Doing Daisy and Donna

Donna smiled a huge, blissed out smile. "Slutty mommy loves your big, hard cock, Mister Malcolm," she said. She rubbed it over her forehead and along her cheeks. Then she pressed it up under her nose and inhaled, deeply. "Ohhhh. Slutty mommy loves your cock. Needs your cock and cum, Mister Malcolm."

"You want my cum?"

"Uh-huh," she said, nodding. She ran her tongue up and down his shaft. "'ove it."

Alan marveled. Donna seemed entirely authentic. Unless she was an incredible actress, she genuinely loved what she was doing and completely believed what she was saying.

Malcolm grabbed Donna's hair so hard she cried out. "Then blow me, you stupid junkie bitch. Yeah. Yeah, just like that, all the way down your throat. Good slut. If you're good, maybe I'll give you some cum, you stupid fucking whore."

"Alan," said Russ, waving him over. Russ still had two fingers in Daisy, and now he'd snaked his thumb up her ass. Two fingers and a thumb, as if her rear were a bowling ball. With his other hand, he lifted Daisy's head by her hair. Her mouth hung open in a dumb, happy smile. Moans escaped, inflected by the rough workings of Russ's hand.

"C'mon, man," said Russ. "Take her mouth. They're totally into it."

Alan looked closely for any sign of the miserable, reluctant girl he'd seen 10 minutes ago. Nothing. Whoever that Daisy was, she wasn't here now. She was as happy and horny a female as he'd ever seen, either in person or on a screen.

Alan got on his knees in front of Daisy's face. Russ let go of her hair. Daisy's nose bapped against Alan's cock, and she giggled. "Yummy," she slurred, and took his cock into her head.

As Daisy blew Alan, Russ braced himself behind the girl and sank himself in. "Oh, fuck, yes," he said. "Best pussy in town!" Russ thrust ferociously. The girl's flesh rippled and jounced, and muffled uh-uh-uh-UH! noises came from her throat, but she didn't stop working on Alan's cock.

Nearby, Malcolm pulled Donna's head off his cock. She whimpered, her tongue hanging out.

"C'mon, bitch-mommy," said Malcolm. "You know how I like it best. No, don't pout. Just get ready."

Donna pulled down her panties, kicked them off, and sank two fingers into her cunt. Then she withdrew her fingers and lubed up her ass with her vaginal juices. Malcolm got behind her, gave her cunt maybe a dozen quick pumps with his cock, then pulled out and rested the head of his cock on her anus.

Malcolm saw Alan watching. He pointed at the stretch marks on Donna's flanks. "Her pussy's too loose. It's like a train tunnel."

"You'd feel more if you were bigger," shouted Russ. He had to shout over the slapping of his hips against Daisy's ass cheeks.

"I'm plenty big," said Malcolm.

"Not according to your mom."

Malcolm scowled. "Fuck you, man. If you can find her, you can fuck her. For free. Everyone else did." Malcolm spanked Donna's ass. "Now. Say it, you dried-up whore."

"Fuck my ass," said Donna. "Please butt-fuck this slutty mommy. Cum in this slutty mommy's ass, please."

He spanked her again, harder. "Please what?"

"Please, sir. Please fuck mommy butt-slut. Mommy butt-slut loves it in her ass, please, sir—ooaaAAHHHOOHHHHHYEAH—"

Malcolm gritted his teeth as he tunneled up Donna's ass. "Hell, yes. You really need to try this. Tighter than any pussy."

Russ smirked. "That's fag stuff." And he gripped Daisy's hips and bore down.

It didn't take much longer. Russ pummeled Daisy. She kept her head on Alan's cock until the very end but had to let go when Russ hammered out his orgasm in a battery of thrusting. Then Russ pulled out and tossed himself back on the couch, soaking in his orgasm as if he'd just smoked a joint. Daisy's empty cunt burped air, then closed itself, sealing the cum inside of her. Then, smiling like a mental patient, she took Alan's cock in her slender, pink-nailed hand and popped it back in her mouth.

