Chapter 6

Harper, being pretty innocent, didn’t have a lot of experience planning a seduction. That’s what this was supposed to be, after all. She just thought one thing would lead to another and that I’d “realize” I had all these feelings for her mother. She was so self-absorbed in her little plot that she actually coached Hannah on what to do as we posed.

“Sigh a lot,” she said. “Breathe into his neck and ear. Suzy Simmons says that drives guys crazy. And wiggle around on top of his ... you know.”

“I’ll try,” said Hannah, restraining an urge to grin.

“Don’t do it right away, but whisper in his ear.”

“Like what?” asked Hannah, as if she’d never done this.

“You know,” said Harper (who didn’t know), “like that you’re feeling things.”

“Feeling things,” mused Hannah. “You mean his erection.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be that direct,” said the teenager. “I meant more like, ‘Oh, Bob, I didn’t realize doing this would make me feel like I do. I think I might be falling in love with you.’ Something like that.”

Hannah stood and turned, hiding her face with her hands as if she was embarrassed. It was actually because she was about to burst into laughter. What helped her get control again was that Harper had probably just said the exact things she wished she could say to Bob. And Hannah knew how important a crush can be in a girl’s life. She turned back around and dropped her hands.

“Okay, I think I can do it.”

“It will work, Mom. I know he feels really strongly for you. We just need to get him in a place where he can admit it.”

“I’m ready to try,” said Hannah, trying to make it sound like she was nervous about it.

Of course there was another whole ambush going on here, one which Harper didn’t know about and was the target of. At the same time, what she was doing was sweet in a way. She loved us both and wanted us both to be happy. This was her youthful way to try to get us together. So Hannah and I wanted our ambush to be a relatively gentle one.

Our plan was simple. We dithered a little bit, each managing to blush as we dropped the robes we’d donned after getting undressed. Harper was fully clothed, this time, and wearing the paint-stained oversized shirt smock. While she fiddled with the chair, Hannah and I darted little grins at each other. I was a little worried about lubrication. I knew I’d be ready, but Hannah might need some. I didn’t know she’d already worked Vaseline into her opening to facilitate our plan. She also knew there wasn’t going to be an opportunity for foreplay to lube things up.

Then it was time for me to get into my position. I sat and the erection I already had (because I knew what was coming) poked up out of my lap. Harper was so bold as to reach to touch it, pushing it this way and that.

“It won’t go anywhere except where it is,” she complained.

“I’ll bend it as I sit,” said her mother. “It will be fine.”

Then Harper carefully arranged her mother on my lap, facing me, with her hot breasts pressed against my chest. Hannah’s hair had been left loose so it would fall to cover her face, and my entire shoulder, as well. Her head would obstruct Harper’s view of my visage.

Hannah did, in fact, reach between us to “bend” my penis. She just bent it so that it was lined up with her vaginal canal ... and then sank down to impale herself on it.

“Ohhhh,” she moaned as she settled.

“I know this is awkward, Mom,” said Harper. “But be patient. You’ll get used to it.”

“I’m already used to it,” whispered Hannah in my ear.

To be honest, we didn’t actually expect there to be any painting. We thought Harper would pretend to do that while “nature took its course” and she would then get her wish. Harper, though, saw the beauty of the pose and quickly sketched our position with chalk. Meanwhile, Hannah and I enjoyed, on a somewhat tantric level, our joining. We weren’t in a hurry to push things along. Eventually, though, Hannah started grinding on my cock, with tiny movements at first. She used her internal muscles to squeeze me and did, in fact, whisper things in my ear. “Oh Bob, you have no idea how much I love this,” was one of them.

Finally, we were unable to maintain a static pose.

“Stop moving,” came Harper’s order. She’d actually immersed herself in her art. I think it was part of her instinct as an artist.

“I can’t,” moaned Hannah.

With that she started pelvic thrusts that were obvious.

“What are you doing?” called Harper, who moved from behind the easel to stare at us.

“You wanted us to get together,” I panted. “This is us, together.”

“What?” Harper sounded confused. Then she got it. “Mom! You told him?”

“Of course I told him,” panted Hannah. “It wouldn’t have been fair to spring something like this on him.”

“Wait ... are you guys doing it?!” gasped Harper. Her definition of the phrase got radically upgraded as she realized what was going on.

“Could you stop talking, please?” gasped Hannah. “I’m almost there.”

“You and me, both,” I grunted.

