It’s an impossible question to answer, and now I fully understand just what a cruel response it had been to give.
Surprise me.
How could she possibly do that?
I push up, taking more weight on my hands so she can ease my pants down across my thighs. My erection is hard and throbbing, aching for her touch.
She rocks back, takes hold of my pants at the ankle and pulls them down.
“Lie down.”
Nobody’s going to disobey a voice like that.
I lean back, shuffle up onto the bed. Turn so I’m lying lengthways in the middle, pulling one of the pillows fully under my head.
She moves towards me, raises one knee to half-kneel on the bed.
She’s gathered up my necktie and now loops it around my left wrist, threads the ends through the cast-iron headboard, deftly ties a knot. Loose enough that I still have circulation in my hand, but tight enough that I can barely move that arm.
She feeds the long end of the tie through the frame, loops it around my right wrist and repeats the knot.
Where did she learn to do this?
We’ve indulged in bondage play before now, of course, but... She’s been practicing. She’s worked this out. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
Now, she lets her gaze roam hungrily down my body. My shorts are stretched tight. I roll my hips, an unsubtle request to which her only response is a lusty smile.
She turns away. Moves across the room.
I roll my hips again, but this time in an attempt to rearrange myself, my dick really aching now from straining against the over-taut fabric of my shorts. I need release in more ways than one, right now.
Lucy bends to retrieve something from a drawer, and my eyes are drawn to her cleavage. Something about her still being clothed while I lie here near-naked and bound is so erotic.
She straightens, turns, a blindfold dangling from one hand.
She pauses, smiles, then approaches me again.
The mattress gives as she kneels. She leans over, places the blindfold across my eyes and instantly all is darkness, only a few flashes of light around the dark fabric as she feeds the strap around my head and tightens it.
Now I am blind. Everything is touch, sound, scent.
Her hands on my head as she finishes securing the blindfold, then pulling away.
The shifting of the mattress beneath me as she moves.
Her perfume, something sweet, a hint of apple.
Her hot breath on my ear, her voice up close: “Remember what I told you about Julia?”
Then a shifting, a moving away.
She’s standing now, away from the bed. There’s no more movement on the mattress, no breath on my ear.
I turn my face towards where I think Lucy is standing.
“Julia?” I say. “Your sister, Julia?”
She says nothing. I sense her moving away, hear the door easing open across the thick carpet, then pulling shut again.
I lie there, straining to hear.
I’m alone.
Left aching and hard, and...
I’d thought it impossible. For Lucy to surprise me.
But I was so, so wrong.
§
I shift on the bed, trying again to rearrange myself, to release some of the pressure in my straining shorts.
Julia.
Two years younger than Lucy, she has the same build. The same generous hourglass figure. A liking for tops that make the most of her cleavage, that can’t help but draw the eye.
I’ve always been scrupulously careful around Julia, of course. I’d never say or do anything that might upset Lucy, and I knew from the start that even a ribald comment in private about her sister might cross the line.
But that hadn’t stopped Lucy. She knows my preferences, knows that she and Julia have enough in common that I was bound to at least think those thoughts, even if I tried to smother them immediately.
“Tell me what’s in your head,” she’d said late one night, when Julia and her then-boyfriend had visited for dinner, and now we were winding down with a little late-night ruby port.
“Hmm?” I replied, trying to be noncommittal, not entirely sure where Lucy was heading.
“Are you putting it in her cleavage or are you behind her, enjoying the view?”
I snorted my drink.
When I’d gathered myself again, Lucy kissed me on the jaw and said, “My bet’s on cleavage. In your head you’re tittyfucking my little sister, aren’t you?”
The memory’s still vivid. The shock at Lucy’s words, the delight at how she could take something that was potentially difficult and transform it into a joke.
A joke with edge, with undercurrents of something else.
Right now, my dick is rigid, pulsing, aching. And my head is full of my wife’s sister.
Is this how it’s going to go? The whole verbal thing taken to new levels?
Some of our hottest moments these days are when we combine talk with action. When Lucy tells me of her adventures, or when she presses me for stories from my own past. When the words we speak are as much foreplay as any physical contact.
Sometimes... Like the time recently when we were out for dinner at one of the city’s finest restaurants. Gazes trapped in each other’s eyes, each cradling a wine glass between courses. Just looking, smiling. Then Lucy saying, “He was so big...” Her voice soft, breathy. “I couldn’t get him all in my mouth without swallowing on him so I was almost gagging.”
She’d come straight from that hurried encounter to dinner with me, a spontaneous thing she’d told me about in a flurry of hurried messages, starting with:
I’m going to be a little late. Something’s just come up. That ok? xxx
Lucy certainly knew the power of words. And she knew the power of a thought planted in someone else’s head. An image. A scene. A possibility.
Julia.
§
I hear the door again, dragging across the deep pile.
Turn my head instinctively, even though I can’t see a thing.
The door remains open.
