The Little May Series: Family Bathroom Time (Part 1)

A very close knit family share some quality time in the morning...

Tom watched the steam curl against the shower screen, his toothbrush moving absently across his molars as May silhouette shifted behind the slightly fogged glass. She was humming something tuneless—that made him smile.
Fourteen last week, and yet her body still held the same delicate lines it had two years ago: the slight dip of her waist, the barely-there curve of her hips, the gentle swell of her chest where her nipples budded pink under the spray. The only notable difference the sparse blonde hairs on her mons.

Tom spat toothpaste into the sink, watching her almost childlike silhouette twist as she turned under the water, still humming nonsense. The shower door squeaked when she pushed it open—just a crack—steam escaping in wisps around her damp face. "Daddy, can I use your razor?" She blinked up at him, water clinging to her lashes, entirely unselfconscious in her nudity.

He knew what she meant. That stubborn little patch of fuzz she kept trying to erase, like it offended her personally. Tom smiled around his toothbrush. "Of course, sweetie. Top drawer, same as always." May bounced on her toes—still childlike in that way, as she leaned out to grab it.

He watched the way her thighs pressed together as she bent, the water droplets sliding down the shallow curve of her pert little bottom. She made a happy little noise, triumphant, and held up the razor like a prize.

Katy squeezed in, her large bare breasts swaying with the movement, nipples peaked from the morning chill. Her small but sensible cotton knickers stretched taught over her ample bum. "May," she said, voice thick with amusement, "are you shaving your fanny again? I've told you I think you're still a little young for that."

May giggled, shaking water from her fingertips as she lathered her mons with Tom’s shaving gel. "It feels better smooth, Mum. I just prefer it!" Katy rolled her eyes but didn’t argue—she knew her daughter’s quirks by now.

Tom rinsed his toothbrush, watching them both, his cock thickening slightly in his pajama pants at the sight of his two favorite girls naked. It was such a shame he could never have them both at the same time, but even Katy had her limits.

Stan, May's older brother, appeared in the doorway, scratching his bare stomach, his morning wood tenting his boxers. "Can I piss or are you lot gonna hog the bathroom forever?" Katy swatted at him playfully. "Language, Stan." But she stepped aside, letting him squeeze past her to the toilet. His teenage erection brushing his mum's cotton clad bottom as he passed. May didn't even glance up, focused on carefully dragging the razor over her mons, her pink lips glistening under the foam.

"Can I have some privacy?" Stan grumbled, though he already knew the answer—privacy wasn't really a thing on their boat. There just wasn't the space, so it never had been. He sighed watching his little sister meticulously shaving herself while humming, as Mum leaned against the sink, unselfconsciously tweasering an errant hair from her nipple. His cock throbbed under the thin cotton of his boxers, still rock-hard from sleep and now made worse by the casual nudity surrounding him.

He grabbed himself through the fabric, trying to angle his morning wood down enough to piss without spraying everywhere—a near-impossible task given how stiff he was. Katy giggled and ruffled his hair as she watched his futile attempt to aim. "Oh, sweetheart, you boys and your morning struggles," she teased, reaching out to adjust him herself—something she'd done since he was old enough to stand at the toilet. "Wow, it really is pointing straight up today, isn’t it?" She said trying to contain her amusement as Stan groaned, his cheeks flushing pink.

Tom watched all this unfold with quiet amusement—his family, all so beautifully comfortable in their own skin. "I pee in the shower when I have that problem," he remarked casually to Stan while May giggled, finding her brother's erection hilarious. Katy gave Tom a playful swat—"Tom!"—but turned to May. "Squeez over and let your brother in, love."

"Ewwww, I'm not letting him pee on me!" May squealed, hopping backwards further into the shower cubicle with exaggerated disgust—though her giggles betrayed her amusement. She stuck her tongue out at Stan, still holding the razor aloft like some tiny, naked warrior princess defending her territory. "Mum really, infront of you all?" Stan groaned, his erection still pointing skyward. "Don't be silly Stan," Katy chuckled, "we've all seen your willy a thousand times." She gave him another playful nudge toward the shower where May stood looking slightly mischievous, "Come on Stan," she teased, "I promise not to stare." Though her eyes darted downward despite herself, curiosity winning out over her teasing.

With a defeated sigh, Stan hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and pushed them down, his cock springing free—still painfully hard. He shuffled into the shower, turning his back to May as he braced one hand against the tiles, the other gripping himself awkwardly.

A golden arc sputtered upward, spraying the wall in erratic bursts before finally settling into a steady stream. May unable to stop herself peered over his shoulder with unabashed curiosity—she’d never seen him pee like this before—her giggles bubbling up as droplets ricocheted off the tiles onto her shins.

