgetting her soda, I had to run back to get it. I rushed back to her bedroom to see her bedpost bound open legs and arms, watching her on the bed as she quietly shuttered through another climax. My heart stopped as I thought, “Did I imagine it?” before voicing aloud, “Jenny?”
“We really need to pee,” her trembling voice replied, not opening her eyes, “after…” she stammered. Her whole body shivered and quivered, twice, before she lifted her head, opening her eyes at me, asking, “Would you mind releasing us? We promise to behave… for a little while at least.”
I rested the plate in my shaking hand on the nightstand and had enough of my wits about me to put the soda can on something to prevent its sweat from staining the wood. I released her ankles first, then paused, looking at her face before moving to her wrists.
“It’s ok, Mom,” she replied with a confidence in her voice I had not heard since she left for Costa Rica. “We promise to ask or tell you before we touch you… we want to touch you… to smell and taste your sex,” her voice changing, going deeper, a stronger resonance in her throat and chest before softening to her usual tone as she added, “But we won’t. We agreed to be civil and rational until you understand our needs and consent to our actions.”
A deep, angry, repressed growl emanated from my Daugther’s chest, then faded along with the perverse sneer on her face, restoring the innocent expression I knew and loved.
“It’s ok, Mom,” she offered again, “We’ll behave, and if we can’t control our hunger, you can tie us to the bed again, or you can lock us in the bathroom if you feel you need to.”
“Us?” I questioned again.
“We really need to pee,” she implored, nodding toward the wrist strap that held her to the bedposts. I paused again, thinking, worrying until I noticed her lower half and legs were still, barely trembling in sync with the vibrator strapped to her thigh and pressed to her groin. I decided to start there. Turning off the massager, then testing her response.
Her inner thighs clenched, almost as if she were experiencing a cramp before they relaxed. I removed the velcro straps holding the massager in place, and I watched the dildo I had inserted into her vagina backing out before ejecting onto the bed.
Her legs rejoined, squeezing together as she begged, “Mom… We don’t want you to have to clean up after us again… we think we remember peeing on the bed before… did we do that?”
“Yes,” I nodded, “More than once.”
“We’re sorry, Mom,” she replied, her lust-driven madness completely missing from the regret-filled tone of her voice. A voice I had thought I’d never hear again.
I released her without hesitation and helped her to stand, then walked her into the restroom. I had visions of me watching over her as a toddler as I heard a long, loud stream of fluid echoing from the toilet bowl. The satisfied contentment on her face was also something I had not seen from her in a very long time.
“Mom,” trabzon escort her apprehensive voice said, looking up at me, “Can we hug you?”
I stepped forward, wrapping my arms around her head, pulling her face to my naked bosom. Almost immediately after, I felt her fingers sliding up my inner thigh, stopping just short of my groin. Her hand suddenly pulled away, as did her face from my chest. I looked down, and she looked up, genuine regret on her face as she apologized, “We’re sorry. We said we’d ask first.”
“What do you need from me?” I replied, wanting to give her anything and everything she needed to feel better.
“We need to… to feel your sex… taste your lust,” she hesitated, lowering her eyes to stare at my groin.
“I know,” I confessed, “You caught a virus in Costa Rica that increases your sex drive,” I explained, purposefully opening my legs slightly as I pulled her head back to my chest. Holding her cheek to my bosom, comforting her as much as I was comforting myself as I confirmed, “A virus that makes you addicted to sex… anything that makes you climax or makes you not feel empty inside… including incest.”
“A virus?” she questioned.
“You must have caught it on an airplane or in one of the airports on your way back from Costa Rica,” I nodded, unconsciously pressing her cheek to one of my nipples while consciously allowing her hand to return to my inner thigh. Not resisting or impeding her progress as her hand inched its way up to my groin.
“At first, we thought it was just you…” I said, caressing her long, tangled, brown hair, “…when you tried to get at your Father in the hallway, and after Junior confessed what had happened in his room while your Father and I were out for our morning walk.” I found myself muttering more than explaining as I added, “At first, I think we all knew something happened to you on your trip… we didn’t know what. All I knew was my little girl needed us to take care of her.”
I had to stop for a moment; her gentle fingers had found my lower lips. My daughter’s caresses were circling my outer labia, stimulating my long inter labia hidden clitoris with knee-weakening near misses that pulled my attention away from what I was trying to say. After feeling my vagina contract and clench painfully several times, I did my best to continue, “I have a confession to make,” I announced quietly.
I inhaled deeply, squeezed her a little tighter to my chest, and clinched my thighs around her hand, steeling myself for the repercussions what I was about to share could have on our future, not only as Mother and Daughter but as a family.
“I convinced your Father and Brother to take care of you,” I confessed in a single quick, forced exhale. Breathing in again, holding it for a moment before I added, “I told them what you needed was something no Doctor could provide. I talked them into giving you what you tried to take from them. Told them to have sex with you, as often as you wanted, any way you wanted. To do so as often as they could. To keep you satisfied and to keep our family secret… a secret.”