In the interest of full disclosure, I have to inject something at this point ... no pun intended. I had exceptionally strong feelings for Hannah. This wasn’t just something we were doing for fun. At the same time, though, our “courtship” had been anything but normal. We hadn’t been on dates, or sat and gazed into each other’s eyes, stuff like that. Our first kiss hadn’t been tentative, a little scary. We had, in a sense, jumped over the usual social conventions involved in building a romantic relationship and that made all this a bit surreal.

Basically I loved Hannah, but that love was based on different interactions than the ordinary couple who meet and date and stumble along together until something blooms in their hearts. It was a deep emotional love, rather than an urgent romantic one.

The fly in the ointment was that I felt very much the same way about Harper. Of course I viewed them differently. Hannah was in her prime, mature, experienced in the ways of the world. Her heart had been broken and then, slowly, the break had scarred over. On the outside, you couldn’t see the scars. She was ripe in the same sense that a piece of fruit gets ripe. It’s ready to be consumed, ready to become part of another organism’s life force.

Harper, on the other hand, had all the appearance of a ripe apple or pear or whatever, but her flesh was harder, a little less sweet. I knew she would come of age beautifully, and that it would be soon, and I wanted to be around when that happened. I’m not talking about sex, here, at least not principally. Yes, my mind drifted towards what she might “taste” like, to keep the fruit analogy going, but I was more concerned that her passage into womanhood be as smooth and painless as possible. I loved her and wanted to protect her from a freeze, or high winds, or pests that might injure her.

I guess, basically, that my love for Harper really was like that of a doting uncle.

Okay, a really pervy, doting uncle.

My point is that, while I sat there with Hannah’s vaginal muscles milking me like a starving calf sucks at its mother’s teat, I wanted to cum for multiple reasons. One was that I loved Hannah and wanted to join myself with her. What I have to admit, though, is that I stared at Harper and fantasized that I was about to cum in her nubile, adolescent pussy, too.

Hannah had been grinding her clit against me and, suddenly I felt her pussy stop milking and start fluttering spastically. Her arms tightened and her harsh breaths in my ear stopped and I knew she was cumming.

“Oh Hannah,” I groaned, as I felt the soothing race of semen through my stressed penis.

Harper stepped forward, a paintbrush still in her hand. She stared at us as we reached the pinnacle, her mouth open in a relaxed “O”. Her eyes were bigger than I’d ever seen them.

“You’re shooting,” she whispered, staring into my fluttering eyes. I’ve always been unable to keep my eyes completely open during an orgasm. I’ve been told my eyelids look like butterfly wings gone crazy.

“Oh, yeaaaahhh,” I groaned, trying to make even more spunk spurt into my lover.

Hannah’s hips had done five or six thrusts as she came, and her hands had left prints on my shoulders, turning the skin under them white as the blood was forced from the tissues by her squeezing fingers. Slowly she stopped moving and leaned forward to relax against me. My arms went around her to keep her from falling over, though I’m sure she could have stayed erect. I, on the other hand, was not going to be erect for quite a while. That pun was very intended.

“Damn, guys,” sighed Harper.

Her mother turned her head and brought a hand up to brush the hair from her face.

“Do I need to wash your mouth out with soap?” she asked, panting gently.

“No,” said Harper, as if it weren’t a rhetorical question. “But you might need to wash something else out.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Hannah, as if it was completely normal for a naked mother who had just had sex in front of her teenage daughter to carry on a normal conversation.

“You’re not on the pill, Mother,” said Harper. She blinked several times. “Our periods are synced, Mom, and I’m right in the middle of my cycle. That means you are, too. Unless you pulled a David Copperfield on me, I don’t think he’s wearing a condom.”

Hannah’s hips gave a little lurch forward and she laid her head back down on my shoulder.

“I didn’t think about that,” she sighed.

“Well think about it now!“ urged Harper.

“It’s a little late for that,” said her mother, making no move to get up.

“So you’re just going to sit there and let him get you pregnant?!”

Hannah lifted her head long enough to kiss me on the lips. It was a very warm, very welcoming kiss. Then she laid her head back down on my shoulder.

“I’m really comfortable right here. Unless he objects, I guess I am,” she said.

Obviously, the pregnancy issue was a new wrinkle in things. At least for Harper and me. Hannah finally got off of me and, reaching to pinch her labia together, looked at each of us. To her credit, she said, “We need to talk about all this.” Then she went to the bathroom. Harper stared at my flaccid, wet, thoroughly unimpressive penis until I covered it by putting on my robe. Hannah returned from the bathroom, still gloriously naked, and reached for her own robe.

