Chapter 10: Your Fantasies or Mine?

Lydia

That’s why I love my Mark so much. He could have snuggled up to us, but instead he padded all the sharp edges in preparation of me living out my sexual fantasies. Then he finished off the bottle of wine Meri and I had left half unfinished and apparently he had fallen asleep on the couch afterwards.

However, the demonstration of my guilty pleasure wouldn’t happen, at least not yet. First of all, I was all for the experimentation that Mark had in mind and I actually talked to Meri about it after we woke up. We were both excited about it, but we were also in agreement that it shouldn’t happen to a schedule. And besides, I really needed to get to know this house better before I started stumbling about in it blindfolded.

After we had taken a shower, we selected our clothing, which was just a bikini bottom. Mark was fascinated with boobs, so why should we hide them? Besides, I had gotten some mild tan lines in Barcelona and it was time to get rid of them.

We both took our pill. For me that was as instinctive as going to the toilet in the morning, but Meri had only been on the pill for a year, so we had decided to take it together in order to remind each other. Nothing would have been worse than forgetting it and then deciding to have fun with Mark.

I shortly thought about using the butt-plug again, but my poor battered rear-end was still tingling from the workout it had gotten the day before. However, as soon as I wouldn’t be sore anymore, I was determined to try again. I needed to know if that monstrous orgasm had been a freak occurrence or if it would always feel that great. If it would, then I would definitely try to take Mark in there. The sheer thought of my sweetheart’s massive tool splitting my little butt apart threatened to soak my fresh bikini bottom right away.

When Meri and I came down into the living room Mark was snoring lightly, like he always did when he was lying flat on his back. His semi-rigid morning wood was lazily resting on his abdomen. I winked at Meri and tilted my head in his direction. Her big boobs jiggled as she scooted over to the sofa, grinning mischievously.

It didn’t take long to hear a gasp, telling me my darling son had woken up. I looked over my shoulder and saw him watching the scene in fascination as Meri greeted him with a gentle blowjob. She was humming the melody of The Chordettes’ “Lollipop”, letting go of his raging hard-on once in a while to produce that signature ‘pop’ by flicking her cheek with her finger. I nearly bowled over laughing. It was a hilarious scene.

Never missing a chance to get his hands on our boobs, Mark gently caressed Meri’s large jugs. I was about to feel some Schadenfreude that Meri would have to walk around with a very telling wet patch on her panties, but then I realized I was leaking just as badly. I couldn’t believe how much it turned me on when I watched them fooling around. No wonder Mark had thoroughly enjoyed last night, despite the fact that he had gotten relatively little action himself.

It took some effort to tear my eyes away from the spectacle to continue making breakfast, but the damage was done – I was sopping wet and my nipples looked like they were making a break for freedom. I put on an apron as I didn’t want to get hot fat on any parts of me that Mark and Meri were very fond of.

By the time the eggs were done and deposited in the bowl, the two horny youngsters in the living room had switched positions and Mark was lapping away at Meri’s pussy like a dog in heat. And by the way she was squealing, she was definitely loving it. Like myself Meri seemed to be very orgasmic as we both had a tendency to cum fast and often. You could argue it could also be that Mark had magic hands and a fantastically skilled tongue, but that only happens in cheesy fantasy stories. He was surprisingly gentle and dedicated to make us feel good, but he was still relatively inexperienced – all three of us were, actually.

Meri let out a low guttural moan and Mark gently held her while she shivered through her orgasm. I opened the terrace door as the whole room smelled of pussy.

The two of them were sitting next to each other, still cross-eyed after their respective climaxes. I stood before them, hands on my hips.

“What about me, young man?”

Mark just grinned at me with mock menace. “You, dear mother of mine, will be dessert, and I will have my way with you until you think you’re living with Vlad the Impaler. But first I need a shower and something in my stomach.”

As a way of confirmation his stomach growled loudly and we all chuckled.

