Alice 24

Keeping up with my wife, Leslie has always been my greatest pleasure. From the moment I met her in university, I knew she was hot as a pistol and an animal in the bedroom. Somehow, we managed to graduate while having extraordinarily vigorous sex no less than three times a day. No place or time was off limits and most others left the room when we entered since they knew what we were up to and were polite enough to give us the time and space we needed. I haven't masturbated since I met Leslie.

We were married immediately after graduation. The wedding day was memorable. Leslie wore white without panties. We had sex before the ceremony and again between the church and the reception. The limo on the way to the airport reeked of sex when we exited.

The pace of play has never declined. We both wanted as much sex as we could get. We usually had sex before breakfast and I left for work, again when I got home and usually again before settling in for the night. Every day. Seven days a week and sometimes more on weekends. It's been seven years, we both still love it, and keeping up the pace is one of my greatest joys in life.

I never thought much about it. I just expected it. It was as normal as the sun rising and setting and just as dependable. Recently, however, I wondered why, when I came home from work on Thursday, Leslie wasn't waiting expectantly for me as I came through the door. She was in the shower and it was almost an hour before she jumped my bones and pumped me dry. I thought nothing of it afterward since the next day she was posed, naked, on the sofa when I came through the front door.

It happened again the following Tuesday. Leslie was in the shower again when I got home and didn't come after my cock and balls until just before dinner. It wasn't a regular thing. Maybe just one or two days a week, my usual greeting when I came home was delayed for an hour or two while Leslie showered and primped in the bathroom. I wasn't concerned but it was a change in a routine we had had for seven years.

Humans are wired to notice patterns and it wasn't long before I noticed that Leslie showered late in the afternoon on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It was as regular as our previous pattern, I began to wonder what about Tuesday, and Thursday was different from the rest of the week.

One Thursday I left work for home two hours early. I parked up the street with a good view of our house and waited. About fifteen minutes before I was due home, Leslie came out of the neighbor's house looking a little disheveled and trotted quickly to our front door. She was in the shower when I came in ten minutes later and I waited patiently for my usual greeting.

The same thing happened the following Tuesday. I watched as Leslie almost skipped between the houses fifteen minutes before I was expected home. I couldn't help wondering what was going on. Of course, my thoughts went immediately to the most painful of conclusions. I assumed that Leslie, with her over charged libido, was having an affair with the next-door neighbor. I wondered if three times a day wasn't enough anymore and Leslie needed an extra fuck, with a different cock sometimes.

The thought drove me crazy. I needed to confirm my suspicions and decide what to do about it. It didn't take me long. A man named Anthony Carlone lived alone next door to us. He was at least fifteen or twenty years our senior and his wife had left him about a year earlier. He was an attorney with an exclusive firm in center city and worked from home two days a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays. I don't know how he connected with Leslie but I learned that his wife had left him because he couldn't keep it in his pants. I concluded that he, somehow, had approached Leslie rather than the other way around. It was an easy conclusion as I didn't want to believe Leslie, who was screwing me three times a day, would actively seek additional opportunities to get laid.

I was furious. I've never been good at controlling my emotions, especially anger. I've also always been driven to get even. I guess you could accuse me of holding a grudge and you'd be correct. I couldn't let go until I settled the score. I considered my options. I could confront Leslie. I gleefully imagined what would happen if, one Tuesday, I was sitting in our living room when Leslie came through the door after fucking Tony. I imagined that she would break down with guilt, confess everything, promise never to do it again and we'd have uninhibited sex until we both passed out. My fantasy wasn't realistic. If Tony had pursued her before he was certain to pursue her again, eventually he'd succeed and we be back to square one. And I was mad as hell and determined to get even.

Tony didn't have a wife, so I couldn't fuck her to get even. I needed another solution.

I thought about divorcing her. Just sending a marshal with the divorce papers. I ruled it out since I liked screwing as much as she did and she'd have a much easier time replacing me than I would have replacing her. Also, with the help of lawyer Anthony, she'd destroy me in court and I'd be broke and horny at the same time.

In spite of what I thought was a permanent tear in our relationship, I decided that I wanted to preserve my marriage with Leslie but terminate her trips next door without appearing responsible. I decided that I'd just have to murder the bastard.

