Family Dinner
"They've been sharing him for months—alternating nights, comparing notes, competing. Tonight, at the dinner table with his father, they decide the competition is over. After dessert, they take him together."
It started as a competition.
My stepmother, Vivian, got to me first. Six months after the wedding, she came to my room while Dad was traveling. Three hundred pounds of demanding, insatiable woman who made it clear I was hers to use.
My stepsister, Naomi, found out a month later. Caught us in the kitchen, Vivian bent over the counter with my face between her thighs. Instead of screaming, Naomi smiled.
"My turn tomorrow," she said.
And that's how it began.
They established rules.
Monday, Wednesday, Friday: Vivian. Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday: Naomi. Sundays we rested—or they did. I spent Sundays recovering from the week.
They compared notes. Discussed technique. Rated my performance like I was a service they were reviewing.
"He's learning," Vivian told Naomi one night. I was kneeling between her thighs, tongue buried in her pussy, and she spoke over me like I wasn't there. "His stamina is improving."
"Still comes too fast," Naomi replied. She was lounging on the bed, watching us. "I've been training him to edge, but—"
"Give him time." Vivian grabbed my hair, ground against my face. "He's a work in progress."
The competition escalated.
Vivian demanded I call her Mommy when we fucked. Naomi countered by making me beg—out loud, degradingly—before she'd let me inside her.
Vivian started dressing provocatively at family dinners, no underwear beneath her dresses, flashing me under the table while Dad ate his steak.
Naomi responded by ambushing me in the shower, before Vivian even woke up, stealing minutes from her mother's days.
They were fighting over me.
I was the prize neither wanted to share.
Until tonight.
The Dinner
Dad carves the roast.
"Business trip next week," he announces. "Chicago. Five days."
I tense. Vivian and Naomi exchange a look across the table.
"We'll manage," Vivian says. Her foot finds my leg under the tablecloth. "Won't we, Marcus?"
"Yes." I try to focus on my plate. "We'll manage."
Naomi's foot joins her mother's. They're both touching me now—Vivian's toes at my ankle, Naomi's at my thigh.
"Actually," Naomi says, "I've been thinking. This competition we have—"
"Competition?" Dad looks up. "What competition?"
"For the bathroom," Vivian covers smoothly. "We've been fighting over who gets it in the morning."
"Ah." Dad laughs. "The eternal struggle."
Under the table, Naomi's foot presses against my cock. I nearly choke on my wine.
"I think we should share," Naomi continues. Her eyes meet mine. "Don't you, Marcus?"
I know what she's really asking.
"Whatever works," I manage.
Vivian's smile sharpens. "Then it's settled. After your father leaves, we'll work out a... sharing arrangement."
After Dinner
Dad goes to bed early. Big day tomorrow, early flight.
Vivian and Naomi corner me in the living room.
"We've been competing for months," Vivian says. She's close—too close—her massive breasts brushing my chest. "Wearing ourselves out. Wearing you out."
"It's inefficient," Naomi adds. She's behind me now, her curvy body pressed to my back. "And unfair. To all of us."
"So we've decided—" Vivian starts unbuttoning my shirt. "—to stop competing."
"And start sharing." Naomi's hands work my belt. "Properly."
"You mean—"
"We mean together." Vivian pulls my shirt off. "All three of us. At the same time."
My cock hardens so fast I get dizzy.
"Dad's upstairs—"
"Dad sleeps like the dead." Naomi pushes my pants down. "And his flight leaves at six. By morning, this will just be a very good dream."
They're both touching me now. Vivian's hands on my chest, Naomi's wrapped around my cock.
"Still want to compete?" Vivian asks her daughter.
"Only for who makes him come first."
They laugh—a shared, predatory sound.
Then they pull me toward Naomi's bedroom.
They strip each other first.
Mother and daughter, undressing in front of me while I stand naked and aching. Vivian's massive body—three hundred pounds of rolling curves, breasts like watermelons, belly soft and vast. Naomi's curvier frame—maybe two hundred, shaped like an hourglass, breasts heavy and hips wide.
They're similar and different. The same hunger in their eyes. The same want.
"On the bed," Vivian commands.
I obey.
Vivian takes my cock. Her mouth—warm, wet, experienced—swallows me to the root while Naomi straddles my face.
"Eat me while she sucks you," Naomi orders. "Make me come first."
I bury my face in my stepsister while my stepmother works my cock. I can hear them—moaning, encouraging each other, coordinating.
"He's good with his tongue," Naomi gasps. "Better than last week."
"I told you he was improving." Vivian pulls off my cock, strokes it. "Think he can take us both at once?"
"Only one way to find out."
They switch.
Naomi mounts me—sinks down on my cock with a long moan—while Vivian positions herself over my face. I'm buried in both of them now. My cock in my stepsister, my mouth on my stepmother.
"Fuck," Naomi gasps. "He feels even better when you're watching."
"Doesn't he?" Vivian grinds against my tongue. "There's something about sharing that makes it—ah—more intense."
They move together. Rising and falling in sync, like they've practiced this. My entire world narrows to the feeling of them—wet, tight, overwhelming.
"I'm close," Naomi pants. "Already—so close—"
"Let go, baby." Vivian reaches out, cups her daughter's breast. "Let him feel you come."
Naomi screams. Her pussy clamps around me, pulsing, milking. I thrust up into her, but I hold back—I haven't been given permission yet.
"Good boy," Vivian praises. "You waited. Now make me come too."
I work her harder. Tongue, lips, fingers sliding inside her. She shakes above me—so much flesh trembling—and then she breaks.
"Yes—fuck—yes—"
She floods my mouth. I drink her down, keep working her through it, until she finally pulls away.
Both of them. Satisfied. Looking down at me with identical expressions of hunger.
"Your turn," Vivian says.
They share me.
Naomi on my cock, riding slow. Vivian on my face, grinding through another orgasm. Then they switch—Vivian mounting me, her massive body swallowing me whole, while Naomi feeds me her pussy.
They switch again. And again. By the time they let me come, I've lost count of how many times they have.
"Inside me," Vivian demands. She's on top, slamming down, her belly slapping against mine. "Come in your stepmother—"
"No—" Naomi pulls her mother off, takes her place. "Come in me—"
They fight over it. Push each other, laugh, finally settle on a solution: Naomi first, then Vivian.
I come in my stepsister. Then, still hard somehow, I come in my stepmother.
Both of them. Claimed. Filled.
We collapse in a heap—sweaty, satisfied, tangled together on the ruined sheets.
Morning
Dad leaves at five.
I hear the car pull away, roll over, find Vivian on one side and Naomi on the other.
"Good morning," Vivian murmurs. Her hand finds my cock, already hard.
"He's ready again," Naomi observes. Her hand joins her mother's. "Should we?"
"We have five days." Vivian smiles. "Why rush?"
They take turns waking me up properly. Mouths and hands and bodies, no more competing—just sharing.
Sharing me.
Dad comes home to a perfect family.
Dinner on the table. Wife and daughter smiling. Stepson quiet and well-behaved.
He has no idea.
He'll never have an idea.
Because now, every time he leaves, we don't compete anymore.
We share.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.