“Mmmmmmhmmmm,” I groan as she works two and then three fingers into my hot tunnel. I fuck against her fingers, oblivious to the noise I must be making. “Ohhhh, Britany!”
My orgasm stampedes through me like a hundred Pamplona bulls charging into a formation of French Lipizzaner horses, scattering all common sense as I arch hard and thrust my clutching pussy onto Brittany’s fingers.
“That’s it,” she cries into my ear. “Cum for me! Cum all over my hand!”
My orgasm scatters every bet of sense and I scream with pleasure. Scream and buck wildly against Brittany’s fingers. As my pleasure recedes, I sink back into my seat like some embarrassed sea creature churned up by the tsunami of my ecstasy. I open my eyes slowly and see Brittany leaning over me. Her fingers are no longer inside me. She has a bit of a worried look on her face.
“You okay?” she asks. “You were moaning in your sleep.”
“Yes,” I croak, my voice scratchy. “Yes, I’m fine.”
I sit up and realize it was only a vivid dream. But how much was a dream? I fumble through my purse and come up with my phone. I flip to the contacts, my heart pounding with fear. There’s no Addison. How could I have dreamed all that? It was so realistic. I scroll the contacts one last time and my heart swells as I see at the very top of my contacts she has entered her name with heart symbols on either side. There’s her number. She was real!
“Everything is just fine,” I repeat, and give Brittany a squeeze on her thigh.
Visit Abroad – The City of Lights
I could describe Paris a thousand different ways. The smells of bakers and chocolate and flowers seem to burst from every market. The cafes spill onto the sun-warmed streets and everyone is beautiful, or at least well-dressed. High fashion mingles with the tramp-chic of Parisian buskers. Tourists are plentiful, but even at the museums they seem to somehow blend with the inherent Frenchness of this place, unable to contaminate it with their cargo shorts and Capri pants.
I would like to think that the four of us blend in about as well as any American could manage. Four beautiful women, standing almost arm in arm, and totally willing to spend the money to look French. After all, it’s Tyler’s money, and he loves to spoil his little girl.
Sofia isn’t showing yet with her pregnancy, so she pours her body into the same sorts of dresses that fit Brittany. I do notice Sofia’s breasts seem a little larger. I catch myself watching her at Agent X, a boutique lingerie seller. Watching her grow up, I never imagined my daughter in slinky black lingerie with stockings, garters, and high heels. Watching her now, strutting through the store half naked and doing a turn while Victoria and I watch from the couches, I can hardly imagine Sofia wearing anything else.
Brittany follows her out in a stunning chemise with sheer panties that show off the neat V of her pubic hair, like the tip of an arrow pointed at her pussy. Her filthy talk might have been in my dream, but Brittany is game to play wherever we go. The semi-privacy of the changing lounge at Agent X turns into a lesbian flashpoint. Sofia and Victoria grind their slits together and kiss loudly and passionately. I try to focus my full attention on Brittany.
I tongue her sweet folds and explore her clutching tunnel with my fingers. I make her cum repeatedly, curling my fingers into her wetness and using my knuckle against her clit while my tongue and sucking mouth work her delicate nipples. Brittany repays the favor with her tongue dividing my velvet folds, her drool slicking my crack, and her finger plundering my tight asshole. We trade positions a half dozen more times, exhausting ourselves in the lounge and filling the air with the natural perfume of sex.
The workers at the boutique could not be more accommodating. A very French looking brunette with an adorable accent assures me that, “The lust only enhances the lingerie. We have sold many more while you were at play.”
We charter a boat along the Seine and Brittany pleasures me with the city shimmering in the reflected water. I devour her pussy in the back of a Paris taxi, a hotel lobby after cocktails, and at a night club with another beautiful girl, a stranger, watching and fingering herself.
It is a fantasy, yes, but my mind keeps returning to Addison. I see those brown eyes, those abundant breasts, and I want to taste her. I want to repay her and show her the pleasure of an older woman. But Addison is not responding to my texts. I don’t dare call her, not with her vacationing with her father.
