Family Weekend Ch. 01: Proposition


All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old


Four weeks had passed since Megan conquered her father. Or he, with her help, had corrupted himself. Whichever view was adopted, it was certainly true that John Taylor had fastidiously fucked his 19-year old daughter on a nearly daily basis the entire month of August. It was also true that she was two weeks past due for her period.

“oh my god… oh my god!” Megan repeated prayerfully while she held the test stick in her mid-stream morning pee. “Please, please, please be positive!” She begged under her breath. The golden flow split the stick and splashed happily against the pale green porcelain bowl, raining into the rippling toilet water as if it wanted equally as much to bear good news to its mistress. Ten minutes later, she squealed, “YESS!” when she saw the colorful announcement of the implanted fertilized egg’s existence in her womb.

Megan stood up, flushed the toilet, then washed her hands, grinning with idiotic delirium at herself in the mirror over the sink. She pranced naked into her bedroom and stared into the full length dressing mirror at her 5’2″, 144-pound stocky hourglass figure. Turning profile, Megan slowly ran her hands over her 38DD boobs, enjoying the electric thrill when her thumbs stubbed her stiffening nipples. She paused, spreading her fingers and palms flat on her slightly chubby tummy, just above her 30″ waist. “What ARE you in there?” She asked aloud to the empty room. “Son or daughter? Brother or sister?” She turned another 90 degrees, admiring her round ass below her 37″ hips, as she bent over and spread her sturdy legs. “Daddy loves my perfect butt,” she thought, slapping her left cheek sharply, but not as hard as her father did, when he was buried in her to his balls and pumping to beat the band. Her plump pussy’s lips quivered and opened a smidge. Juice gathered, glistening at their outer edges. Megan straightened up and crossed to her bureau. “Nuh-uh, girl!” She admonished herself, “Show some discipline.”

Quickly Megan stepped into a pair of plain white cotton briefs, strapped her tits into an underwired black plunge bra and grabbed a pair of white crew socks. From another drawer she removed a forest green polo shirt and pulled it over her head, smoothing it while bobbling her boobs, until her emblazoned name rested perfectly on her left breast top. She buttoned the bottom button, hiding her bra clasp, then spread the throat and collar to show off her cleavage to its full advantage.

Megan slipped on her black gabardine A-line uniform skirt, brushing its surface flat over her bottom, then sat on the bed to put on and tie her scuffed white Nikes. Standing again, she admired herself once more in the mirror before leaving to help her dad open the family pizza restaurant.

At 10:50 a.m. Megan parked her Honda Civic next to her father’s Cadillac De Ville, with its custom made license frame advertising ‘Gianni’s Li’l Sicily… Ittsa Nice Place!’ She let herself in at the backdoor and inhaled deeply. She loved the smell of the pizza ovens heating up. Relocking the door, she crossed the brick kitchen floor to the office where 42-year old John ‘Gianni’ Taylor was sitting, staring at the inventory screen on his PC.

Sneaking up swiftly, she covered his eyes with her small hands and gently pulled his head back until it rested firmly against her sternum and her large soft breasts were pillowed muffs for his ears. “Guess who!” She laughed.

“Sophia Loren?” John teased. “Gina Lollobrigida?”

“Daaaaddy!” Megan cried, shimmying her tits on his temples like she knew he liked, “It’s ME… MEGAN!” The she let go and, as he turned his chair around toward her, she straddled his legs, sat on his lap and kissed him hard on his lips. “How come you never guess it’s me?” She giggled, breaking the kiss and playing with his shirt buttons.

“I don’t know, Petunia,” John said, rubbing his hands up and down his daughter’s back. “Maybe because I still can’t believe how lucky I am every time it turns out to be you.”

“Mmmmmm,” Megan murmured. “I’m the lucky duck!” She finished opening her dad’s shirt and pulled on his belt. “Got time for a quick fuck?” She asked him outright. “I was… thinking of you this morning… I have a powerful… ITCH.”

John looked at the wall clock, then grinned at Megan as she pushed herself off and stood. “Well it has to be fast, but you know I can’t say ‘no’ to you.” He admitted.

John stood and dropped his trousers and shorts in a single push. His cock was already three-quarters hard and getting more so rapidly. “Yay! Look at THAT!” Megan squeaked, hiking her skirt above her love-handles and embracing John. She felt his hands slide under cotton panties’ waist and push them over her bottom, past her hips, then down her thighs. She wiggled her legs and danced until they were bunched at her feet. Megan pushed John, encouraging him to sit in his chair. As he did, she spun around, kicked her right foot free of her underpants and plopped her ripe open wet cunt onto her dad’s stiff thick spike.

