Boss Lady's Daughter

Home plate was ninety feet away. I licked my chapped lips. Dare I make a dash for it? Even at my age, could they really throw a softball that fast? Eddie Feigner this guy wasn't. But, then again, I was no Brett Gardner. Still, what's the worst that could happen? The score was tied and if we won, we'd be out of last place. The last time my hospital softball team was out of last place in our league, Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman was at shortstop.

Strike one. Another meeting on the mound between pitcher, catcher and the entire infield allowed my mind to wander back to my recent encounter with my boss, where she gave me oral pleasure of the like I had never experienced. My heart still ached for her embrace. My lips had been spoiled by the tenderness of her kiss. I needed more. The scent of her being captivated my senses. I, once again, felt her cool hands on my cock and balls.

And then I remembered the ring. The substantial wedding ring on her left hand. A sudden roar from the not-so-sparse crowd watching our game snapped me back to the present. I started tracking the fly ball toward centerfield. It bounced twice and hit the wall. Victory would be ours. I shifted gears into my home run, foregone conclusion trot toward home plate and victory.

My trot came to a crashing halt as my foot stumbled in a rut on the base path. My ankle went left and the rest of me went right and flat on my face.

"God—bless, America!!" I screamed. Six feet from home plate and I was paralyzed. The ball arced home from the outfield. I started clawing at the dirt. I wasn't going to be denied. Handful after handful, I scratched the ground, moving slower than the proverbial molasses in January. The second baseman caught the relay, spun on his heel and fired the softball toward the stocky catcher blocking the plate. Only it bounced to his right. By the time he snatched it and slapped the tag onto my bruised and bloodied hands, they had touched the plate.

Paramedics were called. A man, stout with compact, economical motions arrived first, followed by a gorgeous brunette, filling out her uniform shirt in every conceivable spot. She was all woman but I was old enough to be her very young grandfather. Such was life.

The girl knelt beside me and placed her medical bag next to her. As she bent down, I stole a quick look down her shirt and saw the smooth flesh of youth in two very mouth-watering mounds. She snapped her fingers. "Up here, sport. Eye contact. My name is Jean. What's the problem?" she said, in a voice mimicking velvet on satin. I pulled my uniform pant leg up. "Oh, that looks nasty."

During the trip to the hospital ER, she took all of my information. When I was waiting for x-rays to be confirmed, all of my friends and co-workers from the OR just had to come over and slap my back for the grit, then laugh at the fiberglass cast they were putting on my ankle. No need to keep me in the hospital, only a severe sprain. I had the unit clerk call for a cab. I wish Marjorie had been there to kiss and make it better. But my boss was out of town at a conference.

A minivan pulled up to the curb. "How are you doing, hero?" said the paramedic. "Need a lift?"

"No thanks. Got a cab coming," I said. Briefly, I felt like a dirty old man, only briefly.

"Cancel it. Heroes don't ride in cabs. They get chauffeured home," she said, and opened the passenger side door. "Get in."

Small talk made the trip to my apartment all-too- quick. Jean helped me into my place. She surrounded me with all of the amenities and placed my crutches nearby. "Thank you. That's great."

"Glad you're all set," said Jean. It was warm enough for her forearms to glow with perspiration. She smelled like a freshly opened bar of soap. I thought of her washing my back in the shower. That dissolved rapidly into the reality that I wanted it to be Marjorie, but the ring still got in the way. "Just one more thing." With that, the lithe brunette reared back and slapped me full across the face with the flat of her hand. I somehow kept my head from doing a 360.

"What the hell was that about?"

"You don't know who I am?"

"Give me a hint, Thelma or Louise? Mind telling me why the slap?" I said, more confused than angry.

"My name is Jean Whitcomb, Marjorie Whitcomb, your boss, is my mother," she screamed. "And you fucked her! I read it in her diary!" Her hands went to her face and she fell back onto my recliner, sobbing in earnest. Her shoulders heaved up and down for the better part of ten minutes. Eventually, Jean came up for air.

"Are you alright?" I said, unsure of what to expect. "I mean, you aren't going to go Kill Bill on me anymore, are you?"

"No, I wouldn't waste my energy on you."

"Look Jean, I don't know what to say," I said.

"You could say you're sorry."

"That would be a lie. I'm not sorry," I said. My courage was flowing through my veins at breakneck speed. "I know you don't understand, but your Mom and I are two consenting adults."

"Bastard. What about my father?" she spewed.

