A dinner

Before heading down, a stroke of pure unadulterated genius hit me, in anticipation of potential remarks on my appearance. I unclothed myself down to just a t-shirt and trousers.

I needn't have felt the slightest disappointment earlier. Entering the dining room revealed mine to be the only clothed body in the house. You feel out of place in an **** situation like this, but there was comfort in it for me. Being of the gender for whom hiding arousal is most difficult, I was the one equipped to do so. And my eyes could feast on the sights with impunity.

The table was set for the three of us, with a massive pot of steaming stew in the middle. My adoptive sister Gillian was already seated and served; Mother was leaning over the pot filling a second bowl of the stuff. Her brown hair was in a long ponytail behind her, so her chest was in full view for all to see, glistening with condensation.

"Ah, Frankie darling," Mother said, "Just in time for supper. I hope you're hungry, there's plenty." She placed the bowl at the spot next to Gillian and motioned me to sit there.

"Is it not a bit stuffy under all that fabric?" Gillian asked, "Our home is heated, you know."

"I think I must have quite a low resting temperature compared to many people these days," I said, "Maybe not helped by the cold weather."

Mother made an O with her mouth and said "My darling, would you like me to turn the heaters up for you? The last thing we want is for you to be uncomfortable in your own home."

Gillian leaned over my way, half whispering, "She really means we want you to take your clothes off," her free hand dropped into my lap, "So nice to have a man around to ourselves..."

"Isn't it?" Mother agreed, sitting down with her bowl now also filled. "Eat up, it should warm you up splendidly."

Whether the stew tasted any good escapes my memory, as there was physical stimulation throughout the meal from elsewhere overwhelming nearly all other sense data. Gillian kept her hand in my crotch, feeling me up through my trousers. It wasn't long before the bulge was uncomfortable, and the moment I shifted unthinkingly she reacted, unzipping my fly and slipping inside and wrapping her fingers around my stiffness.

Briefly, rational thoughts impeded on the moment's pleasure. Reminders that what appeared too good to be true probably was, that I needed to remain focused, and remain vigilant not to get mentally compromised. "I can balance this," I told myself, "I made it this far OK."

My bowl was empty, I recall no better whether the stew helped warm me than its flavour, since it had competition, as soon not only Gillian but my mother as well were making efforts to generate heat on my body. The two women had finished their meals in record time as if racing each other. My sister theoretically had the advantage since she was next to me, but it was her rival's lips that first reached my cock. She dived* under the table, crawled forward and bashed my thighs apart with her head all before Gilly could react.

"Bother!" said the loser. She hastily swallowed the last of her stew and joined Mother on the floor. Their mouths were wonderfully warm after that hot supper. Not bad for my first time getting worshiped by two women at once. I leaned back and took in the view. Our parent busied herself stuffing my full length down her throat, staring up at me with eyes luminous so full both of love, tenderness and unbridled lust. Alternately she used pressure from her lips, tongue and teeth (ever so sparingly) sliding up and down my shaft. On one hand she supported her upper body while the other was between her legs, hips gyrating as she fingered herself. Gillian concentrated her oral efforts just below, somehow supporting herself on all fours with her back to the floor, so as to reach under Mother's mouth to my balls. She managed to envelop my nuts almost fully in her warmth and wetness. I stared at her frontal nudity meanwhile, her full breasts swaying horizontal on her chest, nipples spiking skywards. Between her legs a patch of pale blonde hair stood out against her perfect amethyst skin. I reached out, her pussy was just about within reach, and she bucked her hips to help me. Under my fingers her cunt was already quite moist and slick from her hair-trigger horniness.

Entranced, I was, beginning to viscerally accept the new order as a good thing. My head rolled back and I shut my eyes to enjoy my senses. "Make it last, would you?" I half-whispered.

From then enough bliss streamed by that my partners changed positions and exchanged roles a few times, although opting to remain at ground level in adoration of my cock. I could feel two tongues languorously slithering up and down on opposite sides of me, meeting in a kiss over my glans, when my eyes opened. The view above contained a ceiling, a light source, the tops of some cupboards full of ornate tableware, and a thing. A peculiar shape suspended in the upper left corner of the room, gray, metallic, with a bright red circle glowing at the center. My vision focused. Its thorax alone was at least the size of my fist, and it had eight legs whose points rested in pearly white silk part of a small yet solid web. It registered at last, a huge artificial spider, its crimson eye boring a gaping hole in my fog of pleasure.

Almost the moment I recognized the object for what it was, everything changed. The light shifted from red to orange instantly, and growing so intense as to wash out all other colour in the room. A noise filled my ears, two tones alternating indefinitely. Its source couldn't be pinned down to any particular location, as though coming from all around at once. Below me all action ceased, I looked just in time to see Mother and Gillian, their eyes rolling back, tumble out of my lap and slump in a heap on the ground, ****.

"Frank Oliver," the spider called in a distant, tinny voice, "Frank Oliver, can you hear me?"

"I..." but the voice didn't wait to hear my response, "You have been seen to behave very strangely, today, Frank."

Through the flood of that deep orange, I saw the movement of new silk extending from the spider, and it began to move across the ceiling, approaching closer to me.

"You need not be alarmed," the voice said, "Look toward the light and do exactly as I say. No harm will come to you..."

"Fuck," I muttered, gritting my teeth.

* I apologize for this moment of unfiltered pedantry, but take note, the correct way to describe the action of diving in past tense does not involve birds; we say he/she/it dived, not dove.