There’s something even worse than that frustration over Addison going incommunicado: my growing inability to ignore my daughter’s beauty. Somehow, I thought the distractions of Paris would keep my mind away from Sofia. But she’s here, with me, and gorgeous, and sweet. I find myself jealous of Victoria whenever the two disappear into a bathroom together or say goodnight and head to their shared bedroom in our luxury suite. I know Brittany can sense it, maybe even Victoria knows, but I can’t speak the truth to my daughter.
I keep my mind busy by doing the touristy things. We take a trip to the symphony, a particularly sexy all-women ballet performance of Carmen, and a guided tour after hours at the Louvre. On our third day, we finally make it to Paris’s most famous tourist destination. The Eiffel Tower is gorgeous, of course, and the sky is a perfect blue over Paris. It’s chillier than usual. Brittany seems to be in a bad mood. Her mother takes a photo of Brittany kissing me under the tower, but that’s as hot and heavy as things get between the two of us.
When we get back to the hotel, I decide to take a long, relaxing bath using some of the salts I picked up. I also bought some moisturizing and softening cream formulated especially for breasts. It tingles a little as I sheath my plump mounds in the lavender-tinted cream. I spread it over my breasts and nipples until it has completely disappeared into my skin. It does feel nice and my breasts are particularly luscious after a good half hour of soaking in the tub.
I also feel rejuvenated. After the slightly disappointing trip to the Eiffel Tower, I’m feeling eager to make things up with Brittany and have a nice, hot, afternoon roll in the bed. I wrap my body in a towel and head into our room.
“She went out shopping with her mother,” says my Sofia, watching me emerge from the bathroom. She gestures to the small glass table by the door. “Victoria left a note for you.”
I’m surprised my daughter is waiting for me and even more perplexed by the fact that she is wearing a towel, much like my own. I decide not to ask right away. Instead, I cross the room to the door to the larger suite and find a small envelope with LINDSAY written dramatically across the front. Inside is a note from Victoria.
“Going shopping for the afternoon with Brittany,” reads the note. “I booked you and Sofia a couples massage. I paid for all the extras.”
Victoria has underlined the word “all” several times and ended her note with her signature and a winking smiley face. I turn to my daughter to ask her if she knew about all this. Before I can speak, there is a loud knock at the door to the suite. My pulse surges and my body tingles with nervous energy.
Two gorgeous masseuses are waiting for us at the door. Iwona is a tall and slender Polish girl with blue eyes and platinum blond hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She looks about twenty. Rosa is a stunningly voluptuous older woman, perhaps late thirties, with wide hips and breasts that strain the limits of her white hotel uniform. Her smoky eyes are dark and her sensual lips curl into a smile.
“Hello, we are here for massage,” she says in broken English.
“Yes, um, of course,” I say, stepping back from the door. They wheel in a pair of massage tables and set them up by the suite’s floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Paris. Golden light warms the carpet.
“You want curtain closed?” asks Iwona.
“No, leave them open,” says Sofia as she walks over to Rosa’s table.
The hotel is taller than most of the nearby buildings, but it still leaves us feeling a little exposed.
Iwona joins me at her table and gestures to the contoured cushions.
“Please, lie face down,” she takes my towel
. “I cover you.”
I’ve had massages before, even very sensual massages, but it still feels strange revealing my naked body to these women and two my daughter in such bright daylight. Sofia steals a look at me and even Rosa peeks as I climb onto the table and settle my plump, dangling breasts onto the cool surface. I stretch out on the table, cool air lapping between my thighs and a slight dampness lingering there. Just water from the shower or something more?
I glance over at Sofia just as she climbs onto her table. Good god, she is beautiful. She is so pert, so firm, with her auburn hair pulled back and her breasts seeming just the slightest bit fuller. Her legs seem even longer than mine as she stretches out and reveals the muscles in her thighs and bottom, leaving her ass arched for a moment longer before sliding flat onto her table. She looks me in the eye and I quickly look away, feeling quite embarrassed for staring lustily at my teenage daughter.
Luckily I have the face-rest to press my shame into. Iwona drapes the towel across me, barely covering my round bottom. I hear the snap of a lid and a moment later her strong, oiled fingers begin to caress my neck and shoulders. It is a skilled massage. These are not whores playing at masseuses. Iwona works her fingers deep into my muscles and follows the shape of my back, lower and lower, massaging away aches I did not even know I felt. Her fingers slip just under the towel, grazing the tops of my buttocks.
