Back when I was married my wife had two sisters. One lived far away and when she came home to see the family it was a big occasion. After such a visit by her, she complained to her sisters that no one paid much attention to her except me, her brother-in-law. I guess she felt left out of the family swirl and gossip. She put her thoughts into an email to the sisters.
I saw the email when it arrived, and I glibly replied that I paid attention to her because I wanted to fuck her. I really felt that way, but I figured she’d take it as a joke. Well, I guess I’m not the brightest bulb in the chandelier because a copy of it went to the other sister, too. To make the story short, that ended marriage number two.
But I did get to fuck the sister! Later that year I traveled near her home and called her to say hello. I didn’t know if she’d hang up on me or not, but I figured what’s to lose? She took the call and invited me to come to her office. To make this story even better, she’s a minister in a small town and she’s married.
We met in her church office and lamented the marriage and her sister’s feelings. Then she asked me, “You were kidding, right?” By then I didn’t care, so I replied, “No.” “I did want to fuck you.”
She looked a little startled, and I noticed that she blushed. She changed the subject but asked me where I was staying. Sure enough, that evening there was a knock at my door, and there was the clergy to perform a religious ceremony on my cock. We rolled in the proverbial hay until she had to get home.
Later on that road trip I had one of the most extraordinary experiences of my sex life. I was in the hills of northern Arkansas and needed to find a place for the night. Luckily I found a nice looking motel in a small town. Even more luckily, I had just passed a roadside strip club about ten miles back. After a long day’s drive, the strip club got my libidinal juices flowing.
The desk clerk was an attractive middle-aged woman. She was fit but not skinny, medium height and weight, mousy brown hair done in an old fashioned way, and she had a very pleasant smile. I joked with her as I filled out the registration card, and she seemed in good spirits.
I always keep my camera with me as I travel to snap pictures of interesting or unusual scenes, and I happened to have it with me at the front desk. The clerk asked me about it, and I told her that I was a photographer. She said, “That’s neat, we don’t see many photographers in these parts.”
“Here,” I said, “I’ll take your picture.” I picked up the camera, and she pushed her fingers through her hair.
I focused and adjusted for the indoor light. “Snap!” went the first shot of her face. “Oh, I wasn’t ready!” she said.
“Sorry,” I replied, “I’m used to taking lots of pictures in a row because you’re lucky to get one good one out of twenty.” “Ready now?”
“Yeah, OK,” she said, and she flashed a very pretty smile. My guess was that she was a working wife who had to take a night job to make ends meet. She wore a wedding ring and a dress. Not many women wear dresses anymore. It was a nice cotton print dress that came down just below her knees. Modest yet feminine.
I told her to look this way and that while I snapped more pictures. “You’re quite photogenic,” I said to her, “and you take directions well.” “Maybe you should be a model.” What a line, right? I was starting to toy with how I might work on this opportunity for some local pussy.
In a flash of inspiration, I stepped to the side of the desk so I could see her full length from head to toe. I readjusted for the distance and clicked off a shot, then I instructed her to spin around. I took a few more photos of the movement and kept up the patter, “Terrific, that’s great, do it again, make the skirt move like the wind.”
She complied with every instruction from me, even though I was pretty sure she was a conservative and careful wife. I had the impression that she appreciated this brief chance to step out of her world and enjoy a newcomer. So I crossed the line.
“Lift up your skirt with both hands and bend your knees a little!” And she did! It made for a cute pose. I think she was in the spirit of having fun, and she didn’t hesitate to follow the directions of a stranger.
“Terrific!” I said, “Now lift higher.” “Show me the color of your panties.”
And she did!
They were blue, plain blue. “Snap!”
I laughed, and she laughed and dropped her skirt. All of sudden she seemed to sober a bit and said, “Well, we better get you registered and settled for the night.” Her face had changed, and she looked thoughtful.
“You’re a good model,” I told her, “maybe one day you and I can do this again.” She didn’t say anything but just handed me a key and told me where to park my car.
I got to my room all in a fluster about what had just happened. It made me forget the strip joint. This was much better than professional entertainment. I wasn’t sure if there was any possibility for her and me that night since her mood seemed to change. To test it, I went back to the office to ask for more towels. She still looked solemn and no longer flashed a giddy smile.
I asked her about herself and found out that she and her husband moved here to take early retirement. I thought she was in her early forties, but this made me wonder about her age. They lived about five miles away, and her shift at the motel was over at ten o’clock that night.
I returned to my room to make phone calls and rest a bit, but I had in mind that I would approach her again before her shift ended and see if I couldn’t get something more going. At about 9:30, I went back to see her. I finally got around to asking her if she’d like to have a drink after work. She had withdrawn significantly from our first encounter, and she insisted that she had to go home. Something about her voice and countenance made me feel that she had violated her own standards earlier, and she was regretful.
I backed off and offered her my regards and thanks for her hospitality, then I set my mind on the little strip joint.
In was about ten minutes after ten o’clock when I heard a gentle tap at my door. I wasn’t even sure I heard anything, but I opened the door a crack to check. There was my desk clerk, Candice. “I have to talk to you,” she said, as I opened the door wide to let her come in.
She kept her gaze down and did not make eye contact. She said nothing at first and paced a little back and forth. I offered her a drink, but she shook her head.
“What’s the matter?” I asked her.