A third voice entered the fray. "What about him?" said Marjorie Whitcomb, sunglasses in hand and cheeks reddened from the wind riding over here in her convertible. "What about your father, Jean Alyce?"

"You cheated on him," she said.

Marjorie arriving felt like Rin-Tin-Tin getting the cavalry to help get Rusty out of a jam. She stepped further into the living room, placing her purse on a nearby table. Her windbreaker went over a chair. She was wearing a very tight tank top that showed off her glorious tanned shoulders, and a flouncy pleated skirt of a contrasting color.

My boss leaned over the back of the couch and kissed my cheek. I resisted pulling her down over the couch onto me. "Hi Barry. I got back early from the trip and your little act of heroism at the game is the talk of the OR. How's the ankle?

"It only hurts when I get slapped in the face," I replied.

She pointed to her daughter. I nodded. The resemblance wasn't striking, but there was no doubt they swam in the same gene pool. The daughter had more breast, mom more rounded ass cheeks. Each had that slightly off-center smile that rocked my world.

"Mother? About Daddy?" insisted Jean.

"You've noticed that your father has been spending less and less time at home and more and more time on the road building up the business? That was by design. There are peaks and valleys in every relationship. We are in a definite valley, but before thinking about divorce, we thought we'd take some time apart to see if this was worth saving," said mother to daughter.

"It is," said the daughter.

"Respectfully, that isn't your decision to make. Anyway, your father and I decided that we would have no restrictions on each other during this time. So in our current circumstances, what Barry and I did was not cheating," said Margie. Her arms were now across her chest accentuating her breasts. My heart rate doubled. Jean had adopted a similar pose and had more to accentuate. Each set of nipples needed a mouth. "And what possessed you to invade my privacy and read my diary?"

Jean's reply was a typical hand-in-the-cookie jar response. "I don't know."

"It's off-limits. Are you having dinner with Troy tonight?" she asked, trying to ratchet down the rhetoric.

"Troy and I broke up. He said I wasn't hot enough in bed."

"I find that hard to believe," I blurted out. Both women looked at me. One was a glare and the other said, let me handle this.

Mom embraced daughter. "Oh honey, I'm so sorry." The embrace got closer and Margie kissed Jean's cheek. "Maybe I can help. Did he at least say you kissed all right?"

She smirked. "No, Mom, actually he said I kissed like a dead mackerel," she confessed.

"Son of a bitch," replied Mom. "Maybe a pointer or two is in order."

Mom took a step back and jerked down the straps of her tank top, exposing faint copper skinned shoulders, not a tan line in sight. My hand rubbed between my legs. Then she stepped forward embracing her daughter as an intimate lover gently pressing her lips against the younger woman's. A tongue outlined their shape. A hand went behind her head in case she rejected the lesson.

But Jean Alyce was more than up to the challenge. Both of her hands cupped her mother's blonde head and she kissed each closed eye in turn then each cheek and ran her tongue from the ear lobe down the curve of her neck to the shoulder.

"That's it, Jeannie. You are making me so hot!' said Mom, her head tossed back as Jean went from lips to nape of neck to tongue right down between her breasts.

"How's that Mom?" she smiled.

Mom smiled back. "Don't tell me you're going to stop after getting me this excited?"

"But I, I mean," said Jean.

Marjorie slid off her tank top to reveal another lacy pink bra with sheer cups. As I said earlier, her nipples needed a mouth desperately. Only it wasn't to be mine. "Come on, baby. Finish me. I'll help you if you need it."

Her daughter seemed frozen in time. Mom took her hands and stepped into her embrace placing the daughter's hands on the pink bra strap.

Jean Alyce gulped in a deep breath of air and unhooked the lingerie. It was dropped to the floor and I got to see first hand the breasts that I had salivated after for a very long time. They kissed again and Mom placed a hand on her daughter's brunette head, gently pushing her toward the nearest nipple. The woman took it eagerly and slurping sounds could be heard across the room. My rubbing turned to groping. It was filling my hand through the material of my pants. I squeezed then rubbed, all the while not taking my eyes off of the two women before me.

The daughter went from breast to breast and Mom moaned and whispered encouragement. Then she stepped back and pulled off her daughter's shirt not wasting a moment to pull off her bra as well. "My turn," said the maternal figure with that mischievous smile.