"Oi, quit staring," Stan grumbled, then—whether from sleep-addled impulse or from sheer mischief—he twisted suddenly, his stream arcing in a hot golden curve that splattered across May's chest and stomach. She shrieked, half-laughing, half-outraged as urine pattered over the tiny swell of her barely-there breasts, her stomach, even a droplet catching the crest of one pink nipple. "Stan!" she squealed, flailing backward into the shower wall, her giggles dissolving into hiccuping laughter.

"Right that's it," she squealed as she bent her knees and spread her pussy lips apart with her fingers, aiming herself at her brother. A hot stream of piss erupted from her little slit, splashing against Stan’s thigh as he tried to hop back, still mid-pee himself—his own stream gone rogue, spraying May's face.

Katy was in stitches, clutching her sides as her children sprayed each other like rival garden sprinklers. Tom—who'd been watching this unfold with the quiet satisfaction of a man who'd conditioned his family just right—reached down to adjust his thickening cock through his pajama pants. "Right that's enough you two, you're both feral," Katy managed between gasps of laughter.

The sight of May—still glistening with water and now speckled with droplets of Stan's piss—giggling as she retaliated by arching her back to aim her own stream higher, was too much. Her petite body, so unselfconsciously exposed, the way her little slit parted when she spread herself open... He groaned softly and palmed himself through his pants.

"Alright, alright," he chuckled, stepping back before things escalated further. "If you two are done baptizing each other, I've got work to get ready for." He pecked Katy on the cheek, who was still laughing, her breasts shaking with each breath, and pushed past her before she could notice the tent in his pajamas.

"Okay, you two enough of this nonsense," Katy said, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye as she turned to leave, heading toward the galley kitchen, still clad only in her small cotton knickers, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor. "Wash each other's pee off and get ready for school before you make your dad late again."

May wiped Stan’s piss from her cheek with the back of her hand, wrinkling her nose but still giggling. "You’re disgusting," she informed him matter-of-factly, then immediately ruined her own admonishment by flicking the wetness at him. He dodged, sticking his tongue out, and she retaliated by darting forward—quick as a minnow—and swiping a hand between his legs, cupping his balls with mischievous precision.

"Ew, they’re all warm!" she giggled, delighted by her own boldness, but her hand stayed put, fingers tracing the taut skin curiously. Stan groaned involuntarily, his cock twitching against his stomach. They'd shared a tiny cabin bedroom their whole lives, and were utterly comfortable with each other. Yet, May had never touched Stan like that before—not with deliberate curiosity, her fingers tracing the shape of him while giggles still bubbled in her throat.

Stan froze, breath hitching as her fingertips explored the sensitive underside of his balls. "May," he warned, but his voice cracked—half-laugh, half-groan. She blinked up at him, her blue eyes bright with mischief and something else—something Tom had carefully cultivated in her since she was old enough to understand touch.

"What?" she chirped, innocent as a kitten, even as her thumb brushed the base of his cock where it jutted from his pubic bone. "It's just your thingy, Stan." But her fingers tightened slightly, experimentally, and Stan's hips jerked forward before he could stop himself.

His breath came sharp through his nose—rabbit-in-the-headlights panic and a pulsing, hot realization that his little sister’s hand was there, soft and warm and squeezing just enough to make his thighs tremble. She giggled at his reaction, delighted by the power surge, and dragged her palm up the length of him in one slow, exploratory stroke. "It's so hard," she marveled, like it was a fascinating science experiment, her other hand coming up to prod the flushed tip where precome gleamed. "Does that feel nice?"

Stan choked on air, his hands flying to grip the shower tiles behind him. "May—" His voice sounded wrecked already, wrecked and pleading, and she grinned up at him, all sunshine and wickedness. "Hurry up, you two!" Katy's voice floated down the corridor, followed by the clatter of breakfast dishes. May gave his cock a squeeze—testing—before pulling her hand away with a final giggle, leaving Stan panting against the tiles. He blinked at her, dazed, as she rinsed her hands under the spray. "Why don't we finish this later?" she whispered conspiratorially, wiggling her fingers at him before skipping out of the shower, her bare feet slapping against the wet floor.

The autumn morning air smelled of damp leaves and diesel fumes as the three of them walked down the towpath to Tom’s car—Stan lagging half a step behind, his hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets. May skipped ahead, twirling on the balls of her bare feet, her short school skirt flaring around her thighs with each spin. Stan had barely spoken since the shower. His stomach twisted every time May glanced back at him with that knowing little grin—like she’d discovered some delicious secret about him. Which, he supposed, she had. His cock still throbbed faintly from the memory of her fingers exploring him with such casual curiosity.

Tom pulled the car to a stop outside Stan’s school—uncharacteristically early for once. The brick facade loomed, already swarming with students milling about before the first bell. Stan hesitated, fingers gripping the door handle. May twisted in the passenger seat, her skirt riding up to expose the smooth curve of her bare thigh. "Bye, Stan," she chirped, stretching over to peck his cheek—her breath warm, her lips lingering just a beat too long. Her hand slid down his arm, fingers brushing his wrist in a way that made his pulse stutter. "See you tonight."

