Dad's car pulled into the driveway Friday night like a bomb dropping on our fuck palace.
Three whole days. No business trips. No escape. Just Dad in his recliner, cracking beers, asking about the renovation while the three of us tried not to look freshly fucked.
Sophia greeted him at the door in a modest sundress—conservative on the outside, no panties underneath, and the remote for Mia's plug tucked in her bra like a loaded gun. Mia and I were upstairs "studying," which really meant Mia bent over the top bunk with the vibrating plug humming on low while I edged her for the third time that day.
"Welcome home, honey!" Sophia called, voice sugar-sweet. She kissed Dad on the cheek, then our phones buzzed at the same time:
Sophia: Risk level 100. Be good little rabbits. Mommy has plans.
The first quickie happened Saturday morning while Dad was in the shower.
Sophia dragged me into the laundry room the second the water started running. She hiked her sundress up, bent over the washing machine, and whispered, "Fast and quiet. Fill Mommy while your father's naked ten feet away."
I slammed into her soaked pussy in one thrust. The machine rumbled on spin cycle, loud enough to cover the wet slap of my hips against her ass. Sophia gripped the edge, biting her lip hard, heavy tits swinging inside her dress as I pounded her.
"Deeper, baby—yes—just like Mommy taught you," she breathed. "Imagine if he walked in right now and saw his wife taking her stepson's cock like a whore."
I reached into my pocket and cranked Mia's plug to max—Mia was downstairs "helping" Dad with breakfast, the toy buzzing mercilessly in her ass the entire time. Sophia's pussy fluttered hard around me at the thought. Thirty seconds later I exploded, pumping a thick morning load deep inside her while the shower shut off.
She spun around, dropped to her knees, and sucked me clean in three greedy swallows. Not a drop wasted.
"Keep it warm for me," she whispered, smoothing her dress. A single creamy bead of my cum already threatened to run down her thigh as she walked out like nothing happened.
Mia's distraction game was flawless. She kept Dad in the living room with football talk and fake questions about his trip, giggling extra loud every time Sophia and I slipped away.
Lunch was torture. Sophia sat across from Dad, legs crossed, my fresh load still leaking slowly out of her. Every time she shifted, I could see the glossy trail on her skin. She caught me staring, smirked, and texted under the table:
Sophia: If this drips onto the floor I'm making you lick it up later.
Dinner was worse.
Dad was carving the roast, completely oblivious, while Sophia rode me reverse-cowgirl in the laundry room again—this time with the door cracked open so we could hear Mia chatting with him in the kitchen. The washing machine rumbled for cover. Sophia's ass bounced silently on my cock, dress hiked up, plug remote in my hand cranked to max just to watch her fight not to moan.
"Cum inside me again," she hissed over her shoulder. "I want to feel it sloshing while I eat dinner with your father."
I flooded her. Twice. The second load pushed the first one out in a messy creampie that immediately started dripping down her leg when she stood up.
She walked straight to the dinner table like that.
We all sat down—Dad at the head, Sophia beside him, Mia across from me. Halfway through the meal Sophia uncrossed her legs. A thick white drop of my cum rolled slowly down her inner thigh, visible for one heart-stopping second before she casually draped her napkin over it.
Mia noticed. Her eyes flashed with jealous fire and she kicked me under the table, mouthing my turn next.
Dad never looked up from his plate. "This roast is amazing, Soph. You guys have been so quiet all weekend—everything okay with the bunk beds?"
Sophia smiled sweetly, reached under the table, and squeezed my still-hard cock through my shorts.
"Everything's perfect, honey," she said, voice warm and maternal. "The kids are getting along better than ever."
Mia's foot slid up my leg, toes brushing my bulge. Sophia's cum was still leaking down her thigh under the napkin.
Risk level 100.
And we still had two more days of Dad's weekend left.