Marjorie licked each breast all over, making tight circles with her tongue then larger ones leaving a trail of saliva that glistened in the light. She rubbed her own cheek onto it. Movement below caught my eye. Margie was undoing her daughter's belt and unzipping her pants. White high cut panties came into view atop very toned legs. The definition was triathlon chiseled.

"Come on, Jeannie, step out of these so I can really teach you," suggested Mom. The daughter complied. A flat hand rubbed her daughter's smooth stomach then down over the growing wet spot where her love mound was dripping faster than a garden hose after a car wash. This time Mom didn't ask as she slid her hands up through the leg openings and pulled the waistband down all of the way to the young woman's ankles and off. This bush hadn't seen any kind of trimming since birth and was moist, dark, full, and framed the entrance to her sexuality exquisitely.

I groped faster and with more dedication. Mom pushed the legs apart and sunk her tongue right into her daughter at her most succulent point. Jean gasped and clutched her Mom's hands so as not to fall from her weakening legs. Her moaning got louder as Marjorie knew where to probe, how long and how to tease her daughter into wanting more. Jean's hands once again surrounded her mother's head and she started thrusting her hips onto Mom's lips, fucking her face.

"Come on, Mom. Lick harder. That's it, Mommy. Oooooh, that is sooo good. Deeper Mom, deeper." The words took on a very dry, hoarse tone. She sucked her lower lip in over her teeth and held it in place with her upper ones. All of her concentration was flowing to her hips, until suddenly her thrusting started to bear fruit.

"Oh-my-God!! I'm coming. I am coming!" she screamed. Hips mashed up against her mother's face again and again. "Keep coming!"

All-too-quickly for my taste, Jean Alyce sighed as if finishing a marathon and fell back into the same chair she had occupied after slapping me. She gleamed from head to toe and even from across the room the aroma of satisfaction wafted through the air. Mom was still on her knees. Her own chest heaving up and down. She sat back on her haunches.

"Wow, Mom. That was great," said her daughter. "I've never had an orgasm like that."

"You're welcome. Now that you know that you can, the rest will come naturally," said my boss and the object of my affections since I was introduced to her about 18 months ago. I wanted more than just lust but kept it quiet because I didn't want to scare her off. I had forced myself to be content with whatever she was giving me. "Help me up, dear."

"Oh no, you don't. Turn about is fair play," said Jean, who gripped Mom's wrists and pulled her to her feet, spun her around and pushed her onto the recliner.

"It's not necessary to," protested Margie. Jean Alyce had learned her lessons well. She flipped up the skirt to reveal equally pink and transparent panties that got rolled down and off as quickly as the time it took to swat a fly. Margie's pussy was lovely. It took whatever breath I still had clean away. She was a natural blonde, but the splashes of gray there gave a growth spurt to my cock that was now fully erect though still tenting my sweatpants. It wanted out.

Jean wasted no time in spreading her mother's pussy lips with one hand and rubbing that very pronounced rod between them with the other. She spit on it to keep it moist and rubbed faster, harder. Marjorie dug her fingernails into the arms of the recliner and arched her back to meet her daughter's probing tongue.

"Oh yes baby, right there." Her moaning grew in intensity and volume. "Suck my pussy, baby. Suck my pussy. I'm going to come. Oh, oh!" Fingers that were rubbing the clit moved downward a little and tickled the other opening. Marjorie sucked in all of the air in the room. "Yes, stick your finger in my ass. That's so grreeat," she howled.

Jean Alyce slung her Mom's legs over each shoulder and burrowed deeper into both holes with renewed vigor.

"Like that, Mom? Like Jeannie fucking you?"

"Oh yes, keep fuck," said the woman who had brought her into this world. She locked her ankles behind her daughter's head which spurred me to rub faster and tighter. Only trouble was I couldn't see her fingering her mom's ass. All I saw was the back of her brunette head bobbing up and down with each shove of her mother's open hips to that very eager and piston-like tongue, driving further into that juicy love home with each succeeding push downward.

Jeannie was slurping the flood of desire that was dripping from between Marjorie's legs. Abruptly the hips went down and then shot upward with finality. The muscles in Margie's upper thighs tensed and strained with the dedication of Jeannie to return the orgasmic favor. The hips stayed up, the head pushed down and Marjorie Whitcomb's lungs expelled a deep-throated, guttural growl of pleasure from the deepest corners of her sexuality.

Just as suddenly, both Mother and daughter slumped backward, uncoupling but smiling. Jean's face was wet from ear to ear with her Mom's juices. They were both spent. However, I was still at the launching pad. Mother lovingly smiled at Jeannie and tousled the top of her head.