It took me six months to prepare. I immediately began to wear pajamas to bed. Leslie noticed and I told her the cooler weather was coming and I'd be warmer in pajamas and it was seductive when she played with me through the pajama bottoms or pulled them off before she climbed on top of me.

With the pajama routine firmly established, I began to gather the things I'd need, individually, over time and from different stores. Eventually, I had black sneakers, black socks, black trousers, black hoodie, black knit ski mask, black gloves and black shoe covers. I tested wearing everything over my pajamas, sealing the connections with black rubber bands and insuring I'd leave no trace of my visit next door. Leslie never saw a single item. I kept them a plastic container in the garage labeled "painting supplies."

The gun was the most difficult to get. I drove two states away when I was supposed to be at work, and got a small, .22-caliber handgun from a guy at a gun show who agreed to take twice his asking price to lose the paperwork. He threw in two bullets as a bonus and I drove home, arriving at my usual time.

I was finally ready by spring. On a Friday night, I ensured that Leslie would sleep deeply all night. We had a longer than usual sexual encounter during which I finished with my cock buried deeply in her ass. I knew she always went to sleep quickly after a good anal fuck and would sleep all night.

I assured she was comatose by trying to talk to her and squeezing her breast, without response. I slipped quietly out of bed and moved silently into the garage. I took the clothing out of the bin and put them on over my pajamas. When I was ready and almost invisible in my black outfit, I slipped out of the back of the garage and went next door. I jimmied the side door to Carlone's garage put the black covers over my sneakers.

As silently as I could, I moved through the house and up the stairs being careful to keep to the edges as I climbed. The door to the master bedroom was ajar and I pushed it open slowly as I peeked into the room. Carlone was in bed, on his stomach with the covers pulled up over his shoulders. His breathing was slow and deep and his hips were moving slowly up and down as if he was dry humping a pillow. I thought, "How nice. He's leaving this world dreaming about the exact reason for his exit."

I crept slowly up to the side of the bed, put the pistol about an inch from his temple and pulled the trigger.

The sound in the small room was sharp and loud. Loud enough to startle me. The screaming began immediately.

Doubly startled, I ran from the room, down the stairs and out through the garage, closing the door, and locking it, behind me. "Shit, shit," I thought. "Carlone must have had a woman in bed with him. He wasn't dry humping his pillow. He was fucking some woman. Shit."

I ran quickly back inside my house, stripped off everything, put it and the gun in the plastic bin and bolted upstairs. I slipped into bed, counted to three, sat up suddenly and shouted, "What the hell was that?"

Leslie woke up. "What was what?" she asked.

"I heard a scream. Sounded like it was next door."

"I didn't hear anything."

"That's not a surprise. You were really deeply asleep. I'm going to find out. Wait here."

I got out of bed, turned on the light and went to our front door and outside, wearing my pajamas. As I opened the door, I saw a half naked person leave Carlone's house, run across the opposite neighbor's lawn, jump in a car and drive away. I knew that body. I knew that hair. I knew that run. I knew that car. Everything belonged to my sister, Mary. Carlone was fucking my sister. He had been fucking my wife and my sister. I hoped the bastard was dead.

Within a few minutes, several other neighbors were outside with me. Leslie joined us outside, wearing a robe and bringing mine with her. I put on the robe and listened to the talk coming from the neighbors.

"I heard a scream."

"I thought I heard a gunshot," said another.

"I think it came from there," said one pointing to Carlone's.

"I think it did too," I offered.

"Looks quiet now," someone offered.

"Should we call the police?" another asked.

"We should. It sounded horrible and we should let them investigate," I offered. "Honey," I said to Leslie, "go inside, call 9-1-1 and ask them to come."

Leslie looked around at the group nodding at her and went inside. A few minutes later, she came back and three minutes after that a police car rolled up with lights but no siren. A single officer climbed out of the car and asked one of the neighbors what the commotion was all about. Once he had gathered all the information we had, he told us to "wait here" and went to Carlone's front door. He came back in a few minutes, went to his cruiser and radioed for backup.

