Me and Mom Fisting - Sex Stories

Me and Mom Fisting

Hello i hope you enjoy as much as i do. "A thorn between two roses," my s****r and mother laughed as I stopped to deliver a dirty look. There were sitting on either end of the couch where I had been before leaving to get a snack. They had also changed the channel to a chick flick. "Hey," I cried. "No fair, I was watching the game." "Too bad, so sad," they chimed in unison. Mom and my s****r Lisa often said the same things at the same time. They were so much alike. They had the same laugh and the same light red hair, though Mom's was shoulder length and Lisa's was short. Physically, they were almost identical, Lisa being a younger, more slender version of Mom but old pictures showed that Mom was probably skinner at Lisa's age. I liked those pictures because despite being thin Mom was better endowed than my twenty-year old s****r even then. Not that Lisa was bad, maybe a thirty-four or so with a B cup, but Mom's were bigger and meatier, if you know what I mean. A year and half younger than Lisa, we had always been close. She didn't even think it was gross that I was dating one of her college friends which made me the envy of the guys at school. "She's just in it for the meat," she had commented with false derision, referring to the three years of weight training that hadn't won me more play time on the team but had other benefits. An eternal gossip, Lisa had pushed me for juicy details on what her friend was like in bed. She had used me as a source throughout our school ...

... years to see what rumors my younger crowd had heard about her friends. So far, I had resisted the pressure to inform on my current bed mate in fear of losing my poontang privileges should my s****r inadvertently spill the beans through one of the snide remarks she was prone to making. Frustrated, I looked from my green-eyed mother on the left to my blue-eyed s****r on the right. Their eyes were the only striking difference between them. "Dad," I wailed, a common sound over the last eighteen years in our house. "There's nothing I can do, son," Dad half laughed, rattling his newspaper and burying his head deeper within it. He had learned long ago that there was no profit in getting between me and the women in the f****y. Pouting, I dropped onto the couch with my full weight, bouncing both women up and down, pleased to see the pop slop over the rim of the glass my s****r held in her lap. "Jerrod, you asshole!" Lisa screamed. "Hey, watch your language young lady," Mom barked. Lisa grabbed the napkin from my hand and feverishly scrubbed her new jeans. I turned toward Mom, the shit-eating grin on my face quickly dropping when I met her angry, green eyes. I ducked my head in an 'oops' gesture and fixed my gaze on the game, or where it was supposed to be. "Did anybody score, Dad?" I asked, trying to establish a connection for my own protection. As expected, he didn't answer. I was on my own again. "Asshole," Lisa muttered under her breath, tossing the cola-stained napkin on top of my ...