“UUUHHNN!” she exclaimed, as she sheathed his sword and felt his big bedava porno strong hands grab and squeeze her tits through her shirt and bra.

“Ohhhh, Megan!” John exhaled, loving how the slick tight soft sides of her twat slid the length of his cock until her hams bounced on his quads and she could go no further. “Huh! Huh! Huh!” he huffed while she rose on the toes of her Nikes and dropped, again and again.

“EEE! EEE! EEE!” She yipped loudly each time his dick’s soft nose kissed her womb’s inner mouth and their leg muscles compressed against each other.

Suddenly John seized his little girl, pulling her down and holding her fast to his upthrust crotch. “AARRGGHH!” He snarled, laying his flushed face flat against her green knit shirt and busting his nut fiercely into her thirsty twat.

“EEEYesssss! OH my GOD, DAAAADdy!” Megan screamed. She knew her father liked it that she was a noisy fuck and it was a good thing, because she could not help herself, anyway. “YESSS! YESSSS! AYYAAIII!”

When their climaxes were past and breathing had normalized, Megan pulled herself off of John’s softening penis, cupped her hand too her cunt and said, “‘Scuse me, Daddy! Gotta go get ready for work!” She giggled as she scampered to the employees restroom, dragging her underwear across the floor on her left ankle.

John grabbed a handful of Kleenex from the box on his desk and wiped Megan’s juices and his residual strands of jism from his dick. He sighed happily, stood and stuffed his flaccid member, with its drained balls, into his briefs and fastened his chinos. He had just finished buttoning his shirt when he hear a knock at the back door.

“I’ll get it, Dad,” Megan called cheerfully, opening the door for the first shift waitress. “Hi Rhonda,” she said with a big smile, “Nice timing!”


During a mid-afternoon lull, Megan touched her father’s elbow at the bar while he was putting up some clean glasses. “Um, Dad? Can I… talk to you?” She asked tentatively with a serious look. “In the office… alone?”

John furrowed his brow. “Uh, sure.” He answered, guardedly, then followed Megan through the kitchen. Rhonda was wiping down tables and Wally was on his break, standing at a video game in the back of the restaurant. “Watch the store, Rhonda,” John called out.

“Naturally!” Rhonda shouted back, not even looking up as she continued her work.

John closed the office door and asked, with concern in his voice, “What’s up, sweetie? Everything OK?”

“Yes, Dad,” Megan began, casting her eyes down before looking up into her father’s face and batting her long dark lashes. “But… I want to DO something…”

“SHIT! Again? Now?” John thought , knowing how horny and loud Megan could get. Aloud, he said with a quizzical look, “What is it, Petunia?”

“I want to go away with you… to our cabin for the weekend.” Megan finished. She stepped in close and hugged John, pushing her breasts flat and rubbing them on his barrel chest.

“What? Alone? When?” John’s mind reeled at the prospect. “How could we do that? Who would run the restaurant? Your mother would object.” The obstacles piled up even as his dick jumped in his pants at the very idea of the getaway.

In a calm rush, Megan mapped out her plan. “Yes, alone… well, sort of… THIS weekend, over Labor Day.” She dropped her hand to John’s crotch and squeezed his growing tuber. “It’s a LONG weekend, you know, Daddy, and afterward, with all the kids back in school, you…” She pushed her palm hard against his nuts, feeling them squish against the heel of her wrist as her extended fingers scratched his ass crack through his slacks. “…will be probably too busy for any extra… you know, FUN.” She looked up and grinned. “Mom and Wally and Rhonda and Janet can mind the business. Wally wants to be the manager and he already covers Tuesdays for you… This would be great experience for him, wouldn’t it?” She pulled her hand back and tweaked the large fleshy bulb outlined against the top of John’s fly. “Can’t we?… PLEEEASE?”

John groaned. His nuts ached. His cock hurt. His throat was dry. “Uhhh… Ohh.. k-kay,” he managed to rasp.

Megan pushed him against he door and slithered down his body until she faced John’s bulging groin on her knees. “Yay!” She said, “I’ll plan everything, Daddy!” She unzipped him and fished his thick cock from his Jockeys. His knob drooled clear pre-cum. “You just leave this to… mmmmff!” She stopped talking and started sucking John’s cock with gusto. While her cheeks pulled in and out like bellows, Megan worked both her hands on his dick and eggs. She stroked, squeezed, sucked, blew and bobbed her head with abandon.