When asked, he told us the front door was ajar and he wanted backup before he went inside. A second police cruiser pulled up and another officer got out. They told us to wait where we were while they investigated. Together they went to the front door and I saw one of them pull out his gun before they entered. We could see torchlights flashing through the windows as they walked around the lower level and then upstairs where they stopped in a front bedroom. One of them turned on the bedroom lights and the other one came back and called for the crime scene analysts and the coroner. When pressed for information, he told us it appeared the owner had been entertaining a woman when he was shot and was dead in his bed and we should not go anywhere since they would want to talk to each of us about what we heard or saw.

"The bastard's dead," I thought. "Good."

It was hours later, when the sun was rising, before the police had all our statements and we were allowed to go back to our houses. Carelessly, I had forgotten to mention my sighting of a woman running from the house and, fortunately, no one else had seen her or heard her drive away.

The early news hinted about something happening on our block and by the midday news, Anthony Carlone's name was proximately mentioned. The police had warned us about the possibility the press would knock on our doors and suggested we refrain from speaking to them.

Mid-afternoon Alice called. She said she saw our neighborhood on the news and wanted to know what was going on. Leslie told her everything she thought we knew. Never the less, Alice wanted to come over and see for herself. Leslie didn't understand Alice's interest but invited her to come over and possibly stay for dinner. I had a suspicion why Alice wanted to be nearby.

Mary arrived later. We sat around talking about the death of the neighbor, watched the local evening news and talked some more. The police had a statement at about eight o'clock that the local station interrupted regular programming to cover. The gist of the police statement was that Anthony Carlone was dead. He had died in his bed of a single gunshot wound to the head from a .22 caliber gun at close range. It was determined that he was not alone at the time and indicated that a woman had been in his bed at the time of his death. There was no gun found at the scene and they currently had no idea who the woman was. They were activity trying to find her. They refused to speculate on a motive for the shooting although the press was quick to guess the woman or her husband was responsible although there was no indication that anyone else was present in the bedroom.

It was late, so Leslie set Alice up in our spare room and we all went to bed. Even with Alice in the other bedroom, Leslie would not be denied and I orally pleased her to orgasm and then fucked her until I came as well. We were less vocal than usual but we were not quiet. In the morning, we repeated last night's activities but kept the action in our bedroom in deference to Mary.

After breakfast, Leslie went to the market for weekend supplies and more tequila. That left Alice and I alone for a different discussion. I sat my sister on the sofa and sat alongside her. "Mary, we need to talk," I opened.

"What do you mean?" asked Mary.

"I know who the woman with Tony Friday night was," I said.

"Who?" she asked.

"You," I said.

"You think you saw me Friday night?" she asked quietly.

"I absolutely saw you run away from the house, holding your clothing, get in your car and drive away," I told her.

"You're sure?"

"I don't make mistakes when I see my sister, who I've spent most of my life with, who runs with a slight hop, run across a lawn half naked."

"Shit," she said. "Have you told anyone?"

"No and I don't plan to."

"Thank you Robbie. Do you think anyone will figure it out?"

"I don't know. It depends on how much trace evidence you left in the house."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"They'll find your fingerprints, and probably some hair that they can get DNA from and possibly some clothing fibers they can trace to something you were wearing."

"I've never been fingerprinted and my DNA's not on file anywhere. If they find me, they'll probably think I did it. I'm scared shitless. I've hardly slept for two nights."

"You'll probably be alright if you're careful not to do anything that gives the police the opportunity to fingerprint you or take a DNA sample. I do have to ask though, did you do it?"

"No. No. I don't know what happened. We were in the bed together. He was on top of me when, suddenly, bang, all hell broke loose. I began screaming, I pushed him off me, stumbled around in the dark to gather my clothing and beat it out of the house as quickly as I could."

"So you were fucking him in his bed when he was shot by someone else. Did you get a look at whoever it was?"

"That's a pretty crude way of expressing it but accurate. I didn't see anyone. I have a slight memory of a shadow leaving the room after the shot but that's all."

"Mary, with luck I think we can keep your involvement out of it. As far as I'm concerned, neither you nor the shadow were there Friday night."

