The Lesbian Daughter Swapping Fantasy Club

by Amanda Clover

  “Ooooohhhhhh,” she moans, a smile curling her pretty red lips. “Yes, fill me. Fill me with your… your big load of girlcum!”

  I push my thumb into her asshole and she whines all over again, her pucker squeezing against my thumb. I push my thumb in and out, fucking both holes at the same time and tickling her earlobe with my tongue.

  “Cum for me, you little slut. I can feel that in your ass. You want to cum.”

  “Oh god, please,” she moans as I pound it into her. “Please make me cum. Please fill my pussy.”

  “Yeah, that cock is real close to exploding for a good girl. Cum on it. Cum all over it.”

  “Naaahhhhhhh!!!” She jerks her head up, nearly popping me in the mouth. Her hips work and she grinds back onto the cock. Her mouth hangs open and a soft gasp escapes her as she begins to cum. Rippling contractions of her sphincter on my thumb are likely matched by her shuddering pussy. I force the cock past her inner muscles and deep into her pussy and I hit the pump. Huge amounts of slippery, realistic spunk pour out of her pussy.

  “Oh my god, I can feel it inside me. I can, ohhhh, feel you cumming inside me.” I give her flooded fuckhole a few more strokes and squeeze out the last of the milky lube into her depths. Fake cum drips steadily down her thighs and onto the hardwood of my office floor. I pull out of her slowly, sliding my thumb out of her ass in the same moment, and watch as most of the cum drains out of her swampy pussy.

  “That’s so hot,” I laugh, enjoying my view of Melora’s fake-spunk-smeared folds. I smack her ass and she squeezes out another gooey gob of the lube.

  “It feels almost like real cum,” moans Melora.

  “It cost enough, it should—“

  My phone vibrates on the desk, interrupting our post-coital relaxation. I was about to tell Melora to get down on her knees and repay me with her tongue, since I so graciously filled her with my cum. I’m surprised to see the call is from my ex-husband Tyler. I’m tempted to ignore the call, but he almost never calls me. I answer.

  “What do you want?” I snap.

  Instead of Tyler’s voice, the first thing I hear is my daughter, Sofia, screaming her lungs out.

  “Sofia? Honey?” Fear tightens inside me. I turn and pace in my office, forgetting the enormous fake cock dangling down my thighs. “What’s wrong? Sofia?”

  “She’s on the way!” cries Tyler. “The baby is on the way!”

  “What? It wasn’t supposed to be for three more weeks!”

  “Ohhhh my god! It hurrrrrts!”

  I hear Sofia shouting in the background. Tyler moves away from the phone to try to comfort her.

  “What’s happening?” asks Melora, slowly standing up from my desk.

  “My… my granddaughter is being born,” I whisper as the realization hits me with the weight of a wrecking ball.

  I can’t wait for Melora to get cleaned up. I shout for Hitomi, but she isn’t listening or something, and it doesn’t matter. I grab my go-bag from my bedroom and practically jump down the entire staircase. I hit the ground floor running and sprint to my car.

  “Which hospital?”

  I think about calling Tyler back, but there is no use. He left me hanging on the phone. Sandy Mountain General was the hospital they planned to go, but St. Margaret’s is closest to Tyler’s apartment. I take a chance and head towards St. Margaret’s. Frantically driving and texting, I send a text to Victoria, Sofia’s lover, and ask her if she knows.

  “ST MARGS” comes the reply.

  It’s a smaller, older hospital, tucked away in a residential neighborhood. Tyler worked there briefly in the ER, back when we were married and Sofia was his stepdaughter, rather than the girl giving birth to his lovechild. I shake off the anger. I’ve been there, done that. Now is not the time to think of the many reasons I want to strangle Tyler. Now is the time to be there for my daughter in one of the scariest and most intense moments of her life.

  My tires screech as a take a hard turn and nearly hit a poor old grandma in the crosswalk.

  I’m a grandma now, or about to become one. Grandma is such an unsexy word. It suggests age and decrepitude in a way that “grandpa” or “grandfather” doesn’t. I’m still in my forties and I am about to become a grandma. I don’t feel like it’s time to board everything up and retire to Florida to knit baby blankets.