Meri

Well, Mark was certainly not one to make empty promises. I was catching a tan outside, naked on a deck chair, and the two of them were still at it in the living room. I had stopped counting, but I think Lydia had gone through three orgasms at the very least by then. Mark must have been a bit more enthusiastic than usual, unless ‘god, yes, finger mom’s naughty ass’ was code for something. My best bet was that he merely put the ‘scientific findings’ of last night’s sexual exploration to good use, mainly the insight that Lydia had a massive thing going for anal sex.

Finally, the ruckus died down and about half an hour later Lydia staggered out ‘armed’ with two towels, sun cream and two drinks, which she put on the small table under the parasol.

She had probably taken a quick shower, but the puffed flesh of her normally quite tightly closed pussy and her somewhat funny gait left no doubt that she’d been on the receiving end of a jolly good pounding with something that was considerably bigger than the average-sized strap-on we had used last night.

“He’s quite good for someone who was a virgin less than six months ago,” I noted, putting sun cream on Lydia’s back.

“That’s the nice thing about being in love with a brainiac,” Lydia said with a chuckle. “He reads a lot – even women’s magazines. And he uses his artist’s hands well. I doubt the paws of a two-hundred-fifty pound quarterback would feel half as good.”

Lydia put the lotion on her front herself and leaned back against the deck chair, sipping her drink, thinking about something.

“You should try the drink,” Lydia said, pointing at the other glass. “It’s non-alcoholic and the best I can come up with for a drink that contains Vitamin supplements. I’m quite proud of it.”

“Vitamin supplements?” I asked doubtfully. As a professional athlete you had to be careful what you ate and drank. A failed test for performance enhancing drugs could kill your career in a damn hurry.

“Don’t worry, all clean stuff,” she answered with a chuckle. “I risked my neck fleeing from East Germany to get away from PED’s. I’m not going to start messing around with them now. I think we’ve shown quite comprehensively that we can win clean.”

I smiled.

“I’m pretty sure the Japanese girl, who was nipping at your heels until the bitter end, was loaded to the gills with ‘The Juice’, and probably the Russians as well,” I theorized.

“Most of the Russians,” Lydia replied with a nod. “I would almost vouch for the fact that Fedorova is clean. She’s a good girl and her coach is my old coach from Magdeburg. He fled to Austria, half a year after me. He was the one who always told me not to mess up my body for the sake of medals.”

“Why didn’t you try to recruit him for yourself?” I asked. “You seem quite fond of him.”

“Thomas is a good man and I owe him a lot. He was a big help in the time just after Mark’s birth. But from a professional point of view he’s a bit too old-school. Endlessly drilling stamina and power isn’t cutting it anymore these days. Fedorova would sink like a lead balloon in a 10k race. She’s got absolutely no acceleration at all. One sprint in the marathon and she tanked completely. Had the Africans not messed up everybody in the first kilometers she wouldn’t even have saved the bronze. Katrin was only twenty seconds from reeling her in.”

We could hear Mark’s voice from behind. He was talking to someone on his cell phone, him being the first of us to use one of them new-fangled things. Lydia and I had already decided to get one of those for ourselves as well.

“You are crazy dude. But then, who am I to talk. My better half is my own mother.”

He put a large sketch book, several colored pencils and a can of beer on the table. Like us he was stark naked and he walked around in thought talking with whoever it was on the other end. Since there were only three ‘dudes’ whom he could so casually mention their secret to, my best guess was that he was talking to Jonjo.

“You didn’t accidentally inhale some pot, did you?” he asked with a laugh. “I mean the idea is great but jeez ... No, I doubt it, they both have at least six to eight years of career in them, so you don’t even need to look at it before 2000, probably more like 2001. Forty is not too old for a marathon runner and I would bet mom would like to be at the 2000 Olympics.”

Lydia and I exchanged surprised looks. It looked like we were the topic of the talk or at least part of it.

“Yeah, man, talk to you later, and keep your hands off the shit they try to sell you in back-alleys.”

The last one was delivered with a laugh and he severed the connection, commandeering the deck chair next to Lydia.