“Why?” she asked, her hand between my legs locked in place, unmoving, waiting for my reply.
“My family shared their love when I was about your age,” my warbling voice professed, “I learned the hard way what incest can do to a family if it becomes public knowledge.”
My thighs relaxed, savoring the embrace they had around my daughter’s hand, touching my sex. I forced myself to breathe, and I think my hips moved around, trying to wiggle her still fingers toward my clit.
Not fully aware of what my groin was trying to do without my permission, I continued to explain, “An overzealous prosecutor tried to convict us… all of us; our Aunts and Uncles too. Even though we all were over the age of consent, it was against the law, and the District Attorney was running for re-election, publicly shaming my family as part of his decency campaign.”
The past flashed in front of my mind’s eye. Repressed memories I had fought to forget returned as tears leaked down my cheeks, “The news media constantly harassed us, our college expelled us, and the prosecutor kept trying to guilt us into giving testimony against each other. Everywhere any of us went, we were… shunned, looked down at… ostracized for loving each other… as a family.”
I looked down, lifted my daughter’s chin, forcing her to look up at my puffy, fluid-filled eyes as I insisted, “I promised myself I would never let anything like that happen again.”
Staring at her innocent face and her oddly understanding eyes, I detailed another insight I had wanted to share with her for a long time and never did. Fearing her moment of lucidity might be temporary, I told my daughter, “I see the way your brother looks at you… the same way my brother used to look at me…” holding my breath as I relived a forgotten past.
“How long?” she asked after allowing me a moment to be alone inside my head.
“Someone trabzon escort bayan saw us in our backyard over a holiday weekend… Memorial Day… I think… everyone was there… all of us sharing our love for each other… as a family should.”
“No,” her eyes glowed, dismissing my secret shame wordlessly, before clarifying, “How long have we been like this?”
“Oh,” I blushed, pulling her back to my chest, opening my stance a little more, hoping she would understand I was ok with where her hand was and what it had been doing, as well as inviting her to continue.
“Well,” I muttered, thinking back, “Everything changed right after you came back from Costa Rica. Your needs were… impressive. Nothing seemed to satisfy you for more than a few minutes. We tried taking care of you as a family, but your constant needs were too much for us. We started taking turns taking care of you, watching over you. Your Father retired, and I continued working as a Project Manager for as long as I could. With your Father’s retirement income, plus our savings, we able to get by until Junior’s videos of him and your Father taking care of your needs started to earn enough income to keep us comfortable.”
Savoring a sense that my daughter had finally returned from her extended trip, I caressed her hair again as I continued, “Changing from project management to domestic management was easy. I worked out a schedule where the three of us had rotating shifts taking care of you, sleeping, eating, and packing up the house.” Looking down as I confirmed, “We sold the house and moved into the mountain lodge… that’s where we are… if you weren’t aware.”
“I wasn’t,” she replied, her hot breath making one of the nipples she used to suckle on as a baby contract and clench as she suggested, “But I do remember a dream where JJ and I had sex under a blanket in the back of the van while you and Dad were in the front talking about us… and snow. I remember something about snow.”
“It was not a dream,” I replied, “We’ve been here,” I counted back, “about four months, plus the month or so it took to come up with a plan and pack our stuff… so… a little over five months… closer to six,” I confirmed, “We’ve been snowed in most of that time too.”
“Six months,” she muttered, then asked, “Why do you think it’s a virus?”
“Our phones don’t work here, and the lodge only had dial-up Internet until a few days ago when your Father and Junior got the satellite antenna setup and working again. The weather’s been pretty bad, and Junior needed some parts and a card of some kind to get the TV and high-speed Internet to work. He got everything working yesterday after he drove down to the junction to get the mail and restock our groceries.”
I looked down at her, cooing, “It’s ok, I want you to touch me. I’ve enjoyed watching and feeling you feed on me like you have been, especially when your Father or Junior is with us. All of us taking care of you… as a family… it brings back such wonderful memories.”
I could feel a swelling of pride in my chest as I looked down at her sitting on the toilet. Her arm around me and a hand between my legs with the side of her face pressed to my bosom as I confessed, “You’re not the first woman to touch me, to love me the way you are now. If you need my sex to feel better, please, take what you need… no, let me give you what you need… let me be there for you to love like my family was for me.”
“Thank’s Mom,” her gentle voice replied, just before her now confident hand began to explore more purposefully, quickly penetrating my aching feminity.
“Thank you,” I softly murmured, savoring the autonomic response when her finger squirmed its way inside me. Struggling to keep my knees under me as I confessed, “Your Father hasn’t been able to take care of me the same way he used to since… since you came back from Costa Rica.”
“We’re sorry, Mother,” she replied, “Things will be different now… We promise.”
“Why do you keep referring to yourself in the plural?” I insisted.
“It’s complicated,” she answered, evading my question. Distracting me as the single finger exploring my insides was joined by a second. I swear her hand and fingers held me aloft by my throbbing cunt as I climaxed, not once, or twice, but three times.
