A week ago Monday my husband, Jack, came home all excited. One of his company's suppliers was going to take him to a big game—football—I think. Apparently there was an extra ticket available. He couldn't wait to call his brother.
"Davey's gonna drive all the way here for that?" I asked incredulously.
Davey was—there's no way to sugar coat this—an accident. Sixteen years younger than Jack he came along the year Jack left home for college. He and his wife Emma used to live reasonably close (about an hour away) then Dave got this great opportunity up north.
When they were nearby Jack and Dave got together fairly regularly but we seldom visited as a couple; only on holidays and family get togethers really. I like Emma as Davey's wife, and my sister-in-law, I never really thought about it beyond that—much.
The next Friday I got home to find my husband in his game-going jeans and T shirt with his team's logo on the front. I'd had a rough week and was glad the weekend was here. I lay down on the couch as he scurried around getting his stuff together. I knew his company's supplier had arranged for a hotel room downtown for after the game, so he wouldn't be back 'til noon the next day. I dozed off.
I guess it was because Davey was coming that I found myself dreaming about the last time we'd been together. Three months ago we'd gone to visit them in their new home up north. The dream consisted mainly of recalling a session in their hot tub. Jack, Davey and I were soaking and enjoying the champagne we'd brought to celebrate his new job and their new house when Emma arrived. I was sitting nearest the steps leading down into the tub and was a bit surprised at the pussy twitch I got when my sister-in-law's ass, stretched into the string bikini, passed inches from my face as she climbed in.
I accepted my dual sexuality before most people even realized they had sexuality. My grandmother introduced me to the joys of woman loving when I was twelve. You might say that I was an early bloomer. Later in high school I dated my share of guys but always had a girlfriend or two I was close with. I don't call myself a bi-sexual because, although I enjoy sex with men or women, I am not interested in sex with men and women. Most of the bi-sexuals I've met are more than happy to engage in threesomes (and more-somes) with both genders participating at the same time—but that's not me. For me sex with men or women is like steak and cheese cake; I like both but I don't want them on the same plate, at the same time.
It's not that I'd never had sexual thoughts about Emma before that weekend. I'd known her since she married Davey over ten years ago. Sure I'd had lascivious thoughts about her before, but being family, I'd never done anything about them and no opportunities had tested my self control. My erotic dream about watching how her boobs nestled into the cups of the orange and grey stripped swim suit top, bobbing in the swirling hot tub, didn't really come as a shock.
I don't know what broke into that dream. I was happily recalling the soothing hot turbulent water and the lustful glances I was giving my sister-in-law, when my eyes opened. There, shimmering in the surreal post nap fog, I saw Emma sitting in the chair opposite the couch I was reclined on; her beach blonde (bottled of course) spiky styled short hair framing her pretty smiling face.
"It's about time you woke up sleepy head" she said. "I thought I was gonna hav-ta drink all this wine I brought by myself." I popped up on the sofa and rubbed my eyes trying to make sense of it and remember what was going on. The last of the late summer rays of sun were still streaming past the curtains. The clock read seven-thirty. I'd slept for almost two hours.
"What ... why..." my sleep fogged brain wouldn't let me form a coherent sentence.
"The boys are gone to their game. Jack even came in and kissed you good-bye but you never stirred." Then I remembered that Davey was coming to go with Jack to some game or other. My head cleared a bit and I rubbed my eyes again.
"I wasn't expecting you" I said an immediately hoped it didn't sound unwelcoming.
"I know. At the last minute I decided to keep David company on the trip down." Then she raised her glass of wine in one hand and an unopened bottle in the other and said; "boys night out—girls night in" and giggled. "Try this" she proffered a glass of the dark red liquid. "It's only been out a short while ... it's from Australia."
She was wearing a blue stripped scoop necked top and white shorts. I scanned her tight little body and shuddered at the dream I'd been having about it. Despite just having awakened, I took the glass of wine she was offering and took a big swallow.
"Mmmm ... it's good" I said and my voice was comically hoarse. We both laughed. She held up the bottle and remarked,
"See it's got a Kangaroo on the label." She laughed again and I realized that she'd probably had more than one glass waiting for me to wake up.
I told myself that there was nothing unusual about this situation. Emma had decided to accompany her husband on the long drive and now we'd spend a family evening together while our husbands enjoyed the sporting event and no doubt got sloshed. My mind said there was nothing unusual, but my pussy was sending a different message.
We sat and talked, like sisters-in law, about how they were adjusting to their new home and how Davey's new job was going. Before I realized it we'd polished off the first bottle of wine Emma had brought. I was still in the slacks and blouse I'd worn to work. At a lull in the conversation I said; "Ya know if we're gonna have a girls night in we should really slip into something more comfortable."
