Cabin at the Lake - Sex Stories

Cabin at the Lake

... backfires. She takes it as a challenge. They let me adjust the water and proceed to soap me up. After relieving my bladder, my erection had mostly faded. Their hands on my body brings it roaring back. Donna is kissing me and Julie is sucking me in a most languid fashion when Terry enters the shower. He showers, watching us. Donna moves to him and begins to fellate him. I try to feel repulsed by the sight of a sister giving oral sex to her brother, but fail. "Can we dry off, sugar?" Julie asks, as she rises. "I'm turning into a prune and my skin is going to flake off, it'll be so dry." I answer her with a kiss. As we step out, Gary steps in. He showers quickly, joins his siblings for a few minutes, then they join us in drying off. Donna races to her room. I resist the urge to tell her to quit running with wet feet. If I have to operate on her skull again, she'll be an active patient again and I will have to refuse to go down on her. She returns with an expensive looking jar of body lotion. She hands it to me but gives Jewel a quick kiss. "No flaky skin allowed, sweetie," she tells her. "Help her out, doc." I do. I'm happy to. I rub the lotion into places that don't appear to need moisturizing but Julie doesn't complain. I'm rinsing off my hands when Terry's stomach lets out a low slow deep rumble. As if in echo, mine does the same thing. Gary hangs his towel over a towel bar. "Sounds like it's time for breakfast," he announces, a bit unnecessarily in my opinion. The girls and ...

... Gary set to work in the kitchen. Terry gets a pot of coffee going. I feel useless. "You have a washing machine? Want me to get a load of towels going or something?" I ask Donna. "Excellent idea, you don't mind?" I shake my head. The washing machine is tucked away, just off the screened porch. There is no dryer. I recall seeing a clothesline earlier. I decide to split the towels into two loads, get the first going and return in time to help set the table. Breakfast passes with a minimum of conversation. We find ourselves in a lull, as we face the question of "okay, now what?" I hang out the first load of towels while they do the dishes. The second goes in and we find ourselves congregating on the screened porch. I'm shocked to discover it is only mid-morning. We must have gone to bed earlier than I realized, exhausted from our exertions. We're quiet. The birds, having breakfasted themselves grow quiet. It's too early and not hot enough yet for the cicadas to begin to screech. The air over the lake and over the land has yet to reach an equilibrium so there is still a soft breeze off the lake. It's not cool, by any means, but at least we're not sweating just sitting here. "I had the strangest dreams last night," I find myself saying. "They were all mixed up. There were people who I know I have never meet, yet somehow I seemed to know. I don't mean in that funny sense that dreams have of making sense. It was as if I knew them but had forgotten how I knew them. "There was a man, ...