“Nnnaahhh!” John moaned, feeling the pressure build under Megan’s tender insistent attention. He put his hands lightly on her head, allowing her room to move while he rubbed his fingers through her curly hair and scratched her scalp. His hips jerked forward and Megan sealed herself tight around him as he evacuated his testicles. She loved the way his cock hopped in her mouth as it pulsed his semen onto her cheeks and down her throat. She zenci porno held his nuts and felt them shrink with his sack into a tight little ball. Finally, John was quiet and penis lay still, fat and warm on her tongue. She slid her mouth back and popped her lips as she released his shiny plump mushroom.

“Mmmmmmm,” Megan said, looking with adoration at her father. “Thank you, Daddy! You won’t be sorry!”

“You mother may not agree,” John cautioned.

“I bet she says ‘YES!'” Megan answered optimistically, licking the last of John’s cum from her lips and standing up. She tucked his shriveled tool back in place and re-zipped his chinos. “We better get back out on the floor before Wally finishes his break.” She declared, kissing her dad and pushing a tiny gob of saved grease through his lips into his mouth. “There! That’s from you to me to you!” She giggled and flounced out of the office.


That evening at the Taylor home, over espresso and tiramisu, following a nice veal scallopini with angel-hair pasta in cream sauce, Megan looked to her mother, Francesca, and coughed. “Um, Mom? You know, Nel Martin is moving all the way across town and I’m not going to be able to see her as often or as easily, and she’s, like, my very best friend…” Megan said, allowing her voice to tactically trail off.

“Yes,” Francesca replied, “So…?” She encouraged noncommittally. She knew her daughter and knew something was coming. She just did not know what.

“Well, I was wondering if we… she and I… could go up to our cabin for the long Labor Day weekend. You know, just hang out and stuff. Go for hikes, enjoy the season before the snow gets here…” Megan paused for a response.

“Hmmm,” Francesca answered, with a small frown, “I’m a little concerned about you two being up there all alone. A lot can happen… ” She squinted her eyes at Megan with a no-nonsense expression. “…And before you SAY it, it’s not about TRUST. The cabin is isolated and there’s no phone or electricity.” She shot a look across the table at John. “Has Megan raised this with you already, Johnny?” She asked.

John looked doubtfully at his daughter. “Not exactly, Franny,” he said. “She said she wanted to spend the weekend at the cabin and I immediately asked ‘What? Alone’ and she said, ‘Well, sort of’ and I said ‘Your mother may not agree.’ The details were unspecified until just now.” He looked at his plate and forked another bite of dessert into his mouth.

“Well they’re both level-headed and technically adults,” Francesca said, mulling over the bonus opportunities. “Johnny would be playing golf all weekend, no doubt,” she considered silently. “Still,” she looked at Megan and smiled, to remove any possible insult, “I’d feel better if there was a more mature person along. I wonder if Nel’s mother might not consider going?” She tested.

“GEEZ! MOM!” Megan said, “The whole point is for me and Nel to be able to talk! How could we do that with a mother around?” She lowered her head and pouted, just enough to convey disappointment without expressing emotional immaturity which, she was sure, would sink her plans promptly.

John put down his fork, swallowed his last bite and said, “You both have good points. How about THIS for a compromise: Wally wants more experience running the pizza parlor. I have ZERO interest in ‘girl talk’ and could use a little getaway before the school year starts again. Why don’t I go up with them, chop wood, build the fires, and generally keep an eye out?”

“Yikes!” Megan erupted. “We don’t need a chaperone, Dad, HONEST!”

“No, no,” John protested. “I didn’t say anything like that. I was thinking more like you and Nel would be a couple of young women who rented our cabin and maybe could use a handyman now and then.” He smiled and turned his head, winking at Megan with his offside eye, out of Francesca’s vision. “More like a concierge than a chaperone, you know?”

Francesca immediately nodded agreement. “That would be better than the golf course, even!” She thought giddily. She cast a quick glance at Wally, who had scrunched low in his chair, pretending to be disinterested in the outcome, but had suddenly perked up. “Well, Johnny, that would… satisfy ME… if you thought you could leave Li’l Sicily in Wally’s care. I personally think he’s up to taking care of the home fires.”

John turned to his son. “Well, Wally,” he asked pointedly, “Would you like to ‘be the Man’, as it were, while I’m away? You would not be able to reach me for any decisions, although, of course, you can rely on your mom to be a resource.” He looked back down the table to his wife.

Wally choked on his wine and coughed into his napkin. That first Tuesday evening in August was indelibly inscribed in his mind, and imprinted on his libido, but one thing or another had foiled every opportunity for a repeat session with his mother. Now there was the distinct possibility of actually cuckolding his father in his parents’ bed. Wally felt a bead of sweat pop under his thin mustache. He dabbed his mouth, recovered and looked at John. “I think I can do that, Dad… I’d brazzers porno sure like to try, anyway!” He also looked toward Francesca, trying to read the expression in her face, behind her dark eyes.

