She included her daughter.
It started the way I told it: the tavern night, the tight skirt and heels, Wally vanishing with the young redhead while I ended up in her mom’s bedroom for that weekend-long masterclass in sexual pleasure. What I left out was that it didn’t stay separate for long.
The second weekend I came back, the daughter was home. I walked in expecting more one-on-one time with the mom, but the air was already charged. Both of them lounged on the couch in thin robes, looking impossibly sexy, wine glasses in hand. Their identical green eyes flicked over me like wolves ready to pounce. They’d been talking about me for hours. The mom’s smile was slow and wicked; the daughter’s was curious, almost challenging.
“Thought you’d like to meet my daughter properly,” the mom said, patting the cushion between them.
We drank. We talked. The daughter—Kayla—was 22, home from college, fiery like her mom but with that reckless, hungry edge only the early twenties can bring. She kept brushing her bare foot against my leg under the blanket they’d thrown over us. Her mom noticed, of course. Nothing escaped those eyes.
Eventually, the mom leaned in, her lips brushing my ear. “She’s watched me bring men home before. She’s heard everything through the walls. She’s curious about you, and I don’t mind sharing what I’ve taught you.”
My cock was already straining. Kayla’s robe had slipped open just enough to reveal the swell of her breast, freckles dusting pale skin, nipples hard against the fabric. The mom untied her own robe first, letting it fall open to reveal those beautiful, heavy, perfect tits I’d worshipped the week before. Then she reached over and tugged Kayla’s loose too. Same red hair, same full curves, but younger, firmer, untouched by time.
They both looked at me, waiting.
I kissed the mom first—familiar, deep, her tongue sliding against mine while her hand found my belt. Kayla watched, biting her lip, thighs pressing together. Then the mom guided my mouth to her daughter’s. Kayla tasted sweeter, like cherry lip gloss and nervous excitement. She moaned into the kiss, tentative at first, then desperate.
Clothes disappeared fast after that. The mom took charge, of course. She pushed me back on the couch and straddled my face—the same soaked, musky pussy I knew so well—while guiding Kayla down onto my cock. Kayla was impossibly tight, slick but gripping, gasping as she sank down inch by inch.
The mom ground against my tongue, watching her daughter ride me, murmuring encouragement: “That’s it, baby girl. Take him deep. Can you feel how hard he is for us?”
The sounds were unreal—Kayla’s high, needy whimpers mixing with her mom’s deeper moans, the wet slap of skin, my own muffled groans into familiar pussy. Kayla came hard, shuddering, her walls fluttering and squeezing around me. Her mom reached down and rubbed her clit through it, drawing out the orgasm until Kayla was nearly sobbing.
Then they switched. The mom rode me reverse while Kayla straddled my face. She tasted different mixed with my cum—lighter, younger, but just as addictive. I ate her the way her mother had taught me: slow circles, firm flicks, fingers curled just right. She came fast, grinding down, flooding my mouth while her mom bounced on my cock, tits swaying, red hair wild.
They took turns for hours—kissing each other over me, licking each other’s juices off my cock, guiding my mouth from one pussy to the other. At one point the mom held Kayla’s legs open while I fucked her slow and deep, whispering filthy praise in her daughter’s ear. Another time Kayla knelt between my legs, sucking me sloppily while her mom knelt behind her, tongue working Kayla’s ass until she moaned around my shaft.
The cleanup became a ritual. Every time I came—inside one of them, down a throat, across tits—they made sure I tasted it. The mom would push my head down first, making me lap my cum from her daughter’s swollen, dripping pussy while Kayla watched, flushed and panting. Kayla would feed it to me from her fingers, giggling at my obedience, while her mom stroked my hair like I was their shared pet.
It went on like that for nearly two months—weekends of pure, hedonistic sex. Mother and daughter taught and learned together, using me as the bridge between experience and curiosity. There was no jealousy, just raw, shared hunger for cock and pussy.
Eventually, Kayla went back to school out of state, and the mom and I tapered off. But those nights still linger in my head. The image of both redheads side by side, legs spread, pussies glistening with my cum, waiting for my tongue—mother guiding daughter’s hand to spread herself wider so I could clean every drop—that’s the one that still wakes me up hard years later.
At the time, it seemed so filthy yet so erotic: being forced, at first, to lick up and swallow my own cum, only to discover it was the most erotic and submissive act a man could do for his sexual partners. That older woman didn’t just teach me how to please a woman. She taught me how to please them together. And I’ve never forgotten a single lesson.
The older redhead didn’t stop at teaching me how to worship pussy; she decided I needed a complete education. One night, about three weeks into our weekends, she led me to the bedroom with that familiar wicked smile. This time, Kayla was already there—naked on the bed, legs lazily parted, watching us with bright, hungry eyes.