My sister-in-law's face dropped a little and I realized that she was starting to show affects from the wine. "I never thought to bring anything" she informed me, sounding apologetic.
"We're close to the same size. I think I can scare up something that'll fit you" I speculated while rising from the couch.
We were pretty close too. She might be an inch or so taller than my five-two and she was certainly had better muscle tone. Emma fancied herself something of an athlete and works out four or five days a week. She also plays volleyball in some kind of league. So even though her fortieth birthday was just around the corner she didn't look a day over thirty. Up until very recently I thought my boobs were a little bigger than hers. But lately—as I seemed to spend more and more time checking them out when we were together—I'd come to the conclusion that they were also pretty close to the same size.
My sister-in-law followed me down the hall to my bedroom. I was trying to remember if we'd ever been alone like this before. I couldn't recall a time in the twelve or thirteen years I'd known her. My mind caught up with my pussy and concluded that this was a unique situation. I started having naughty thoughts. 'She's Davey's wife for God's sakes!' I chastened myself. 'If you start acting on this crazy fantasy; how's that gonna affect your relationship?' The stark reality temporarily and slightly cooled my rising passions—but not entirely.
I could have gone to the closet and chosen from several velour and polar fleece lounging suits; or I could have gone to the bureau drawer that held my flannel night gowns and PJs but I didn't. Instead I went to my lingerie drawer. The black peignoir with the lacey see through top was the first thing my hand lighted on. It suited me and I was suddenly feeling the affects of the wine. I rummaged through the silk, satin and lace; not knowing what I was looking for but having the feeling that I'd know it when I saw it. A pale blue baby doll that I hadn't worn in years emerged. A vision of Emma in the sexy nightie caused a major cramp in my womanhood.
'Maybe she won't wear it ... she'll be too shy' I thought, but I turned around and handed it to her anyway. I was surprised that she had brought her glass of wine with her and had to set it on the bedside table to accept the wispy piece of chiffon. She held it in her hands in front of her, staring at it with wide eyes as though she'd never seen anything like it before—I was pretty sure she had.
"Is that OK?" I asked picking up the peignoir from the top of the dresser (showing her that I'd chosen something equally sensual for myself). She looked at me and the dilation in her pupils gave away her impending intoxication.
"Uh sure ... sure ... it's fine" she said but didn't sound very convincing. I started unbuttoning my blouse and the room seemed to get sort of shimmery; 'You've probably had enough too'.
I tossed the blouse into the hamper, leaving just my everyday bra on top, and started working on the fasteners of my slacks. After I stepped out of them, I thought the grey knee-hi nylons looked ridiculous with white bra and bikini panty set, so I draped the slacks over the back of the chair and sat down to remove them. The thin trouser socks fluttered into the laundry basket on top of the blouse. I felt my nipples stiffen, sitting there in my underwear—Emma hadn't moved.
I saw her glance over at the door to the ensuite bathroom and reasoned that she was deciding whether retreating to the privacy of the closed off area was excessively modest. She made her decision and after dropping the scanty nightwear on the bed, she pulled her blue stripped top up over her head. She was wearing a fairly thin nylon-like bra which allowed her large pinkish-brown areolas to shine through.
The spasm in my lower pelvis made me wiggle in my seat. I sat there for a moment waiting for my sister-in-law to catch up. I think her hands were trembling as she unfastened the white shorts. There could have been several reasons for the unsteadiness of her hands and I didn't bother to speculate on the cause. The shorts joined her top on the bed and she kind of folded her hands in front of the crotch of her pink thong. It was adorable!
The pause was only seconds, but I read it to mean that we were even—both in just bras and panties—and that it was my turn to take the dressing game to the next level. I reached up behind my back and after unfastening the hooks, shrugged the straps off my shoulders. As the 'C' cups allowed my fifty-five year old boobs to sag to their age justified position, the friction of the bra not only reminded me how hard my nipples were, but sent a delicious pleasure pulse through the conduit that connected my breasts directly to my kitty.
I fussed with the bra, straightening the straps and pretended not to be looking at her—which of course I was. I could almost feel her eyes on my tits and it made them tingle. Hanging the bra over the arm of the chair, out of the corner of my eye I saw her bite her lip before reaching up to unhook herself. The room was swimming a little as my eyes were rotated to an extreme position in their orbits but I really didn't want to miss the unveiling.
I felt some kind of pride or self-satisfaction that her boobs sagged too when the thin nylon support was removed. Maybe not as much as mine but at their size it was pretty much impossible for them not to. I now had an unobstructed view of her soda can bottom sized areolas with a button the diameter of a thimble pushing out from their centers. The slightly flushed peg seemed to be growing before my eyes.