"You are a quick study," she said.

"I had a great teacher," she replied with a similar smile.

"So did I, you can thank your grandma for this little teaching moment." Jeannie's eyes widened. "Don't look so shocked. Your grandmother was all woman. And so are you, baby."

Mom leaned forward and kissed her daughter's wet forehead. Her eyes wandered over to me, on the couch with a fiberglass cast on my ankle, breathing shallow, but rapidly, using both hands on a very stiffened male member. "Oh my, Barry. Looks like you could use a hand as well."

I smiled and stared back at her. "Maybe both hands, thank you very much."

Marjorie smiled. She ran her hands over her breast that displayed quarter-sized areolas, a distinguishing feature she shared with her voluptuous daughter. Each one was squeezed in turn. The inside of each set of thighs before me were wet with success. Mom turned to her daughter.

"Come and give Barry a hand, Jean Alyce," she said, kissing the girl's cheek with lingering affection. She reached for her wrist and had it jerked away.

"Help him? Are you crazy?" she said. Fire was in her eyes and she blushed from head to toe which only accentuated her pussy lips which seemed to flare with the emotion. All of her muscles tensed. "No way. He fucked my mother."

"And what did you just do?" said Marjorie Whitcomb, in her patented mother tone. She was gently tapping her shoe onto the wooden floor. I was throbbing to the beat. Jean's head dropped onto her ample chest. She thrust out her wrist which Mom took and led her over to the couch where I was struggling to keep myself in check as these women provided a show that I couldn't afford even with a government bail out.

They helped me out of my uniform pants and then pulled down my boxers releasing my male organ to the fresh air. It shot forth, tall and proud and ready for action, oh so ready.

"You take down there, "said Mom to her daughter, who knelt beside my hips and began stroking my cock. "I'll concentrate on this." My boss brought her lips close to mine and spoke in whispers while looking directly into my eyes.

Meanwhile, Jean stroked harder and began licking my balls. I opened my hips a little more. She practically inhaled my left ball and sucked on it, placing her thumb across the opening to my penis like shaking a bottle of pop to make it spray like champagne. I was trying to hold back, but being double-teamed was close to more than I could handle.

"When I was away," said Marjorie, as close to me as her next breath, "I couldn't stop thinking about you, about what we did and how turned on it made me. Several times I almost called you from the convention to hear your voice."

"Boss, you could have called me collect," I said, and smiled before I pushed my hips deeper into Jean's embrace.

Each syllable floated from my boss's generous and memorable lips into my ears. It was tough to concentrate with her paramedic daughter working away at my desire like she was trying to pump up four flat tires. My eyelids fluttered as I rushed closer to the end.

"I know how I feel about you. I'm in very deep lust with you. But you need to understand that I still love my husband. Until he and I can sort that out for now, this is all I can do. What you can have for now is the moment? Is that enough for you?" Her eyes were moist with trepidation.

I struggled to find the words. Yes, I wanted more but I wanted her to be happy and no strings. Finding the strength to say so was difficult.

"Come on, boyfriend. Fire this sucker up," said the daughter, licking both hands for more friction. The pause allowed me to catch my breath.

Those blue eyes, reddened by the moment, stayed transfixed onto mine. Marjorie's breathing was quick and shallow. Her skin felt clammy against mine. Ready or not, I could wait no longer.

"Boss, I'd wait for you, forever, 'for now' is just enough," I said, somehow dreading this blonde angel of mercy in my life couldn't take yes for an answer. Her tears began to descend. That smile, once tentative, broadened.

She pressed her tear stained lips hard against mine. Our lips were parted slightly, but our tongues stayed put. This kiss was not for pleasure, though you couldn't tell by the lightening bolts passing between us. No, this was a promise, sealed with a kiss.

Meanwhile, Jean was drizzling saliva down onto my cock as she interlaced her fingers. Marjorie pulled back a little. She smiled in that adorably crooked way.

"Mommy says its okay to cum now."

I didn't need a second invitation. A loud bellow from somewhere in my pelvic reaches fast tracked itself to my lungs and roared forth as obstacles to ecstasy were surmounted.

"I'm coming," I yelled, stretching it to several syllables. I could feel milky cum spurt into the air, all over Marjorie's daughter's face. But to her credit, she didn't stop pumping and at least three more spurts shot into the air, then descended down the sides of my cock like lava onto a human volcano.