Malcolm was next. He kept up a steady stream of abuse toward his woman as he sawed in and out of her ass. Donna responded with throaty yeahs and pleases and yeses and other urgings. As Malcolm neared orgasm, his words disintegrated into a series of fuck yous and stupid cunts and fucking bitches. And then he blew himself up into Donna's colon as she shrieked pain and pounded ecstasy into the rug.

Alan was last. Daisy had recovered quickly from Russ's pounding. With terrifying skill she worked him to orgasm. With his first pulse, she pistoned his entire shaft down her throat, then out, then down her throat again, over and over. Through his pleasurable agony, Alan realized her technique was extracting as much semen as his body could possibly produce. He held on as long as he could, but then his cock became too sensitive. He broke Daisy's hold and fell to the floor.

Daisy rested her head on her forearms, ass up, quivering. At first Alan thought she might be crying, but then he heard words: yeah. Oh, yeah. Yeah, fuck, yeah— The girl was in shaking in ecstasy. Donna was doing the same thing—ass high in the air, head down. A pair of junkies, lost in the bliss of their fix.

"Shit," said Alan. "Fuck. That was incredible."

"Ain't done yet," said Malcolm, zipping up. "C'mon. There's one last thing to see."

The women churned in private pleasures as Russ and Alan zipped up. By the time they had retrieved their beers and sat on the sofa, mother and daughter had recovered enough to move with intent.

"Watch this," said Malcolm. "Fucking 'em is fun, but this is my favorite part."

Daisy rolled onto her back, pinching her pussy lips closed so nothing could leak out. Donna crawled over and straddled her daughter, head above Daisy's pelvis and ass at her face. Then mother pushed herself up into a half-squat as daughter opened her mouth.

"Oh, shit," said Alan. "No way—"

Malcolm's cum dropped out of Donna's asshole and into Daisy's mouth. When the flow of cum ran dry, Daisy snaked her tongue up into her mother's anus and licked it clean.

"Holy shit," breathed Alan. Russ and Malcolm hooted and high-fived. Donna mouth-breathed in empty-headed bliss. Daisy lapped away.

Soon Daisy stopped licking. She lay twitching, giggling dopily, huh-huh-huh. Alan noticed that the hand she'd used to trap Russ's cum inside her now rested limply at her side.

"Looks like you were potent tonight," said Russ. "Girl might be OD'ing."

"Fuck, yes," said Malcolm. "That's 100% uncut Malcolm she just lapped up."

Donna dismounted. "C'mon, baby," she said, prodding her. "Mommy needs it now. Please sit on her face."

"You're losing out, 'Mommy,'" said Malcolm. He gestured at the white stream pulsing from Daisy's twat.

"Oh, God," Donna hissed. She wrenched open her daughter's legs and lapped at Russ's semen. If Daisy noticed her mother's attentions, it didn't seem to make a difference. She was all twitched-out smiles and misfiring synapses. Once Donna finished cleaning what cum remained from her daughter's pussy, she sucked at the wet spot on the carpet.

The men sipped their beers as they watched the spectacle. In time, Donna stopped sucking on the carpet and rested her head on the wet spot. She made little jerky breaths, like someone was poking the soles of her feet with needles. Her eyes were half-open, and she saw nothing.

In a high-school history class, Alan had seen an etching of the Chinese opium dens of the nineteenth century. That's what this looked like. Mother and daughter were wrecked out of their minds with semen.

Alan's post-orgasm guilt was building. "Are they going to be okay?"

"Hell, yes," said Russ. "This is normal. They'll be fine."

"Should we leave?"

"Dude," said Russ. "We paid for two whole hours. Even if we don't fuck them again, we stay. Look around. See that television and those speakers in the wall? See that bar? That's all ours right now."

Alan gestured at the twitching women. "What about them?"

Malcolm smirked. "They don't care. Watch this." He leaned over Donna and hocked up phlegm on the side of her face. And then another, this one in her ear. And then he reached around and plunged two fingers up her anus and shook her midsection back and forth. Donna responded to none of it.

Alan regarded Malcolm. He'd known Malcolm was not a good person, and now he decided that he was a bad person. His friend was awful.

