My wife, Sally, was on the phone when I got home that day. It was a hot day, and she was sitting on a straight-backed kitchen chair, dressed in a thin sleeveless cotton vest, and a short white skirt. Her face was serious, and she was listening intently – but what caught my eye was the way her nipples were thrusting against the thin fabric of her top. Her breasts are quite small, and she very often doesn’t wear a bra, but, with it being so warm, I wondered what had raised her nipples ……
I also felt a frisson of desire as I studied the two hard bumps in the cotton and, as she smiled at me in an absent-minded kind of way, I walked round behind her and slid my hands inside the armholes of her vest and cupped her sweet little tits, brushing her taut nipples with my thumbs.
But she pushed my hands away, with a gesture of irritation, and, a little hurt, I went through into the dining-room to fix myself a cool drink. I went out into the garden to cool off – in more ways than one.
After about ten minutes, Sally came out and slipped an arm through mine.
“Sorry, Nick,” she breathed, apologetically. “That was James on the phone. He and Vanessa have split up.”
The mention of James, Sally’s younger brother, had its usual effect on me – a sensation of arousal, and guilt, in about equal measures ……
Perhaps, at this point, I had better explain, before the reader runs away with the idea that I had the hots for my brother-in-law.
Sally, my wife of three and a half years, was born in Malaysia, to Malaysian parents. When she was still a baby, her mother and father moved to England, by which time James was on the way, and he was born a month after Sally’s first birthday. Having two children in just over a year was probably the only reckless thing their parents ever did. Both qualified pharmacists, they set up a small business and spent the next twenty-five years working hard, living quietly and respectably, and building up a small chain of pharmacies, and a very good income.
The two children were both sent to private schools, and were ruled, at home, with what amounted, almost, to a rod of iron. Sally, and then James, went on to university and it was at university that Sally and I met.
She was still very quiet, almost demure, but she caught my eye right away. I can’t claim that I immediately recognised her smouldering sexuality, but I know I had a huge hard-on from the moment I first danced with her at the May Ball at the end of my second year. She is small, with beautiful, glowing light-brown skin, and dark eyes, almost black, which sparkle under heavy sensuous lashes. Her cheek-bones are high, her mouth lush and full-lipped. Her hair is dark and glossy and her body, while in no sense voluptuous, is constructed of delicate curves and hollows, with hardly an angle to be seen.
Her breasts sit high and firm on her chest, her nipples like two juicy raspberries, perfectly centred. Her waist is delicately sculpted, flaring outwards at the top of her hips. When she turns round, the twin cheeks of her bottom jut out above shapely rounded thighs, forming two delicious dimples where cheeks meet thighs – and, at the front, a glossy black forest sits in a perfect V, concealing rather than framing the long lips of her exquisitely sensitive vagina.
It took many months of assiduous courting, though, before I became familiar with the delights of her beautiful, wondrous body and, even now, after more than three years of marriage, I still catch my breath when I catch an unexpected glimpse of Sally in the shower, or changing. In fact, if the truth be told, sometimes I spy on her, just for the sheer delight of seeing her naked, when she is unaware of my presence. I never tell Sally about this – it’s my guilty secret, or one of them!
Since we started to have full sexual relations and, especially, since we were married, I have discovered Sally has a natural talent, and inventiveness, for sex, which absolutely takes my breath away. There can be few positions we haven’t tried, and enjoyed, and there isn’t a corner of our house where I haven’t pulled her panties aside and plunged my excited cock into her warm moist channel – or felt her exquisitely sensual lips lave my throbbing member to yet another cataclysmic orgasm.
She also has a taste for all forms of fantasy and we continually exercise our fertile imaginations, dreaming up all sorts of situations with different numbers of people – some real, some imagined ……
But my other ‘guilty’ secret had remained just that – until that day. After we had been an ‘item’ for nearly a year, Sally eventually plucked up the courage to take me home to meet her parents. This necessitated an overnight stay at their house, and I was accommodated in James’ room, as he, by now, was away at university, too.
At the time, Sally and I were still not having sex, but we had progressed some way down that road, but any physical contact between us was quite out of the question, given her parents’ extremely protective attitude to their daughter’s virtue. Sally, with her wicked sense of humour, knew how I would feel about this, and teased me throughout what was a pretty painful evening with flirtatious, lustful glances. I didn’t even get a goodnight kiss, and, by the time I retired to James’ room, I was feeling mightily frustrated.
I know it was a lousy thing to do, and an abuse of hospitality, but I was feeling so horny …… There was a small two-drawer chest beside James’ bed, just like the one I had at home. I lifted out the bottom drawer and, sure enough, underneath it, lying in the gap between the bottom of the drawer and the carpet, was a little heap of magazines.
I sighed with pleasure, and took them out to have a look through, and decide which one would be best for helping me relieve my sexual tension, and let me drift off to sleep. Underneath them, though, as I lifted them out, I saw an exercise book, with a hard maroon-coloured cover, like the kind of thing my mother had with recipes in.
Curious, I picked it up, and opened it.
My mouth dried, and my balls began to tighten. From the first entry, it was clear that this was James’ ‘very personal’ diary, where he wrote down all his most private thoughts, and experiences. But the most exciting thing, to me, was the extent to which Sally figured in these sexual fantasies.
Sally had told me that, from a very early age, she and her brother used to creep into each other’s beds at night, for mutual comfort, when one or other of them had been on the wrong end of the strict discipline exercised by their parents – and the first entry in the book recorded how James had wriggled towards his sleeping sister’s bottom and felt his penis grow hard as he pressed it against her ……
As I read this, I felt my own penis grow very hard and, my conscience flying out of the window, I tugged off my clothes and got into the small single bed, James’ diary clutched in my shaking hand ……
I masturbated three times, reading the diary, before I finally dropped off into a troubled, confused sleep. When I woke, the following morning, my first thoughts were of self-disgust, and I vowed to put the diary back, and try to put it out of my mind – but then I had another quick look and my cock reared again and, once, again, I had to jerk myself off.
During the day, I made an excuse to visit the local library, sneaking the diary inside my jacket, and used their photocopier to reproduce every page of it. Over the next few months, especially when Sally and I were not together, I read and re-read it – especially the parts where James had spied on his sister, catching glimpses of her naked breasts, her buttocks and her pussy – parts of her I had yet to see, myself!
But then, at last, Sally and I entered into a full sexual relationship and the delights of her body were under my eyes and hands and lips and I slowly forgot about James’ diary. But, every time I met him, or he was talked about between us, my guilt feelings resurfaced, and I wondered how he thought about his sister, now – now that they were both adult, and married.
Trying to sound casual, I asked Sally – “So, what’s wrong with James and Vanessa?”
Her expression was troubled. “He says she’s been unfaithful – with Brian!”
“With Brian?” The shock must have been apparent in my voice. Brian and his sister, Sue, had been their next-door neighbours since Sally was nine – the four children had grown up together – and Brian had been best man at James’ wedding, just as Sue had been a bridesmaid at ours. And – both of them had appeared, frequently, in James’ secret diary.