Beside me, Sofia groans with pleasure. She is very vocal, almost orgasmic, as Rosa massages her teenage body. Iwona moves to my feet, focusing on my arches and toes before moving up my firm legs to my shapely thighs. She massages a leg with each hand, her thumbs gliding along my inner thigh almost to the edges of my sex.
“Would you mind if I removed your towel?” asks Rosa.
“Please do,” purrs Sofia.
I lift my head from the ring as Rosa uncovers my daughter’s firm bubble and begins to massage it and gently spread it. The massage is still within the realm of legitimate, as far as I’m concerned, but watching the way Rosa handles Sofia’s ass leaves little doubt of where things are headed.
“That’s amazing,” moans Sofia, arching her back a little and raising her ass into Rosa’s skilled hands. “I’ve been doing so much walking, my glutes were really sore.”
“Madam?” Iwona leans over my shoulder. “Would you like me to massage the buttocks area?”
“Um, yes,” I say. “Alright.”
“It’s so good,” says Sofia. “You’ll love it, mom.”
Iwona sweeps away the towel, leaving me completely naked. My ass feels so big and I know Sofia is watching as Iwona oils her hands and begins to massage my plump bottom. All such embarrassment is almost forgotten as Iwona works my ass with her hands. I’ve had plenty of fondling over the years, but this is truly a massage, unashamed and unafraid, squeezing and working my buttocks, her fingers spreading my crack and massaging the inner curve.
“Oh!” gasps Sofia. I glance over as Rosa drips warm oil down my daughter’s crack. Her fingers slip between Sofia’s cheeks as the masseuse crosses the line into a definitely more intimate massage.
“You are very tense,” says Rosa. “Would you be more comfortable if I was also nude?”
I think Sofia answers, but I can hardly think straight as, at a signal, both women begin to disrobe. Iwona has this lovely, golden, all-over tan and these puffy pink areolas. Her quim is completely shaved with delicate labia like the petals of a rose. Rosa’s breasts lose some of their pertness as she removes her bra. They are at least as large as mine, with creamy white bikini marks and wide, brown areolas with fat nipples. Her pussy is almost untrimmed, just a dark thatch between her golden thighs, clipped short but otherwise allowed to nearly cover her mound.
Iwona and Rosa spread the oil into their hands and share it with each other in a well-practiced ritual. Their conduct is businesslike, but the sight of the older woman and younger woman oiling one another is incredibly erotic. Made more so by the knowledge that my daughter and I are about to be the recipients of further attention.
Iwona moves first, climbing atop my on the table and settling the weight of her oiled body onto my back. I gasp as her fingers move between my thighs, tickling over my pussy and slide, oily and firm, down my crack and over my tender clench. Her warm body pressed down onto me, her breasts on my shoulders, nipples moving as she slides against me, lower, higher again. She’s massaging me with her entire body and Sofia is watching.
“Oh my god, that is so hot, mom,” she says as Iwona slips and slides on my back and teases my holes with her fingers. “Does it feel as good as it looks?”
“I show you,” says Rosa.
The voluptuous Spanish woman mounts my daughter as Iwona mounted me. Her generous curves, oiled and slippery, seem to flow over my daughter’s slender body. Sofia moans as Rosa uses her fingers to massage between my daughter’s thighs. She slips and slides her body, moving her big, pillowy tits from Sofia’s neck down to her lower back. Rosa’s legs intertwine with Sofia’s.
“Ohhhhhhh,” cries my daughter and she lifts her ass. I realize Rosa has penetrated her with fingers, working two into my daughter’s velvet tunnel.
A moment later, I feel the same pleasure as Iwona’s finger push into my aching pussy and her knuckles rub against my clit. They fuck us with their fingers as they massage us with their bodies. I think Sofia cums after only a couple minutes. Her eyes close and she whines through clenched teeth. I last a bit longer, building to a moaning crescendo as Iwona writhes vigorously atop me, before cumming so hard that I shake the table.
“Oh my god,” I gasp, still shuddering as Iwona slips her fingers out of my pussy.
“Onto hands and knees, please,” says Iwona. “I give you special tongue massage.”