Footsteps, soft on the carpet. A sound I wouldn’t normally register, but now everything is heightened.
A slight shift of the mattress. Not kneeling on it this time but leaning against it, I guess. Reaching over.
A hand, lightly resting on my chest. Just left of center, covering the nipple.
Drawing away again, fingers trailing through sparse chest hair.
Fingernails scraping.
I tense.
Fingernails?
Lucy has her nails relatively short at the moment. Enough to scrape, but that dragging of nails had felt sharper, more intense. Is it simply that everything is so vivid right now, with the tension and the lack of sight?
Or is that hand – on me again, feeling and stroking my ribcage – not the hand of my wife?
I strain. Focus. Try to read the touch, the nervous, hesitant movements.
Is that a first-time touch? Or is Lucy toying with me, playing the part?
“Julia?” I say.
Silence. The hand briefly pauses, then resumes its slow journey across my ribs, up across the right nipple, over the swelling of my pectoral muscle on that side.
The hand moves down again, those sharp nails scraping.
Across my ribs, the touch making me tense up, catch my breath.
Reaching my belly, the muscles taut, twitching involuntarily in response to that touch.
Something – a forearm? – brushes against the towering front of my shorts, making me gasp.
And then fingers hook into the waistband, sliding inside through coarse hair until they touch the base of my dick. Pressing lightly, finding the shape, the contours, then drawing away.
Touching me now, I’m sure, as if for the very first time.
§
“I think she fancies you.”
This was only a month or two ago. Waking with Lucy, slowly coming to my senses and realizing she must have
been awake for a while, was just watching me as I came round. Enjoying the confusion that must have flashed across my face in response to her words, and then the moment of understanding.
“Julia?” It still seemed wrong to say it out loud, even jokingly. In my head it was still a sensitive, taboo topic.
Lucy nodded.
“What makes you say that?”
“We were talking. About Josh. They’ve finally split up. She was asking about us. Asked me how I’d struck so lucky. I love it when other people see that about us.”
I grunted in response, still not fully awake. All this was lovely, but it was a long way from Julia saying she fancied me.
“She told me she likes to think about you and play.”
Another of those half-choking moments in response to Lucy’s words. Okay, so that was much closer to saying Julia fancied me.
“She likes to think about you sliding your dick between her tits.”
I narrowed my eyes. She was making this up, I was sure. Julia had said no such thing.
Lucy was toying with me.
She laughed, then. Reached down. Squeezed.
“Don’t even think about telling me you don’t like the thought,” she said. “I’d just know you’re lying...”
§
Now: hands on me. Shy, nervous hands.
Fingers hooked into the waistband of my shorts, pulling the elastic up so that my dick can spring free and land with a thud against my belly.
A soft sigh. Still not enough for me to be sure.
She pulls my shorts down, and the mattress gives some more as she comes to kneel beside me.
Hands again.
So light, brushing across my skin. My thighs, my hips, my belly either side of where my dick lay. Up across my chest, hard nails catching on nipples, sending little jolts of pleasure stabbing through me.
My whole body strains, every muscle tight.
A hand on my cheek. I push against it, like a cat seeking attention. A thumb against my lips. I suck it in, drag teeth along it, eliciting that soft sigh again.
Another shifting of weight. Hair hanging down over my face. A pause.
I breathe her in, the same apple scent I had smelled earlier.
“Lucy?”
The pause draws itself out.
“Lucy? Julia? Fuck it... what’s going on, Luce?”
A movement of the hair, trailing across me. Lips, soft on mine. Nervous, like the first touch of those hands.
I push up, try to seize control. Mouth open, tongue driving.
She rides up, allowing my tongue to press in and meet hers, but telling me sure enough that I am not the one in control here.
She pulls away.
How can I not know for certain?
I’ve kissed Lucy so many times... I know her taste, her touch, her scent. I know how she responds.
And that kiss... it was Lucy and yet it was not. Is that because everything is so different in this situation? The blindfold, the bindings, the doubts she has expertly planted in my mind?
Or is that because I’ve just kissed my wife’s younger sister?
§
She moves.
A hand on the mattress as she reaches across me, taking some of her weight.
The brush of a leg across mine.
Playful, knowing now that I can never be in control of a situation like this, I raise my left knee, knowing she’s astride that leg.
I feel her thighs tight against my own. I push upwards, feel softness. Wetness. Heat.
Now it’s my turn to take some of her weight, feel her riding upwards. Allowing herself to bear down on me, that point of contact.
That sigh again. Sharper, as if sucked in through gritted teeth.
She presses down again, wet sliding against my thigh, and then she raises herself, swings her other leg over so now she kneels between my legs, her knees against the insides of my thighs.
Another pause.
Long seconds, drawing themselves out.
I think at first that she has paused just to survey the scene, to let her eyes roam over my naked, yearning body.
Julia or Lucy?
Studying me for the first time, or enjoying the role-play and studying me as if anew?