  I pull into the lot and run into the hospital. The nurse at the desk tells me Sofia has been admitted to a delivery room. I run down the halls without waiting for my visitor pass and burst into the delivery room. Sofia is holding the baby in her arms. Tyler is next to her, looking down at the little purple bundle cradled against my daughter’s breasts.

  “Oh, honey,” I say, rushing to her side. “I came as soon as I heard.”

  “Mommy,” she says. “I want you to meet Alana.”

  She holds the tiny baby up for me to see. It looks like a little alien frog, but I see myself in its nose and chin and my ex-husband in its eyes.

  “Congratulations, sweetie,” I say, taking the little baby and dripping a tear onto it.

  “Don’t cry on my daughter,” laughs Sofia. “Grandma.”

  “Yeah? What does that make Tyler?” I hand the baby back to him.

  “I’m ‘dad’ he says, rising indignantly from Sofia’s bedside.”

  “Don’t fight right now, please,” says my exhausted daughter. “You can fight tomorrow or something. Not… not today.”

  “Okay, honey, I’m sorry,” I say and kiss her forehead.

  Other members of the club come to visit throughout the day. This being a Catholic hospital, Victoria has a bit more difficulty than Tyler did getting into the delivery room. The shapely middle aged woman holds Alana and cries even more than I did. Tyler and I leave Victoria and Sofia together with the baby. Tyler offers me a cigar.

  “No,” I say sharply.

  Vince congratulates me. I owe Vince a lot for letting me run the lesbian daughter swapping club out of his house, but I also hate Vince a lot, because I consider him the root of much of the perversion that has twisted my family.

  “This is good,” says Vince. “It will give them some time to get used to having the baby before Tyler and Sofia get married.”

  “Get married?” I feel numb at the thought. No one told me. No one invited me. My guts twist. “Does… does Victoria know?”

  “Know?” Vince laughs. “I hope so, she’s officiating the wedding. You knew, right? Oh, jeez, I’m sorry, Lindsay. I thought…”

  I feel like my body and my soul have separated. I stumble out of the waiting room and into the parking lot. Night has fallen. I can hear the voices of the girls and guys from the daughter swapping clubs murmur behind me until the automatic doors close and shut them off. I stagger out to my car, turn the key in the ignition, and drive. I don’t have a destination. I just drive to get away from this.

  Pickup

  “You sure about that?” asks the beefy bartender holding the bottle of Johnny Walker.

  “Don’t second guess me, mullet,” I slur, jabbing a finger at his denim vest. “Give me another shot.”

  He mutters something under his breath and pours me another shot of the cheap, red label Johnny Walker. Maybe if I have a couple more shots I’ll be stupid enough to start buying the more expensive blue label. I knock back the shot and it burns a path down to my belly.

  I stagger back to my table with my beer and plop down in the chair. I’m really starting to feel the heat of those shots, particularly in my face. I’m wearing the same outfit I was wearing with Maloria earlier, so I look completely out of place in sitting alone and drinking in this cowboy bar in the middle of nowhere. For the third time that night, a semi-handsome local sits down across from me and offers to buy me a drink.

  “I can buy my own drinks,” I say to him, raising my beer.

  “I like a woman who can,” says the man. “But can you dance by yourself? Randy’s got one hell of a jukebox back there. What do you say I—“

  “I say ‘no’, buddy. I�

��m not interested.”

  “Right on,” he says, getting up from the table. “Don’t mean to cause you no trouble.”

  He heads back to his laughing friends with his head hung low. They clearly put him up to it after watching the other guys get shot down.

  Bailey, the waitress, sidles up to me again, her tray of empties balanced against her shapely hip.

  “How you doin’, sugar?” she asks. “Those boys causin’ you trouble?”

  I manage a smile.

  “Maybe a little. It’s been a rough day.”

  She glances around at the bar, decides nobody needs her urgently, and sits down in the seat next to me. She slides the tray of beer empties onto the table.

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “I found out my ex-husband is marrying just about the most beautiful girl in the whole world. My daughter had a baby today too, which makes me, you know, a grandma.”