In the established process of turn-taking I stood up and stripped off my panties. I was still pretending not to be looking at her but I clearly saw her jerk when my vulva—waxed bald—came into view. Although it was very faint and reasonably well suppressed I thought I heard a bit of a squeal—squeak really.
I am proud of my womanhood and enjoy showing it off, if that makes me an exhibitionist—mea culpa. I suffer the pain four of five times a year to keep my Brazilian in shape. (I've actually come to relish my trips to the waxing salon—but that's another story altogether). My inner lips protrude, in the unaroused state, just a little—maybe half and inch—and are sort of dark and crinkly. I think it gives my pussy that full meaty look with out being floppy. When I get turned on, as I definitely was now, it spreads the wings all on its own and it starts to look like a big luscious sideways smile on a mouth with an overdose of Radiance. The hood over my clit pretty much blends in with the crinkly labia, normally. When aroused my clit stretches the wrinkles out of it and it gets quite smooth looking. Then it occupies the upper inch or so of the crease framed by my outer lips. If I pull up and back I can get my little soldier to stand out about the size of the first joint of a child's finger when it's fully engorged. Usually it's a bright pink with a sort of iridescent quality.
As I said, I like to show it off and Emma's evident appreciation made my engorged clit throb. (That's how I know that it's fully engorged; 'cause it doesn't throb until there's no more room for the blood that's still trying to rush in). I waited patiently (OK not so patiently) for my sister-in-law to take her turn. Standing beside the chair my eyes were focused on her hands, behind which was the pink triangle still covering her sex. I let my eyes drift up and got a rush when I noticed that her nipples were now fully distended, standing out like two red sowing thimbles from her textured areolas. When I reached her face, her blue eyes were wide and her jaw was slack. She was clearly still staring at my crotch. I could feel the heat building up as though her eyes were emitting infrared radiation.
Her rapped attention gave me an excuse to touch myself. I ran my fingers over my bald mons, pulling up enough to cause my throbbing button to poke out just for a split second. The heat under my fingers was amazing. "Do you like it?" I asked for her opinion on my pubic coiffure—or lack of it.
My speaking for the first time since we'd started to strip seemed to jolt her out of the trance she'd been in. "Do you ... uh sh-shave it?" she stammered.
"Oh no sweetie, that's too much work—waxing; that's the way to go" I confided, seizing the opportunity to give my vulva another sensuous rub. "How about you?" I asked, nodding toward her shielding hands. She looked down and seemed surprised that she still had her underpants on. Her thumbs hooked the ribbon around her full hips and pushed the thong down. When her tightly mown landing strip appeared the light throbbing between my legs mutated into a dull ache. I watched her substantial boobies get pendulous as she bent forward to push the tiny piece of material down past her knees. She reached her lower calves and stepped out of it. With her attention elsewhere I gave myself permission to give my coochie a much needed squeeze (what I really wanted to do was slap it, but I didn't have the nerve to do that); so the squeeze had to do. I added a couple of quick rotary strokes with my finger tips watching Davey's wife's tits wobble and sway in the process of removing her panties.
When Emma stood up—just for a second—her hands now holding the wispy piece of pink cloth went in front of her crotch in an instinctive display of modesty. I guess she realized that it would be just as embarrassing to try to keep her cookie covered as it would be to reveal it. Without looking she tossed the panties on top of her other clothes. Her hands returned to their shielding position momentarily (I think because she didn't know what else to do with them). Finally she moved her hands out of the way. I don't actually know what she did with them because I was one hundred percent focused on the object of my desire.
I am a vulva fanatic. I love everything about pussies. Anyone who says seen one, seen 'em all ought to be sitting on a downtown street corner with a cup full of pencils. There are no two exactly alike. Even the 'innies' have their own uniqueness, in the shape and length of the outer lips and the plumpness of the mons. Emma's wasn't an 'innie'. her inner lips were visible in shocking pink peeking between the shaven outer ones. They were thin; razor edged, and only just barely made it out of the clam shell brackets. It looked like a double under score. Two parallel lines drawn down the middle of her pudenda. Now we were both looking at her snatch.
"I shave it everyday" she told me and one of her hands entered my narrow field of view. I think she wanted to touch it—was going to touch it—but then some deep inhibition told her that it would be inappropriate. Her hand hovered for a second and then disappeared from view again.
It was getting hot in my bedroom. I could feel beads of perspiration collecting along my hairline. I picked up the peignoir from the dresser and dropped it over my head. I was adjusting the see-through lace cups over my breasts, enjoying the way the soft material pressed and wiggled my hard nipples, while simultaneously watching Emma's tits do their dance as she followed my lead and stepped into the shimmery blue bottoms of the baby-doll. She dropped the top part of the nightie over her head and we were dressed—at least as dressed as I intended us to be.