Then, I realize she’s moving. The pressure of her legs against mine, the slight rocking being communicated through the mattress.
I strain my ears, hear the shifting of the mattress, her rapid breathing.
I press my legs tighter against her, feel her pushing back. Feel the rocking of her body transmitted through that touch.
That catch in her breath as she approaches climax. It’s one of Lucy’s tells: I always know she’s close when I hear that.
She’s making no attempt to disguise what she’s doing now. Kneeling between my legs, her hands – one hand, or two? – deep between her thighs, stroking herself to climax.
Rapid breathing becomes a groan, soft and repeated, the voice still frustratingly hard to identify. A sharp intake just as her legs press hard against mine, her whole body tensing, tensing, holding itself tight.
And then, finally, slumping, settling.
She shifts her weight forward, and I feel one hand pressing down on the mattress by my right hip.
Her other hand comes to lie flat against my shaft, pressing firmly down, rocking slightly from side to side.
The heel of her hand bears down where shaft meets balls, and now it’s my turn to gasp.
The hand moves, changing position so fingers can wrap around my dick, holding me tight. Starting to pull and twist, my shaft now upright, away from my belly.
The grip... the touch... It’s all so familiar, yet how don’t I know?
How many of these things are hard-wired, genetic? Is it inevitable that Julia would have that same catch in her breath as climax approaches? That her grip on my dick would be so similar? That her kiss would taste the same?
I’m paying so much attention to everything now – every touch, every sound, every little trick – that I’m sensing everything as if for the first time and I really can’t tell if this is different only because of that scrutiny or... because this is Julia with her hand around my dick. With that curtain of fine hair brushing against my belly.
With her lips pressing softly against the wet head of my dick.
I groan, deep from the pit of my belly.
This really is like a first time.
The first time a woman’s lips have folded themselves around my dick, slid down. The first time I’ve met the wet heat of a woman’s mouth engulfing me.
Slowly, slowly, she pushes down, squeezing and sucking, as if she’s drinking me in.
Swallowing against the head of my dick until she has taken in my full length and her chin grinds down on my balls, her face in my lap.
She starts to move. Some combination of sucking and rocking her head, twisting as she does so, the most incredibly intense set of sensations.
Now my wrists are aching as I strain at my bonds, and I twist my arms so I can grip the iron frame, the whole thing almost too intense for me to take.
“Oh, God!”I cry out. “Oh, Julia... Lucy... ohmygod...”
She draws away, sucking hard even as she pulls up my length. Then, when I have almost escaped her mouth, she dips down again, starts to bob rapidly, one hand holding my dick upright by the base.
She goes at it like someone possessed. It’s never going to last.
I try to draw it out, try to stifle anything that comes into my head.
But can’t.
Julia... Lucy...
I’m so close. I’m going to explode. I...
She pulls up and away and my dick slaps back onto my belly. For long seconds I lie there, twitching, right on the edge, and then it starts to pass.
Lucy has never been like this with me, never been so wild, so intense. But then... just how many new tricks has she brought home since she started to explore?
So, Lucy?
Or Julia?
§
A soft touch. Delicate.
Fine hair brushing across me.
Teasing me.
The lightest of touches on my dick as it lies hard against my abdomen.
Another shifting of weight on the mattress.
Thighs moving against mine.
The soft weight of breasts lowered against my belly, settling around my shaft.
She straightens, drawing herself up against me, my dick between her full breasts.
Draws back, then straightens again. Dragging her breasts up and down against me.
Now she slips a hand between us, forcing my dick to slide deep into her cleavage. Slides herself against me again.
I remember Lucy’s comments about me tit-fucking her sister and thrust upwards to meet her movement.
Whoever she is.
§
Weight shifting again.
Legs moving against mine, swinging clear until now her knees rest either side of my thighs.
She lifts her upper body clear, shuffles her knees up the bed until they’re either side of my hips, my waist.
Until she straddles me, poised.
The only contact is the pressure of legs against legs. Everything else is implied, understood. Poised.
She takes hold of my dick, moves it to stand upright.
The head meets softness. Wetness.
She starts to rub my dick against herself, guiding it through those slippery wet folds. The touch is so smooth!
I twist my head from side to side, everything almost too intense for me to handle once again.
She slides my dick against her until it presses against her opening. Does something with her pelvis – a twist, a roll – so that I enter her briefly then slip free.
Does it again, so that I’m fucking her shallowly, barely at all.
Each stroke just a little longer, a little deeper, until finally she’s rising and falling above me, taking my full length in and then pulling away, up.
I match her rhythm, bracing my legs and thrusting upwards to meet her as she descends. Feel the hard bone of my pubis grinding against her when she has me deep. Each time, she lingers longer, holding me within, grinding her clit against that hardness.
She’s making that sound again, the drawn-out sigh, the slight catch in her breath that tells me she’s close.
She holds me deep, presses down with all her weight, all her strength.
The Complete BBW Hotwife Page 12