  “A grandma?” she laughs. “You’ve gotta be the hottest grandma I’ve ever seen. Look at you. Not exactly our style in here, but you’re killing it with that school teacher look.”

  “You like it?” I look down at my jacket and shirt, flapping the lapels open and exposing my breasts through the sheer material.

  Bailey’s face reddens. She’s a good looking girl, a little chubby, but most of that extra weight is in the right places and she has thick crimson hair and freckles on her cheeks that make me think of a farmer’s daughter. She’s getting even more attention than me from the guys at the bar. It doesn’t help that she’s wearing jeans so tight I know for a fact she isn’t wearing panties.

  “That’s um, that sounds like a rough day, Lindsay,” she says, remembering my name from when she first introduced herself. “But you’re hot. You’ve got it going on. Don’t let your asshole ex get you down or somethin’ you got no control over like your daughter having a kid ruin your day.”

  “You’re right,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “I’ve got no control over it, so it’s me deciding to be miserable or to get the fuck over it.”

  “Right,” says Bailey. “So find something that will make you happy.”

  “I can think of something,” I say.

  “Good, go with that,” says Bailey.

  She gets up from the table and gives me a comforting squeeze on the shoulder.

  “Want to get a drink with me?” I ask.

  Her already big eyes widen a little bit. I grin at her.

  “It’s what I thought of,” I say with a shrug.

  “Um, sorry, I’m not even 21,” she says. “I would otherwise though and—ah!”

  I slide an arm around her and pull her close. She practically falls over, but I catch her in both my arms and pull her into a kiss. She’s caught mid-word and my tongue tastes the sweetness of her open mouth for a moment before she pulls away. She doesn’t go far. I kiss her again and our lips linger together. Her eyes are closed when I finally end the kiss. She slips out of my arms, stands up straight, smoothes her apron, and takes a deep breath.

  “That, um, that was…”

  A couple of the cowboys in the bar are staring at us in disbelief. They whisper to each other.

  “I’m staying at the Best Western by the highway,” I say.

  I try to stand up and I almost tip over. I am way too drunk to drive.

  “You’re wasted,” she says, helping me back into my seat. “Let me, um, I’ll see if I can get home early. It’s a weeknight. Randy owes me a couple shifts. I’ll take you home.”

  So that’s how I end up slumped over in the passenger seat of an old Chevy pickup truck, sitting next to a beautiful waitress with her red hair blowing in the wind through the open window.

  “Thank you,” I say over the country blaring from the stereo. “I wasn’t trying to get a free ride.”

  “It’s fine, sugar,” says Bailey. “I just didn’t want you tryin’ to plant another kiss on me in front of everybody in there. Get ‘em all riled up. I gotta live here, you know?”

  “I get it,” I say. “You’re not out of the closet.”

  “Closet? Hon, I don’t think I’m a lesbian. I’ve had nothin’ but boyfriends my whole life and just because they’ve all been trash don’t mean that I’m ready to switch teams.”

  I laugh. It’s a good, honest answer.

  “How about you?” asks Bailey. “You a lesbian?”

  “How’d you guess?” I laugh at her.

  “Well, you said ex-husband and all, but then you planted that kiss on me, I wasn’t too sure.”

  “He cheated on me,” I say, feeling that miserable anger creeping up on me again. “That’s what started all this. But now, I’m… I know what I want.”

  I reach across the seat and slide my hand onto her thigh. She looks down at my hand and then back at the road. She doesn’t say anything, but I can see it in her eyes. There is the moment of desire, glittering in her eyes brighter than the streetlights of some back country town as she drives me out to my motel on the highway.

  I direct her to the drive-up parking to my room. She pulls in and shuts off the engine of the truck. I climb down and wait for her, lingering in front of the bumper. I take off my jacket in the summer heat and even in the dim light here she can see me through my sheer blouse. My invitation has already been made; it’s up to her to make up her mind.

  The key jingles softly and I slot it into the lock. I step into the cool, air-conditioned darkness of the motel room. I switch on the lights, lingering in the open door. Bailey’s truck door opens and closes and I hear her footsteps approaching me.