“So, Franny,” John summed up, “It’ll be up to you to help Wally with this growth opportunity… Show him what he needs when he needs it and let him take it from there.” He swiveled his head from Wally to Megan and back to his wife, beaming at them all as he sat back. Lifting his goblet, he toasted the table, “Alla Nostra Famiglia!” then drained his final swallow.

Megan, Francesca and Wally could not have been happier. Megan pushed back her chair and kissed her mother and dad. “Thank you, both! May I be excused? I want to call Nel!” She rushed out of the room and down the hall, floating on air.


Meanwhile, at the Martin house, 18-year old Nel and her 38-year old mother, Sally, were laying supine and nude, side by side, on the king-size bed in the master bedroom. Kneeling between them, sitting on his heels, with a thick terrycloth towel wrapped around his otherwise naked frame, was Claude James, Nel’s 57-year old uncle and grandfather and Sally’s brother and father. He had a bottle of Johnson and Johnson’s baby oil between his knees and he was slowly, gently, skillfully massaging the burgeoning 15-week baby bumps he had created in the women last May when he came to Denver from Portland to support them at the death of Carla James, the matriarchal first link in their three generation incestuous chain of love.

Claude moved his slick hands in tandem across their sparkling bare bellies, dragging his fingers and curving their tips at the rounded edges of the distended abs. He dipped his thumbs casually, periodically, into their broad navels and paused only to apply more lotion to their shiny skin. Nel’s eyes were closed. Her breasts rose and fell at a relaxed rate, but she was not asleep. She was reveling. Sally’s eyes were open, fixed on her loving brother’s handsome rugged features. She smiled an open smile and occasionally licked her tongue across the bottom edge of her top teeth.

Claude was somewhat less relaxed. He had been rubbing the women’s sensuous bodies for several minutes and his pecker was anything but disinterested by the feelings his fingers transmitted along the neural pathways. He found his hands straying, both north and south, by increasing increments. His left hand passed over the fine silky, translucent light brown hairs of Nel’s mott and lightly greased her crease. She mewled as his fingers pressed in a millimeter between her lower lips. His right hand, simultaneously, burrowed through the thicker thatched forest of Sally’s natural brown bush. He found her trench was equally willing to admit his explorers. She breathed out heavily through her teeth with a low whistle as his middle finger bumped her button.

Returning higher and replenishing the oil, Claude pushed his hands up through the valleys between their breasts. He divided them and spread his fingers. His left hand moved left over Nel’s raised right areola while his right hand similarly slid right across Sally’s left tit. When his thumbs felt their nipples, he paused to pinch the polished pips before sliding to the outside and down below the breasts. These he pushed upward, compressing the firm full orbs and digging his finger tips in, then flattening and again returning to the glistening domed tummies.

Nel was moaning and rolling her head gently in response to Claude’s strokes. Sally lifted her head and noted her father’s tented towel between his legs. She turned her face toward her daughter and whispered, “Nel, help me.” When she saw Nel open her eyes and follow her gaze, Sally reached her right hand to her own breast and spread its oil on her fingers. Nel did the same with her left hand and the women pushed their wrists under Claude’s towel and grabbed his thick upright pole.

By now Claude’s meandering mitts were again foraging in the open beckoning pussies of his mothers-to-be. Nel pulsed and fiddled her palm and fingers on her grandfather’s loaded eggs as they hung, floating, despite their great weight, in his scrotum. Sally played her fingers on his staff from root to rim, tickling his plum and rubbing the baby oil into its soft rubbery head before squeezing her way back to the base. Claude’s hips ground forward and back, while the women rolled theirs and thrust their pelvises up to grab and pull his fingers deeper as he slid them along their slits, from os to clit.

The trio found their own syncopation and each hummed a soft tuneless murmur and groan as their individual tensions built to bursting. Nel was the first to break. “Aahhnnn” was her only sound as she flexed her body and arched on shoulders and buttocks, twisting with the long gentle orgasm. Sally clenched her thighs tight on Claude’s right hand. Her cunt muscles pulled his fingers so strongly his knuckles popped. “Uhnnnn! Uhhnnn! UUUNNNNhhh!” she cried as her climax arrived. She closed her fist hard around Claude’s cock and pinched his soft glans between her thumb and index finger. The sensation was excruciating and wonderful. “HYANHHHHH!” He exclaimed, as his strong surge of semen was momentarily blocked and then suddenly released. His hot seed shot high above them like a firework and fell in great gobs while Nel manipulated his balls and Sally wielded his throbbing spurting dick like a paintbrush.