"Robbie, you have no idea how good that makes me feel. I barely slept last night worrying. I feel much better. I don't know how I can repay you for keeping my secret."

"Can I make a suggestion?" I asked.

"Am I going to like it?" she asked.

"I have no idea how you'll react but I can tell you I'll be pleased."

"Okay, what do you suggest?"

"Mary, let me be honest for a moment. I'm your brother. I grew up with you. I watched you grow up. I watched you transform into a woman while I was a frustrated teenage male. You were always so close but always untouchable. The best I could do was a rare peek. Now may not be the right moment, but I've waited forever for an opportunity to express my feelings and ask if you've ever thought about it."

"Wait a minute. Are you suggesting we have sex together and you were spying on me when we lived at home with mom and dad?"

"Not actually spying, just hoping a lot. The best I ever got was a quick peek at one of your breasts when towel slipped when you came out of the bathroom. And, yes, I guess I am suggesting I'd love to have sex with you."

"It's creepy. Since you're being honest, I have to tell you I tried to see you naked as well. Never successfully though. I was a frustrated teenage girl as much as you were a frustrated teenage male."

"So, you'll think about it?"

"Probably, but there's no connection between the events of Friday night and however we end up."

"Agreed. You've made me very happy just thinking about it." Mentally, I hoped Alice would feel that having sex with me would intensify her belief that it would encourage me to remain silent.

Mary left for home before Leslie returned from the market. She barely got her purchases inside before I was behind her with my arms around her holding both her breasts.

"Wow. Nice welcome. How come the sexy greeting?"

"I don't know. This morning, with Alice in the next room, was somewhat reserved. Maybe I just want to make up for it."

"Wait in the corner while I put the perishables away."

I sat on a stool at the end of the counter while Leslie turned and bent over putting vegetables, milk and cheese in the refrigerator. When she closed the door and turned around, she had a sly grin on her face. I'd seen that look before and I wondered if I would survive the next few hours.

Leslie walked up in front of me on the stool. She stood close and licked her lips seductively. When I reached out to hold her hips, she pushed my hands away and shook her head. She stared into my eyes and slowly began to unbutton her blouse with her tongue sliding back and forth between her lips. When her blouse was unbuttoned, she pulled it from her slacks, slid it off her shoulders and let it fall on the floor behind her. Even more slowly, she reached up behind her back and unhooked her bra. She slid her hands around to support the bra while the shoulder straps fell aside. She unveiled her breasts with a flourish as she discarded her bra on the floor somewhere behind her. Her hips undulated seductively as she gently swung her breasts side to side and began to remove her slacks. Her pants slid to the floor and she kicked of her shoes and stepped out of them. Wearing only her undersized panties, she shifted her hips invitingly while she played with the waistband. Soon her panties were on the floor with the rest of her clothing.

Totally naked, she moved closer and whispered, "You can touch me now."

I needed only one invitation. I reached out and cupped her mound with one hand and her right breast with the other. Soon I was standing alongside her, kissing her, biting her lower lip, squeezing her nipple between my thumb and index fingers and running my fingers through the slippery space between her pussy lips. That didn't last long. She lay back onto the floor and lifted her legs high over her head. I was out of my clothes in record time and buried deeply inside her. We writhed together on the floor until we both orgasmed explosively.

"That was intense," exclaimed Leslie later as she gathered her clothing and headed for the bedroom. I followed shortly, leaving my clothing where they had hurriedly landed. In the bedroom, I caught up to her, pushed her onto the bed and began to orally stimulate her clitoris. The result was the third vigorous fuck of the day and it was still early. We lost the rest of the day and by bedtime, we were a full day ahead of schedule.

Tuesday morning, Leslie answered the door. Standing outside were two men in cheap suits. They identified themselves as detectives from the local police department. They asked if they could come in and Leslie obliged. Sitting around the dining room table one of the detectives explained the reason for their visit. He told her they were investigating the homicide next door. He said they had found at least four unique sets of women's fingerprints in Carlone's house and several strands of long hair none of which could be traced to an individual. However, they were sure Mr. Carlone had been entertaining multiple women in his home and they theorized that jealousy might be a motive for the murder.