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Not that I am complaining, but why are standing in my kitchen?”“Your kitchen? This is my kitchen. This is my bungalow. I made reservations here months ago.” “So did I. I specifically asked for this bungalow. My friend told me he came up here last year and said it was amazing. He was right, it’s got a great view.” He was looking dead at her when he said it, but she didn’t notice.She stood there twisting the corkscrew, thinking. She pulled the cork out of the bottle, carefully poured herself a glass of wine, and took a sip, letting the cool liquid slide down her throat. “There must’ve been some sort of mix-up at the front desk. We’ll ride up to the office and they will straighten this whole thing out.” She took another sip of wine and added, “You drive.”“Ladies first,” Brian gestured, with a hint of southern charm. He stepped out of the doorway and allowed her to pass. She wasn’t a small woman, he thought. She had to be five-foot-ten barefooted. And there was only one. I squirmed. My incestuous cum reached my daughter's lips. She ingested it. A groan rose in her throat. Her body convulsed, this time not from her sickness.She gulped down my spunk. She kept drinking, lifting the glass higher and higher, eager for every drop of her Mother's futa-cum. I felt her brow grow cooler and less clammy as the girl-jizz worked its magic, healing her cold. Her eyes were so wide. She shuddered again, groaning, squirming beneath the blanket.When she finished, she was breathless, staring up at me, her dark eyes so wide. “Mom...”“Wasn't that just delicious medicine?” I asked her. “And I bet you're feeling so much better, right, angel?”“Mom...” She said again, her eyes shooting down to my crotch. Then her hand latched out. I gasped as she squeezed my futa-dick through my scrubs and panties. “You're a futa!”I blinked and then groaned as her hand shoved into my scrubs and panties. My daughter grasped my dick directly, pulling it out and, before I could even act, her.
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