“I needed that,” I admitted, “More than I thought I did,” I told myself, floating back down to rest on my no longer toe-stretched feet.
“Will you help us shower?” she asked, her fingers backing out but not leaving my groin or releasing my clit until after I agreed, “Of course.”
“We feel like we haven’t bathed for a week,” she smiled, standing on her own, raising her hand to her nose.
“Your Father and I showered with you just yesterday,” I replied, watching as she inhaled deeply from her fingers, smiling as she said, “You smell almost as good as JJ’s and Dad’s cum,” before sucking on her fingers. Glowing at me as she declared, “Oh, you taste good too.” Staring escort trabzon into my eyes with cold but warm-hearted confidence as she declared, “We want to lick your pussy after our shower… and we want to taste you.” Proudly smiling as she declared, “We want to lick our mother’s cunt while our Mother licks our cunt. We want to know who can make who cum first.”
I don’t think I could have stopped myself from grinning as I replied, “I think I said something like that to your Grandmother the first time I tasted her.”
While the shower water warmed, her hands would not stop touching or caressing me, especially my intimate feminine areas, even while brushing her teeth. She particularly liked running her fingers between my butt cheeks.
I’m not a fan of anal sex. That’s not true. I mean, watching it is one thing, but it’s been so long since I’ve enjoyed that kind of penetration. It used to be something special I shared with my father, but after Jim and I were married… I mean… he’s so thick, I worry I might get hurt, and all the prep-work is more than the reward sometimes, and it can be such a mess too. I used to gift my backdoor to Jim two, maybe three times a year, and only when I was in the right mindset. When Junior came along, then Jenny right after, I started using our children as an excuse not to… and now the fear and regrets… and specialness it was to share myself like that only with my father… its all taken the joy and excitement out of anal sex.
Putting aside my past and feeling a mother’s responsibility to give my daughter what she needed, I allowed her to explore and play with my butt. I found some comfort knowing she did not have a penis she wanted to shove into my ass without making sure I was ready first, but her fingers were quite insistent, circling my hard, knotty sphincter or probing my puckered pooper.
When the water was ready, we bathe each other, our soapy hands enjoying each other’s curves for different reasons. I can’t say for sure why my Daughter was enjoying my older, sagging rolls of flesh, but I was enjoying some long-repressed memories of sharing a loving shower with my mother when I was only a year or so younger than my daughter is now.
“Tell me more about this virus you think we have,” she asked as her soapy hand reached around from behind me to soap up and massaged my pubic hair and inflamed lower lips.
I relaxed, savoring my daughter’s one-armed embrace, feeling her breasts pressed to my back and her hand around front between my legs. I pulled her other hand up to my bosom as I relaxed, mumbling, “When Junior got the satellite connection working, that’s when we got full access to the Internet, and the TV started working. It was all over the news… the entire world is dealing with another pandemic.”
I exhaled, leaned back into her embrace, and allowed a slow, low moan to express my satisfaction as her fingers found and massaged my clit through a profoundly intense and intimate climax. I could feel my neck lowering my head to one side as her mouth marked me the same way her father had marked her earlier. My hand joined my Daughter’s between my legs, and my thighs quivered as I guided her fingers inside me once again. She kept me from sliding to the tiled floor as my body shivered and shook through another climax.
When my senses returned, I twisted around to face her, my daughter’s hand still between my legs, her fingers slowly moving and out of me, and her thumb knuckle on my clit as I reached out to do the same to her.
Just like my Mother and I had shared many times, my Daughter and I locked eyes, our nipples kissing the other’s as we watched each other climax simultaneously, twice.
I almost slipped on the wet tile floor again when my knees could no longer hold me upright. I backed away, finding the cold tile bench at the back of the shower. Still winded from our shared climax, I sat down, studying my Daughter’s food-deprived body as she showered herself.
Pushing away what I wanted to continue to share with her from my mind, I resumed detailing what she had missed while she was ‘away.’
“Something has been spreading around the world for the past four or five months,” I said, my eyes unable to not look at her smaller-than-they-used-to-be breasts without wanting to touch them or her pubic fur without my fingers wanting to feel her soft coarseness. “It’s not another COVID-19 or SARS-21 virus,” I explained, “This one is different. There’s no vaccine yet, and no-ones been able to create a test that works consistently. If you can’t stop yourself from wanting or having sex… you’re assumed to be infected.”
Staring at her oddly perfect butt when she turned away from me, I continued to ramble, “The infected are literally having sex in the streets… and none of the experts know how it spreads. They all agree it’s not airborne, and it’s less than touching but more just being near someone who’s got it. Hand sanitizers don’t seem to work either. Fortunately, whatever it is, it does not appear to infect anyone with what the talking heads call immature or underdeveloped libidos or anyone going through puberty. Other than a few rare cases, no-one under the age of twenty-one seems to be affected. Teenagers and younger are immune for some reason, but the postmenopausal are not.”