My sister-in-law turned and bent over the bed to fold her discarded clothing. I felt dizzy and a little faint seeing her tushy through the virtually transparent blue of the tiny panties. Before my swimming eyes the panties turned into the orange and grey stripped bikini bottoms. The firm hemispheres of her of her ass were above me as she made her descent into the hot tub. The steam rising all around her sculpted smooth legs into the coolness of the night air added to the surreal nature of the vision. The brief peek at the crotch gusset as she stepped down into the turbulent water caused me to imagine what the hidden treasure looked like.
I realized that I was shivering. I reached down and pulled on the air around my knees. Straightening up I felt warmer. 'That was odd' I thought. The image of her bikini clad buns dissolved back into the sheer blue nightgown bottoms; and then she stood up facing me again.
"Well look at us ... Two old married women all dressed to thrill and nobody here to appreciate it." I gave a little chuckle at the irony of the statement. I was sure appreciating it and, judging by the look on her face, so was Emma.
"If he was here I don't think David would even notice." Her voice carried a note of disappointment or frustration.
"What do you mean?" I probed. She picked up her wine glass from the bedside table and drained it. I think she was regretting what she'd just said.
"I need a refill" (she didn't.) Seeming to ignore my question she exited my bedroom and made her way down the hall. The slight stagger only added to the sexy sway of her mature hips as she trekked toward the wine she'd brought. I followed her into the living room and watched her drain the first bottle into her glass. As she was opening the second, I asked her again;
"What did you mean Davey wouldn't notice?" She swallowed about half the glass of Merlot that she'd just poured before answering. I took the hesitancy in her voice as embarrassment, but it could have just been her tipsy brain having trouble forming the words.
"Ever since he started this new job, we ... we don't ... we hardly ever ... uh, you know—"
"Make love" I filled in. She nodded and took another big sip.
"Yeah!" she said through clenched teeth. My pussy did a flip as the ramifications hit home. My bottle blonde, cute little sister-in-law, standing in front of me in about as erotic and revealing an outfit as you could imagine, was confessing to me that she was sexually frustrated. My will power and self control were under siege. I was trying to keep my eyes on her face; but the way her plump tits tented the baby-doll top, and the way her thimble size nipples poked out against the sheer blue chiffon made it very difficult. Her eyes looked full and about to overflow. Sure enough a second later the first tear tracked down her cheek.
I moved to her side and put my arm around her. "Oh sweetheart ... you must be so congested. It's been over six months hasn't it?" I asked trying to remember when they'd moved. She nodded her head, apparently not able to trust her voice. "Do ya have any toys to, uh ... substitute?" she looked at me and shook her head in the negative with the most pathetic and at the same time adorable look on her face. The head shake dislodged a couple more tears. Impulsively I kissed them away. "But there's always your fingers ... right?" I said in an upbeat tone.
"I ... I can't seem to ... uh, get off that way..." and now she actually sobbed. I took the wine glass from her, set it on the coffee table and embraced her full front. I think I intended it to be a comforting hug but it didn't comfort my aching womanhood; the mashing together of our breasts made it twitch and jerk. Because she was just slightly taller and her boobs sagged a bit less Emma's hard nips felt like little rocks being pressed into the spongy softness of my upper tits.
I felt her tears on the side of my neck. One or two escaped and ran down my back. She was trembling in my arms with her own arms still at her sides. Slowly, hesitantly, her arms came up and she hugged me back. "Emma ... do you need help?" At first there was no reaction; then I felt her nodding her head against my neck. Releasing my embrace I took her by the shoulders and looked into her puffy eyes. "Do you want my help?" It didn't take a psychic to see the turmoil going on inside. She sniffled and I handed her a tissue from the box on the end table. She wiped her nose and dabbed her eyes. After taking a shaky breath she said,
"I've never ... uh, been with ... with, another ... woman." We were eye to eye and there were so many emotions in that look it was hard to recognize them all. The one that seemed closest to the surface was fear—maybe tinged with embarrassment or shame. Immediately below that, and fighting to be heard, was curiosity and lust. I felt like the alcohol was on my side; it was supporting and fueling the curiosity and suppressing the fear.
"I know you haven't sweetheart" I comforted and began stroking up and down on her upper arms—which were bare. I could feel the goose bumps under my palms. My eyes drifted down to the front of the nightie. Her heavy breasts pushed the flowing top outward away from her ribs. The natural sag caused them to point somewhat outward. Her nipples seemed less evident than they'd been when we arrived from the bedroom. I gripped the bottom of the baby-doll chiffon. "Can we take this off sweetie?" I asked as I was lifting. Emma didn't answer but raised her arms over her head when required to complete the removal. Although they were quite naked, for some reason, I was seeing her boobs nestled into the stripped bikini top. I gave my head a shake.