Tom adjusted the rear view mirror as they pulled away from Stan's school, the car tires crunching over wet gravel. "That was quite a show this morning," he remarked casually, one hand draped over the steering wheel while the other rested on May's bare knee, fingers tracing idle circles on her inner thigh. May giggled, squirming slightly at the ticklish touch, her legs falling open instinctively.

"Did you like it, Daddy?" She asked impishly, already knowing the answer. Tom exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers tightening fractionally on her thigh.

His pupils swallowed the blue of his irises as he glanced at her, his thumb skating higher, brushing the hem of her school knickers. "I was so hard I was worried your mother would see," Tom murmured, his fingers creeping higher beneath May's skirt, the rough pad of his thumb finding the cotton of her panties.

The car hit a pothole, jostling them both, and May gasped—half from the sudden bounce, half from the way her father's fingertip pressed against her clit through the thin fabric. "Do we have time?" May breathed, her voice barely above a whisper as Tom's fingers stroked the front of her knickers. The car slowed at a red light, the engine idling—a momentary pause in the rhythm of morning traffic. "I think we can make time," Tom muttered.

As always the layby was empty— the towering hedges crowding the narrow country lane like over eager spectators. Tom reversed the car until the bumper kissed the piled road metal marking their unofficial parking spot—the same spot he'd been using for years whenever the urge struck.

May didn't wait for permission. Her seatbelt clicked open before the engine died, her small hands already tugging at her Dad's fly as she leaned over the central console. She pulled his cock free—already flushed and leaking—slapping against her cheek with a wet smack that made her giggle. "Someone's excited," she teased, nuzzling the thick vein running along the underside with the same playful affection she'd give a kitten.

Tom groaned, hips lifting instinctively as her tongue swirled around his tip. She loved this—the power she held over him, the way his breath hitched when she hollowed her cheeks. His fingers tangled in her hair, not guiding, just holding, letting her set the pace like always.

"Fuck, sweetheart," Tom groaned, his hips jerking as May's lips slid down his length, her tongue pressing insistently against the sensitive ridge beneath his cockhead. She hummed around him—a pleased little sound that vibrated through his flesh—and his fingers tightened in her hair. Her small hand worked the base of him in tandem with her mouth, her thumb brushing over his balls with practiced ease.

"God the site of you and your brother this morning, pissing on each other like animals... with your mother right there." Tom groaned, his fingers tightening in May's hair as she bobbed her head, her lips stretched obscenely around his girth. He could feel her smirk around his cock—that mischievous little quirk of her mouth he'd come to recognize even with his eyes closed.

She pulled off with an obscene pop, her chin glistening with spit. "Do you like the idea of me and Stan together, Daddy?" she teased, her fingers stroking him lazily. "Does it make you hard?" Tom exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip on her hair bordering on painful.

"You know damn well it does," he growled. May giggled—that sweet, girlish sound that clashed so deliciously with the filth pouring from her mouth—and ducked back down, taking him deeper this time. As deep as she could at this angle, making herself gag slightly as his tip nudged the back of her throat.

Tom cursed under his breath. She pulled back with a wet gasp, saliva stringing between her lips and his cock. "I bet you'd like Mummy to watch too," May teased, her fingers tracing the swollen veins along his shaft. Tom's fingers knotted in her hair, pushing her mouth back down onto his cock gently but firmly. "You're such a dirty little thing," he rasped, "Daddy’s naughty little fuck toy, aren't you?"

May responded by hollowing her cheeks dramatically, bobbing her head with messy enthusiasm, drool dripping down his balls as she sucked him noisily. Each slurp and gag was deliberate—she knew he loved the obscene sounds almost as much as the wet heat of her mouth.

Tom groaned, his hips jerking up to meet her rhythm, his cock hitting the back of her throat with each thrust. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she didn’t pull away—just squeezed his thighs reassuringly with her free hand, letting him fuck her mouth with shallow, desperate thrusts.

"Fuck, I'm gonna—" Tom's warning was lost in a guttural groan as May doubled down, her lips stretching obscenely around her father's girth. The wet slap of saliva and the rhythmic gagging sounds filled the car, her nose almost reaching his pubic bone with each enthusiastic bob of her head. Her fingers dug into his thighs, nails leaving crescent moons in his skin as she urged him deeper, her throat fluttering around him in messy, imperfect suction.

Tom's groaned as his cum hit the back of her tongue in thick, salty pulses. She didn't pull away, didn't sputter—just let him flood her mouth as she swallowed greedily, until his hips stilled. When she finally released him with a wet pop, her lips were swollen and slick, her chin smeared with spit and traces of his release. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grinning up at him with the kind of smug satisfaction only a teenager who knew exactly what she was doing could muster.

Tom suit trousers were damp with drool and traces of cum when he finally zipped them up. The school run was officially late. Again.