The mom poured us all wine and let the silence build until my cock ached in my jeans. Then she spoke, low and deliberate.
“You’ve learned how to make women lose their minds with that tongue,” she said, trailing a finger down my chest. “Now you’re going to learn the other side—how to take a man, how to really please one.”
The next weekend:
Kayla’s breath hitched. She’d clearly been prepped for this.
The mom undressed me slowly, kissing my neck and chest, biting my nipples just hard enough to make me gasp. When I was naked, cock throbbing, she pushed me to my knees in front of the bed. Kayla slid forward, spreading wider, but the mom shook her head.
“Not yet. Watch first.”
She left the room for a moment and returned with a man—mid-40s, tall, built, salt-and-pepper hair, already half-hard in his open robe. He looked at me with calm amusement, as if this were routine. The mom introduced him only as “David,” a friend she trusted completely. There was no awkwardness, no hesitation; he simply dropped the robe and stood there, thick cock and heavy, loose balls on full display.
The mom knelt beside me. Her hand wrapped gently around David’s shaft, stroking him to full hardness right in front of my face. The scent hit me first—clean skin, faint musk, a trace of cologne. She looked up at him, then at me.
“Watch how I do it,” she murmured.
Her lips parted, and she took him in slowly, deliberately—tongue flat against the underside, cheeks hollowing as she sank deeper. She cupped his balls with one hand, cradling them as if they might shatter. David groaned, fingers threading into her red hair. She pulled back, lips glistening, and guided my hands to replace hers.
“Feel him. Warm, velvet over steel. Balls loose but heavy in your hand. Stroke slow… twist a little at the head. Tug gently on his balls—men love that.”
I did, hesitantly at first. David’s cock twitched in my grip, growing even harder. The mom’s hand covered mine, guiding the rhythm. Then she leaned in again, licking the tip alongside my fingers—her tongue brushing mine, accidental-on-purpose. The heat, the slickness, the low sound David made—it sent a jolt straight to my own cock.
“Now taste,” she whispered.
I froze for a second, but her hand on the back of my neck was firm, encouraging. I leaned forward and licked—salty, warm, a faint trace of her saliva still there. David exhaled sharply. The mom hummed approval.
“Good boy. Open wider.”
She guided me the same way she’d taught me to eat pussy: start slow, lips shielding teeth, tongue swirling around the head, then take more. When I gagged a little, she soothed me. “Relax your throat… breathe through your nose… There you go.”
Kayla watched the entire time, fingers lazily circling her clit, eyes dark with arousal.
Before long, David was rocking gently into my mouth while the mom kissed my shoulder, murmuring praise. “Look at you… taking cock like you were born for it.” When he came—thick, hot pulses across my tongue—she held my head steady, making me swallow every drop. Then she kissed me deeply, tasting him on my lips.
After that, the lessons escalated.
Some nights, David would fuck the mom while I sucked him at the base, learning how his balls tightened just before release, how to tongue them gently, how to hold them in my mouth. Other nights, Kayla would ride my face while I took David again, the mom directing: “Slower, baby… make him beg.” They taught me to rim a man, too—tongue circling that tight pink ring while the mom stroked him, showing me how sensitive it was, how some men went weak when you pressed just right.
They taught me to take it as well. First fingers—the mom’s, slick with lube—worked me open while Kayla sucked me to distract. Then David, slow and careful, with the mom’s hand on my cock the whole time, whispering, “Push back… let him in… feel how full you can be.”
The stretch burned at first, then bloomed into something overwhelming. When he finally slid home and started fucking, Kayla straddled my face and the mom kissed me through my moans. I came harder than I ever had—untouched—just from the pressure inside and Kayla grinding on my tongue.
The four of us became this perfect, filthy tangle: mouths, cocks, pussies, asses—no boundaries left. The mom orchestrated everything, making sure I learned every way a body could give and receive pleasure.
By the end of those two months, I wasn’t just skilled at eating pussy. I knew how to drop to my knees and take a man down my throat until he saw stars. I knew how it felt to be filled, to come from that deep, relentless pressure. I knew the taste of another man’s cum mixed with a woman’s on my tongue.
That older redhead didn’t just give me an education in women. She gave me a masterclass in desire—every flavor, every angle, every possibility of pussy and cock.
And yeah, some nights I still wake up hard remembering David’s groan when I finally took him all the way, or the way both redheads kissed me after—proud and possessive—like I’d graduated with honors.
After Kayla headed back to school and the mom started pulling away—life getting in the way, new interests, whatever it was—David and I didn’t stop.