But then Alan looked around the room—the high ceilings, the chandeliers, the wallpaper, the huge couch, the plush carpet. He thought about the young man at the door—the nice clothes, and the downturned corners of his mouth that bespoke contempt. He looked at the women's lovely finger- and toenails, how expensive those colors must have been. How they probably hired someone to apply the polish. And he remembered the woman's scent of roses and whiskey.

They had money, these women and that young man. Even if the women were insane whores and the young man was their pimp, or whatever. And he'd handed them an entire day's wages. And tomorrow he'd have to make that money all over again at a job that alternately bored him and enraged him.

"Okay," said Alan. "Where's their whiskey?"

*****

Thomas let the hot water of the shower beat on his back. He rubbed his neck. Carrying the dead weight of his sister to her bed hadn't been a problem, but lugging Mother to her room had strained him. Donna was gaining weight. She'd need to spend more time in their home gym. She wouldn't like it—exercise was hard when you felt miserable—but it had to be done. She needed to look good to keep bringing in the money, and his sister couldn't do the work alone. Not unless he doubled her hours and clients, and neither he nor Donna would let that happen.

Thomas mulled over the night's clients. He'd studied them as they retrieved their phones. Russ was his usual, douchebroedly exultant self. Malcolm was sated, a scavenger who'd eaten his fill. The new guy, Alan—he was harder to read. He was new, and new guys either really liked what just happened or they looked sick. Alan just looked conflicted. Thomas wasn't sure if he'd be back, and he was pretty sure that Alan wasn't sure, either.

Alan was observant, though. As he picked up his phone, he'd commented on the signature on one of the paintings. "Daisy painted that?"

Thomas nodded. "A while ago." He said it in a way to shut that conversation right down.

As Thomas shampooed his cock, he flashed on where he'd been ten minutes earlier: up to his balls inside his mother. As usual, Daisy had gotten more cum than Donna, so he had to make up the difference. He remembered her calves on his shoulders, her perfectly manicured toes by his ears. Everything above her waist was covered by a blanket—he couldn't bear to look at her, even though she was dead to the world—but his pounding shook loose from her muffled uhs and ohs.

In time, Thomas brought himself off inside his mother. Then he pulled out, set a plate at her crotch, and sat her up so his cum could run out. Then he let his mother fall back, and he set the plate on the nightstand. Donna would wake in a few hours, her craving not fully sated by the night's activities. What was on the plate would let her sleep and keep the withdrawal symptoms at bay until more men arrived.

Thomas used a loofa on his feet and reflected. Of course he didn't have to feed them that way. He could just jack off onto the plate, like when it all started. But one night about six months ago he'd fucked Daisy while she was sleeping it off. And although he tried not doing it again, eventually he gave up. They didn't know, either of them. He was sure of it. And he was so lonely.

Thomas shivered in the hot water. Christ. What horrors they were, the three of them.

Stepping out of the shower, he tallied up tonight's take. With that $240, they had enough for the mortgage. A few days more and they'd have the health insurance premium. After that, utilities and food and necessities, including birth control and STD tests and mani-pedis. He'd take the money to the bank. The tellers probably thought he was a drug dealer. God, if only.

Thomas cleaned and aired the main room where they'd all fucked. Then he poured a glass of whiskey and tried to distract himself with television. He cursed his stepfather, who had somehow—somehow!—done this to his sister and his mother, rendered them somehow—somehow!—addicted to cum like it was black tar heroin. The son-of-a-bitch stepfather that Thomas had removed and buried in the backyard.

Thomas knew he shouldn't have done it. He should have tortured his stepfather into reversing what he'd done. If it was reversible at all. But he'd been so angry, and the bat had been right there.

Someday, Thomas thought, the three of them would be free from this. But until then, he and his mother and sister would be servicing low-class bumpkins like the fucking RAM team, and he'd be cleaning up after all of them.

Seriously, he thought. Fuck those low-rent douchebags. Keep giving me your cash, you poor dumb fucks who can't get it for free. I'll keep taking it. Fuck you all.