Okay, so you're wondering how I could be face up pussy deep in an 18 year old neighbor girl's fresh twat, on my back with a throbbing erection, and getting caught blatantly by my wife and mother-in-law. I guess that's a fair question. As you know, I am John Gordon, an accountant and middle aged home body and usually keep things on the average. I used to think I lived like everyone else, thought things that others thought, and was a nice guy.
My fall from normalcy started ten years ago when my buddy Doug and I were in the den watching golf one afternoon. Mind you, I was never truly aware of what depths my mind could go until it unfolded before me. I thought I was just your average guy who had a wife that detested sex and its filthiness, and I had to accept it. I thought it was normal to have to masturbate alone when the urge was pressing.
Doug and I were drinking gin and tonics and being armchair caddies calling the golf shots for the leaders that day, feeling confident that any shortcoming by them was lack of skill. My wife Della had just returned from an all day hunt for beanie babies at that point and she decided to retell her daily events with us as she opened a bottle of wine. Doug, being single for several years after being involved in one too many extra-marital affairs, knew how much I loathed garage sale-speak, and pretended to engage Della as she rambled on and on about the fucking Elvis bear and its potential to make us rich.
Now, Della was no heavyweight when it came to drinking, and by the time she had consumed half the bottle of wine while she ran her mouth, she was lolling on the sofa and trying to stay awake. Doug rose repeatedly to refill her glass and encourage her to espouse further on the pros and cons of purchasing beanie babies with or without an intact tag on their rag-stuffed carcass and whether it affected the true value. I stayed out of the conversation, as I hoped she'd get loaded, get sleepy, and get the fuck out of my den and go to bed. It was apparent that Doug had another idea in mind that I didn't begin to appreciate until he winked as he rose for the sixth time to refill her glass.
Slowly Della collapsed back on the sofa, her legs akimbo, her seersucker culottes riding up on her thighs, and she proceeded to mouth breathe and release a nice torrent of snoring. At this point Doug smiled at me and winked, telling me he had saved us all from any further invasion of her presence and boring conversation. I called out to Della to get her to go to bed, all to no avail. Della was out for the count.
As Doug and I watched Della, he hit upon the idea to have some fun with her in her passed out state. As he rose from his chair, he took the wine glass from her hand and placed it on the coffee table. He snapped his fingers at her ears and tapped her cheek, all to no response from Della. Laughing out loud, he motioned me to come over and try it myself. Rising from my chair, I approached Della and shook her arm. She was gone, baby. I bet a bomb could have gone off and she wouldn't have moved.
Then the trouble started, and none of it was my fault. Really. Doug got the brainstorm to rearrange her clothing so she'd wake up and realize her skirt was on backwards and her blouse was inside out and in this way be utterly confused. I knew this was not something Della would find amusing. However, just that little piece of an idea started my fertile mind to kick in gear. You know that little voice in your head that speaks to you? You see a car you like and the little voice says "I like that model in black. But I'd rather chrome wheels and leather on it." That little voice in me said "She's out and whatever you do is up to you as long as you are careful."
I smiled at Doug and moved to my wife's side. I started to unbutton her blouse, thinking I'd show some cleavage, something she never did in real life. After two buttons were loose, Doug encouraged me to do more. Seeing the look in his eyes, I should have known he was more adept at this than I was. But being the good friend I was, I went ahead and unbuttoned her blouse all the way and opened it up. There before us were two huge tits bundled in one of those ahh bra things. Looked pretty nice even on Della.
We sat back down and viewed her for a minute or two, drinking our drinks and smirking at our handiwork. Then Doug suggested we get those culottes she was wearing loosened up. I was hesitant, but I went along. I rose and approached my wife and searched for the zipper in back. It was tough sledding, believe me. She was heavy as a ton of bricks as I tried to turn her on her side a bit. Doug, being the trooper friend he is, went around the back of the sofa and helped. Soon enough the zipper was down and the snap released. He took control and began to laugh as he slid and cajoled the skirt down her hips, over her knees, and then off her bare legs.
Standing together shoulder to shoulder we admired our work. Della now lay before us wearing only her bra thing and some nice nude colored panties. Remember, now, my wife is not one of these petite glam gals you wish this was about. No, Della is one of those plus size gals. But the remarkable thing about Della is the smallness of her pussy. Her pussy lips are very little and compressed. Laying there we could appreciate the bush she sported through the material of those panties. You could clearly see a moist spot at the junction of her thighs where her pussy was pushed together by her healthy thighs. Her whole package looked sensual to me. I didn't realize how sensual it was to Doug until he pushed his shoulder into mine as his eyes were riveted to my wife's body and muttered, "You want to go further? I won't ever tell anyone."
Chuckling nervously, I said, "Man, I don't know. What if she comes to? I'll be a dead man. And so will you." My wife has been known to throw her weight around, friend. Let me tell you. I was getting a show I hadn't had in so long, my thoughts were all over the place.