It is amazing how orderly it all proceeds. Sofia and I climb onto our hands and knees, our backs glistening with oil and our breasts dangling beneath us. We look at each other, both of us a little out of breath from our orgasms, and the two masseuses stand behind us. They both stroke our asses and lean their faces forward. A moment later, I feel Iwona’s nose in my crack and her tongue on the hot button of my clit. I watch as Rosa does the same to my Sofia.
Iwona licks me and sucks at my swollen folds. Her hot tongue prowls my anus as I clutch against her fingers once more. I push back against her, riding her tongue, throwing back my head and looking over to see my daughter doing the same.
“You look so fucking hot,” moans Sofia.
“It’s so good,” I gasp in reply. “She’s licking my ass.”
“Ohhhh, mine… too…” Sofia bites her lower lip. “Mmmm now she’s licking my clit again.”
We watch each other experience the pleasure. The women behind us are only tools through which my daughter and I share the ecstasy of our orgasms. My fingers tighten on the edges of the table and I push my ass back into Iwona’s pretty face. Sofia drops her head to the table and bounces her firm butt against Rosa. The moans from behind us accompany the soft, wet flicking sounds of tongues on tender flesh.
Our masseuses leave us panting and relaxed and completely flushed on our tables. I tip them extremely well. They towel off and dress and depart as I sit naked beside my daughter on the couch. I look over at her, blushing like she has been out in the cold, pert breasts glistening with traces of the oil and gently rising and falling with her breathing.
“That was amazing,” she murmurs.
“You’re so beautiful,” I say and caress her face. God, I want to kiss her. Not as a mother kissing her daughter, but as a lover. I want to taste her lips and make her feel like Rosa made her feel. The moment builds as I look into her brown eyes. I lean towards her and she pulls away and stands. Unashamed, her body revealed to me in all its beauty.
“I have to take a shower and get ready,” she said. “We have the masked ball tonight.”
I had completely forgotten! One of Victoria’s little surprises, though she had given us warning the night before. It was a masked ball at a Parisian swinger’s club called Secret Sq
uare. We had to reserve four spots in advance for a lot of money and it required Victoria sending photos of the four of us to be sure we were attractive enough. Everyone else seems excited. I’m not so sure. It’s not an exclusively lesbian club and I have zero interest in watching some old fat guy thrusting away at some poor girl.
Despite my reservations about the night, I go all out on my outfit. I go with a corseted blouse brocaded with tiny roses. It lifts my ample cleavage into a magnificent cupcake that I dust with gold glitter and a hint of blush. I go with a white foundation that makes my face look pale and add a beauty mark beside my full lips. My lips are red and luscious, my eyes are enhanced with mascara and lashes, and I wear a golden mask that covers my eyes and nose. My skirt is very short and ruffled, hiding the loveliness of my bottom, perhaps, but showing off my long legs and butterfly-pattern black silk stockings.
My loveliness is put to shame by my daughter. She is wearing a sheer corset that cradles but does not hide her lovely champagne coupe breasts and aroused nipples. The corset is paired with a sheer skirt and lovely stockings and panties worn over her garter so she can easily slip them off and leave the garter on. She dons a long jacket and a pair of heeled boots. Half her face is hidden behind a masquerade mask embellished with butterfly designs.
Brittany and Victoria meet us in the lobby of the hotel, mother and daughter dressed in similar red blouse and short skirt. They look sexy, but their outfits are a little trashier than the killer outfits Sofia and I put together.
Secret Square lives up to its name. Located in the basement of a historic hotel, we enter down a flight of stairs and meet with a tuxedoed bouncer who checks our tickets. He shows us into the bar and cabaret, where gorgeous women are dancing on stage and men and women are enjoying drinks in the audience.
The room is sumptuous and erotic and the lighting is low. I can see some couples playing at their tables, but a sign warns “no intercourse in cabaret.” Blowjobs, fingering, sure. Just don’t fuck in front of the dancers. I get it as we brush past a table where a square-jawed man in a mask is receiving a rough handjob through the fly of his trousers from a woman in the black vinyl and lace of a dominatrix.
The Lesbian Daughter Swapping Fantasy Club Page 13