Mark

I started rubbing sun cream over my chest and mom started on my back without me having to ask for it. I could see it in their eyes that they were about to burst from curiosity, wanting to know what the topic of the talk between Jonjo and I had been.

Once my protection from sunburn was secured I turned to them with a mischievous grin.

“So, should I pretend you’re not ready to burst or do you want me to tell my big secret?”

Mom just rolled her eyes in mock exasperation and I let them off the hook.

“Jonjo has decided to major in Automotive Engineering and for his final exam he wants to build a racing car. And now the really good bit...”

I drew out the big reveal and both of them actually leaned towards me like two precious flowers seeking the sunlight.

“He wants to scoop up a knackered Trabant and nail two big motor cycle engines to it, converting it to all-wheel drive in the process.”

I could tell that this all sounded Greek to Meri, confusion evident on her face. She probably didn’t even know what a Trabant was, but Mom started snickering.

“Okay, now I know why you asked him about smoking pot. That sounds like a classic crack idea,” she said. “And why would he start now? he’s only starting his second year in college in two weeks and he’s already making plans for graduation?”

“And more importantly, where do we fit into all this techno-babble?” Meri added.

I quickly scribbled a sketch of a Trabant car into my sketch book and handed it to Meri.

“This, honey, is a Trabant 601, also known as Ulbricht’s last Revenge or a Cardboard-Porsche, the worst car ever built. An asthmatic heart of twenty-six geriatric horses beating in a body of sheer plastic mediocrity.”

Mom doubled over, laughing.

“Anyway, Jonjo reckons he’ll need at least three to four years to develop a transmission and raise money to build it anyway, so he wants to start early. As for the three of us. He doesn’t only want to build that thing; he actually wants to race it. And that’s where we come in.”

“He wants us to drive that thing?” Mom asked, still mightily amused about the sheer hilarity of a Trabant-based racing car.

“Indeed he does, mother of mine,” I answered with a chuckle. “Apparently he read the story in the last Sports Illustrated, about professional athletes who become depressed after the end of their careers. And he immediately thought of you. Sort of like preparing to throw you a life-line to keep you from drowning.”

“He’s so sweet,” mom said and I could hear she was truly moved by the gesture.

“Well, I certainly would like to have a chance at properly going bonkers in a car, legally,” Meri giggled.

“Do you really think I’ll cut it until 2000?” mom asked suddenly, remembering the talk I had with Jonjo about their careers.

“Maurizio de Zolt from Italy won a world championship bronze over 50 kilometers cross-country last year, at forty-one and he isn’t even quitting yet,” I reminded her. “Stamina doesn’t deteriorate as quickly as springiness. For Meri it’ll be curtains at thirty, except for the long-jump, but there’s no reason for you not to have another competitive decade, considering that marathon runners peak in their mid to late thirties.”

“Do you think Jonjo is serious?” mom probed further.

“Well, he might come across all Bob-Marley-like, but Jonjo usually doesn’t muck about. And I think the idea of racing isn’t even a bad one. Look at Mario Andretti. He’s what? A hundred and thirty? And he’s still racing in Indycars. There are people driving in Le Mans, who are pushing seventy. You can do that for a long time and it might be a solution to my identity dilemma.”

“How so?” Mom’s curiosity was now properly peaked.

“Do you know Louis Krages?” I asked and both of them shook their heads.

“Well, that’s because everyone knows him by the name of John Winter. His own mother didn’t realize for years that he was racing cars. His cover was finally blown when he won Le Mans in 1985 and he had to go on the podium. That’s when his mother found out.”

“How did he do that all those years?” Meri wondered aloud.

“Well, he was racing in sports cars, usually in the mid-field. Sports car races feature a lot of drivers in one place, so barely anyone knew him personally and he always had his balaclava or even his helmet on when he was in the pit-lane. Nobody ever managed to put name and face together. And that’s where you two would come in. In a team with two babes as hot as you for drivers, I’d be invisible to begin with.”