"It's not that I don't trust you," she said quietly. "You know that right... It isn't you." She was a little drunk, the words slurred together at times.
Dinner had gone well. During football season their Friday nights were spent under the lights at the local high school but as summer approached their older son was off to spend the night with friends, their daughter, only 10, was off to his mothers. Christina had made a salad and a sort of vegetable casserole. He had grilled small steaks and large slabs of salmon. They drank wine, Charles, Christina and her sister Tammi. They talked about nothing in particular, drank, ate, and it was only when it got late that things became tense.
Charles had been wary. The two women were sisters, shared everything and were very close. They were also bitter rivals, mistrusted one another and only saw each other once a year or so. When she had decided to turn in Tina had suggested Tammi get a cab. Tammi said she thought she would just crash there. She hadn't even checked into the hotel yet.
Tina had watched her husband react to the tension. He could never understand. The look on his face was sympathetic. Why the hell didn't she just stay at the house, they had room, but he also recognized his wife's determination and wisely kept his mouth shut.
Eventually, tired, drunk, and a bit worked up Tina relented, showed Tammi to the guest room and pulled Chuck into bed. They had drunken sex. She liked drunken sex. He tried things he wouldn't when he was sober. She let him do things she wouldn't when she was sober. Tonight it had been licking her while he pressed two fingers in the front door and one in the back. It had left her with a sort of overwhelmed afterglow.
"You know I trust you, right?" she repeated again. Once, and he would have believed her but now that she said it for the third, maybe fourth time, he was suspicious.
"You don't have to worry," he said.
"You don't know her," Tina said quietly. "Don't get me wrong. I love her, I just... I know her. She wouldn't do it to me mean... She would never, like, set out to hurt me. She just doesn't think."
"Well, I think. I think you are worried about something that just won't happen."
"Uh huh."
"First. she's your sister. That makes her my sister. It would just be... icky."
"Uh huh."
"Second. It wouldn't matter if she was your sister. If she was a stranger. If she was a bikini model. I wouldn't do that to you."
"UH huh."
"Third..."
"Third?"
"Third... She isn't my type."
"Bullshit," Tina said.
"True."
"She is every man's type." Tina had a life long insecurity when it came to her little sister. The woman wasn't just the smart sister, she was the hot sister. At 33, she was more beautiful than ever. She had perfect breasts, a trim waist, a flat belly, and long thin legs. Hell, if she wasn't her sister, Tina would want to fuck her. "Do you have water?" Tina asked.
"No."
"You always have water."
"I'll get one."
"No."
"Honey,"
"Yeah."
"Relax."
Tina watched her husband roll out of bed. "Put on pants," she said. he groaned audibly, pulled on his jeans, and headed for the kitchen. His wife was crazy but it was okay. He sort of liked it.
He moved as silently as he could past the closed guest bedroom door and down the stairs. See, he thought to himself. Buzzed, he struggled a little at the landing, turning wide and brushing the wall. He used the banister the rest of the way. In the kitchen, he fetched two bottles of water, downed one, and then replaced it.
What was that sound?
It was a buzzing. A dull sort of buzzing, muted but real. It was steady but seemed to come and go as if moving near and then backing away. He looked into the garage - nothing. He checked the kitchen - nothing. It was... it was upstairs. The Airconditioner maybe? He took the water bottles and headed back to bed.
The buzzing grew louder as he climbed the stairs.
At the landing, he saw the dull glow from the open door and the small lamp on the table. He knew the glow. It was the reading lamp. It didn't happen often. A fight, a disagreement, or a particularly rough period would send Tina to the guest bedroom where she would read all night, the small lamp the indication he was in trouble and an apology was in order.
Except Tina wasn't in there, Tammi was. And Tammi was asleep, wasn't she? The door had been closed when he went downstairs.
He crested the stairs, paused, freezing like a statue, and listened. The buzzing, a small electric motor, maybe a razor, was coming from the room. The door was open only a few inches, the light was on.
He stepped only barely to his right.
What was he looking at? It was familiar but unclear. He didn't have his glasses. He shouldn't do it but he did. He stepped forward.
Yup. Yup, that's what it was.
His wife had a point. Her sister's ass was perfect. Through the partially open door, Charlie could also see that it was buck naked, slightly raised. Long legs extended down the bed. The woman had her face pressed into one of the many pillows on the wrought iron bed, her legs parted, and her hands pressed beneath her raised hips.
He watched the source of the sound. It was smallish, pink, and slipped along moist, perfectly hairless lips. It plunged inside the soft pink folds and then re-emerged to be pressed against the point, just out of view, where her pussy came together and her clitty lived tucked away until needed.
His brain screamed inside his head, begging him to move on, to run away, to flee for the safety of his bed.
His brain, however, was ignored as drunkenness and testosterone fixed him in place against the door jam.
He watched, listened to the heavy breathing, swelled hard inside his jeans, and waited.