  “I thought we could have a drink,” she says as she follows me into the room. “Do you have any—“

  I pull her into my arms and smother her words with my lips. Her mouth purses for a moment beneath my heavy kisses, she tenses and then relaxes, her lips part and I taste the minty sweetness of her chewing gum. She pulls away from the kiss to fish the gum out of her mouth and toss it in the trash.

  “Sorry,” she says, “I thought that might—“

  Once again I shut her up with my kiss, this time pushing her against the door and slamming it closed behind her. I slide the deadbolt as my tongue explores Bailey’s hot mouth. Her lips part wider and her tongue slips over mine. Her hands slide down to my hips and remain there, perhaps too nervous to explore my body any further.

  My hands are under no such restrictions. With the full courage of my drunkenness, I slide one hand straight down the front of her jeans. She moans and turns her mouth away from the kiss.

  “Hey, we’re moving sort of fast,” she says. “Maybe we could… oh…”

  I unbuckle her belt and slide it her belt dramatically out of her jeans. She watches as my fingers work the button of her jeans and follow it with the zipper. Even this drunk, I am practiced at getting a pretty girl’s clothes off. Her pubic hair is as red as the hair on her head, untamed and already damp. She was probably thinking about this moment the whole drive over here. She has a slight pudginess to every part of her body, a softness that suits her, making her seem “cute.”

  I run my fingers down over the plump mound of her pubic area and stroke over hot groove and dewy crimson hair. She gasps and I kiss her again. This time she is as ravenous as me and our mutual moans meet in a molten struggle between our lips and tongues. Frustratingly, her hands remain on my hips, but then my fingers are pressing into the hot tunnel of her pussy and I forget all about what her hands are doing.

  “Oh, god, you got your fingers inside me,” she moans in her adorably twangy voice. “I can’t believe this is really happenin’.”

  I pull her away from the door, pivot and deposit her onto the shabby motel bed. Her big breasts bounce as she drops to a sitting position. I drop to my knees, stroking her legs as I kneel between them. One by one, I shuck off her cowboy boots and mismatched socks.

  “You’re so pretty,” she says, smiling at me innocently.

  I flash her my sweetest smile as I help her out of her blue jeans. She wiggles to shed the tight denim, her thighs and big butt jiggling as she twists and turns until I am able to yank them down her kicking legs. I toss the warm denim aside and confront her thicket of pubic hair and her blushing pussy peeking out from within that furry nest.

  Without being prompted, Bailey takes off her shirt and reveals a full-cupped cream-colored bra. It’s an unsexy garment for a woman with big tits and a job that keeps her on her feet. She unbuckles her utilitarian tit sling and I let out a soft gasp of appreciation as the cups drop away and reveal the almost cartoonish perfection of her big tits. They’re so perky even though they’re huge, like breasts from the painting of a woman on the nose of a bomber, with fat areolas and short, thick nipples almost as red as her lipstick.

  “Those are gorgeous,” I say.

  I am unable to resist their lure. I run my hands over her soft breasts, squeezing them and pressing them together, her nipples almost touching as I run my tongue back and forth between them. I suck one and then the other, watching her reaction as my mouth pleasures her fat nipples.

  “MMMmmmm,” she moans from pursed lips.

  I pop my mouth from one of Bailey’s fat nipples and slowly swirl my tongue around her areola. Her erect flesh glistens with my spit.

  “Don’t hold back, baby,” I say, trying not to slur my words with my drunkenness. “You know, deep down, you always wanted this.”

  “I don’t know,” gasps Bailey as I suck at her other nipple. “I… I thought I was straight.”

  I lift my face from her breasts and look her in the eyes. I cradle her freckled face in one hand, drawing her closer as I lean in and kiss her. It’s a gentle kiss that becomes something much more. Her mouth opens, a cry of pleasure vibrates against my lips, and our tongues meld together in a hot, slippery embrace. As we kiss, I thrust my other hand between her plump thighs and begin to tease the hot, furry furrow of her pussy.

  I gently push two fingers into her pussy. She moans loudly against my lips and she sucks at my tongue.

  “Do you still think you’re straight?” I ask, my fingers in her tight channel demanding her answer.

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