Fist Her Daughter's Cunt

A waitress arrived, unbidden. She bent over between Lois Lane and her mother, and poured some liquid out of a decanter...heavy and thick, like oil...or lubricant... As if from a distance, Lois heard her mother thank the woman gratefully as she rubbed the fluid all up and down her arms, never letting go of her daughter's painfully stretched pussy.

"You know, I was younger than you when I was fisted for the first time?" The older woman's eyes were focused on her handwork as she tucked her thumb into her fingers and pressed.

"My last summer after highschool had ended, only ten weeks after my eighteenth birthday...I hadn't even met your father yet. I was a counselor at a camp, earning money to help pay for college in the fall...warm, campfire-y nights, after all the younger girls had gone to bed..."

Lois groaned as she felt the fist slide into her, a millimeter at a time, like a greased hog through a narrow door. She could feel her pussy stretching, unable to resist the combination of gooey lube and inestimable pressure.

"...drinking thunderbird wine, listening to rock'n'roll...and when we were drunk we danced naked under the stars until we fell down...and Angie, the little slut came to us with her sweet kisses and her dirty mind, wanting to explore every inch..."

The was no pop as the hand went in. Just a feeling of terrific fullness, her pussy shivering involuntarily, the reporter feeling herself edging ever closer to climax. It felt wrong—terrible—to be here and doing this with her mother, all the strange eyes watching as they put on a show.

"...she used to move her hand inside me back and forth, just like this, delighting in every little moan I made as my pussy was stretched," The old woman smiled. "a few of the girls were worried they wouldn't be tight anymore, but I didn't care. It wasn't as if I was a virgin anymore."

Lois issued a wordless gleep, hanging onto the table for dear life as her mother's slick hand moved in and out inside of her, in and out, in and out, a little deeper but never too deep...her labia clung to the old woman's bony wrist like a bracelet, and the reporter had difficulty focusing on anything else, though she could hear heavy breathing from the crowd, the rustle of clothes as women sought for better access to their pussies...

For a moment, Lois Lane's eyes once more met those of the dark haired woman sitting right behind Ella Lane, staring over her shoulder as the older Lane fisted her daughter's pussy. Second-best seat in the house.

With a soft wrench, Ella pulled her hand out of Lois' pussy. The reporter's quim quivered involuntarily for a moment, feeling suddenly empty...but then Lois saw what her mother was planning...

"Oh fuck..."