“Ready?” she asked.

“All this” was a big vague, but it didn’t matter. She was right. A lot had been going on and if this had been a book there would have been half a dozen sub-plots. Those sub-plots were fraying a bit and the author ... or authors ... needed to have a little editing session. I know that makes all this sound less than romantic but let’s face it, this “romance” was both unplanned and unconventional. If it really was a book, it was being written on the fly, without a lot of thought to the continuity of the storyline.

We ended up at the kitchen table. Hannah made a cup of coffee in the Keurig but all I wanted was water. Harper sat, a little rattled I think, still in her painting ‘smock’. It’s one thing to come up with a secret plan to get your mother and Uncle Bob together. It’s another completely when they breed right in front of you and act like that’s the most normal thing in the world. She looked at me.

“You knew,” she accused.

“Knew what?” I asked.

“You knew that we were trying to get you ... um ... interested.”

“I’ve been interested for years,” I said. I thought about telling her I wasn’t aware of it while I was doing it, but decided things were already strange enough.

“In who?” asked the curious, inexperienced teenager, whose self-confidence begged to be supported.

“I think things are strange enough already,” said Hannah, who actually voiced the thought I’d just had. She sat down. “Let’s step back and see if we can’t bring some measure of sanity to the party.”

“It might be a little late for that, too,” I muttered.

Harper jumped on that.

“Mom, you weren’t supposed to have dangerous sex.”

Hannah sipped her coffee and stared her daughter right in the eyes.

“I don’t remember discussing that aspect of this. What did you think would happen?”

“I didn’t think you’d try to have a baby!” yipped Harper.

“I’m not trying to have a baby,” said Hannah. “It’s more like I won’t be all broken up if that happens.”

“What about Bob?” asked the teenager at the table. “Don’t you think he ought to have something to say about that?”

“Yes,” said Hannah. She blushed and I was pretty sure it wasn’t forced. She turned to me. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

“When?” asked Harper, who was sharp. “Are you telling me you two talked about this beforehand?”

“We did,” admitted her mother.

“When?” asked Harper again. “The way we planned this it was supposed to be a surprise for him. You didn’t have time to have that conversation before we went to the studio. I was there. You two did not go off and have a little talk.”

Now I was the one sitting there like a bump on a log while the two women in my life discussed me.

“Remember when I went running yesterday?” asked Hannah. She got a nod from Harper. “I sort of ran by Bob’s house.”

“Sort of?”

“As I said, I felt it was important for him to understand what you were trying to do ... and let him know how I felt about it. I know him, Harper, and he would never have agreed to pose that way if he didn’t understand it was ... um ... welcome.”

“She convinced me it would be okay,” I said, helpfully, feeling it was important for me to stay in the conversation.

“Convinced you?” said Harper. Her eyes widened. “How?”

“That’s not important,” I said, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.

“Of course it is,” argued Harper. “She was supposed to seduce you while I painted you.”

Hannah reached to touch her daughter’s hand.

“Let’s just say I started early. I had to know how he felt and that it wouldn’t turn out badly.”

“So you had sex,” said Harper, darkly. “Then you came over here and pretended that you didn’t want to pose together. Why do I feel like I’ve been played?”

“I believe that qualifies as the pot calling the kettle black,” said Hannah. She frowned and then went on. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. We weren’t playing you. You wanted some things, things we talked about. I felt like it was important that I honor our agreement, but I also felt Bob had a right to know what was going on.”

“Our agreement was that you’d seduce him while I could watch,” said Harper, sharply.

“And we did ... sort of,” said Hannah, with less assurance.

Harper looked over at me. I felt like an insect, pinned to a board, being examined by an entomologist.

“Did she tell you I want to have sex with you?”

I actually leaned back in my chair. This was no blushing virgin, innocent and shy, no insecure teenager who wasn’t sure what she wanted.

“She did ... didn’t she,” growled Harper.

“Harper,” said Hannah, gently. “Think about it. There have been things going on in this relationship ... between you and me and Bob ... feelings that we kept secret from each other. Those secrets robbed us of a richness that could have been. You’re young, curious, interested in exploring the world of boys and ... sex.” She paused and cut Harper off when she tried to interrupt. “What if you tried to get Bob to do something and he refused? You’d feel rejected. I know how that feels and it’s not pretty. I didn’t want that to happen to you so I got rid of some of the secrets. I know you’re upset now, but if you take the time to think about it you’ll see it was the right thing to do. We don’t need all these secrets in our lives, Honey.”