Catholic guilt is a pain in the ass. If you can avoid it, I highly recommend you do that. It often comes with a healthy dose of repression and a side order of sublimated sexual fantasizing (to mix my pharmaceutical sexual metaphors). So, you can imagine that when I asked Marissa, my wife, to make me a little video memento so I wouldn't get too lonely while she was away on business in Las Vegas(!!!ffs!!!), that was a big deal for her. It was so out of character for me to ask, she had to check with me to be sure I meant what I meant. I assured her that I did. She found the idea hot, as I knew she would. She's about as far from vanilla as I am close to it. But being the consummate businesswoman, she immediately slipped into haggle mode. She'd make me a video if I'd make her a video. I agreed. But on the absolute understanding that my video was for her eyes only. Agreed. As long as I never shared hers with anyone. Like I would!
We each took turns in the bedroom with our cellphones. I channeled Stephen Spielberg and set the camera against a couple of books on the bedspread to take in my loins. I whipped out my reasonable cock, opened my shirt onto my reasonable chest, and tried to look sexy as I beat one off on camera. Then Marissa disappeared into our room, blocking the door so I couldn't peep. We agreed that we wouldn't share the videos with each other until she was away the following evening. Then, utterly turned on by the experience, we stripped each other naked and sucked and fucked like teenagers on the tv room floor.
The following day, after a steamy à bientôt blowjob and quick fingering in the airport car lot, I drove home and set out to enjoy my free time as best I could. You're probably trying to see the catholic guilt thing here, right? Well, here's how it works: vanilla sex between a consenting husband and wife does not raise any demonic hackles. Taking about sex, expressing anything beyond very simple and straightforward desires leads straight to hell and damnation, or at least apoplexy on my part. No amount of therapy seems to be able to shake that particular snake that bit me in the garden of Eden on my crib.
I'm Mike. I'm mid 30s, fit and fun loving. Marissa's early 30s and runs her own successful business with my sister, Jan. Marissa's tall, some might say curvy or wide hipped, I say luscious. She's a red head to boot, so contains just enough crazy to make life interesting. She's owner and head of sales for her company, Jan, is a mid-twenties, marketing guru, internet wunderkind and skater gurl yet to grow up. Somehow, she managed to get tattoos and piercings before me. But, hey, Marissa and Jan are on the same page which makes family get togethers somewhat bearable.
At ten that night, long after my requested 'arrived safely' text from Vegas, I was settled in my ohh, too big bed watching porn of the tv, when my phone pinged. The one-word message was instructional. 'Enjoy'. It was accompanied by the video. I immediately typed 'likewise' and send my own creation back to my wife in Vegas. Ignoring the copulating Siri Dahl onscreen, I opened the attachment I'd received and pressed play.
To say my wife if beautiful is an understatement. A smattering of Afro-Caribbean genes had bounced its way through countless generations, joined by Scandinavian and Germanic and other European genetic material along to way to fashion an eclectic mix of Valkyrie meets Bilquis. She was a lithe, athletic, rounded, coffee with cream dream of a woman. Super fit but without a single sharp edge. Her muscles were coated in genetic blubber that rendered her powerful and womanly and sexual and sensuous beyond belief. And here she lay in my hand, exactly where I was lying, wearing white tissue-like lingerie. She smiled into her own camera at me as she absentmindedly ran her hands over her large, constrained breasts. I felt the half-hearted chubb in my shorts rise graciously to meet her.
She slid one hand over her round tummy and over her bulbous vulva beneath the almost see-through satin. All the while, she maintained eye contact with the camera on her phone, her face an essay in demure seduction. Her wide hips arched in the bed as her fingers ran over her covered mound, her tanned skin tone the perfect counterpoint to her snow-white panties. My erection was begging for attention already and I shimmied out of my bed shorts, kicking the covers down.
With effortless teasing, she slipped her fingers beneath the band of the dainty fabric, seeking out the upper edges of the copious black bush shadowed beneath. All the time, her other hand played with her breasts, fingers teasing her massive dark nipples just visible beneath the material. Then, flicking the clasp at the front of her bra, her breasts sprang into view, twanging the pressurized lingerie top out of the way. I sighed to myself at the sight of her massive breasts, her huge dark areolas with massive nipples pointing to the sky. A finger casually flicked at one, then drifted across to the other and stroked it to full size. I groaned, hand slipping down to grasp my cock. She licked her fingertips and pinched her nipples. I groaned again.
Her other hand had moved back up over her body, caressing the soft skin, to take its place on the other nipple as she stroked, flicked and teased them both, obviously turned on by the sensation. She mashed her breasts and crushed them, and returned to pleasuring her nipples, tugging and pulling as the giant nubs. I watched her breathing change, grown deeper, as she pulled and squeezed her nipples harder and harder. Her body shifted on the bed, ass wriggling as she fully enjoyed her own breasts and the intense stimulation they gave her. My own hand was slowly stroking my shaft, not wanting to rush my enjoyment of the floorshow.
She slid both hands, palms downward along her torso, sliding her panties off as she did. She lifted her ample ass, feeling the resistance and then whish as they catapulted down her thighs, revealing her wild bush in all its glory. With ease, she slid them off, lifted them over her head and deposited them behind her somewhere with a sly smile. I turned in the bed and reaching under my pillow discovered she had secreted them there. I retrieved them and held them to my nose, inhaling her extraordinary intimate scent. I returned my gaze to my phone to find her hand stroking and pulling at the curly black fronds that covered her vulva. I could already see beads of moisture amongst the clumps of hairs as she continues to turn herself on.
Moses-like, she parted the hairs and her vulva with her hand, fingers sliding along and into the parting that magically appeared. Her vulva rose to meet her hand, welcoming her touch as her digits split and ran in and around them. I detected the slightest snicking sound on the video as her fingers made contact with the copious fluids deep below beneath her pubis. On and on they stroked in and around her vulva and labia, making sure to give me a fantastic view of the happiest place on earth. The snicking sound became a gentle sloshing as she began to find a rhythm, fingers sliding back and forth through her slit. I looked at her face and saw the familiar bliss and blush of red on her cheeks as she became aroused. All the while, she stared straight into my eyes, making my loins aches for her.
Soon, her fingers were a familiar blur of up and down and side to side as she administered to her own pleasure. Her clitoris had swollen and was visible as her hands stroked and flicked and teased it. Her ass was moving, as if of its own accord, on the bed as she rolled in and out of pleasure as she sought to bring herself towards the edge. Her eyes had taken on a slightly glazed appearance, as her hands became a blur, running back and forth across her bush. She bucked her hips and folded her knees into each other as she writhed on the bed and held her breath. She lay motionless for a second, then started breathing again and smiled into the camera. She brought her fingers to her mouth and sucked the juices off them. Then the video ended. I immediately hit replay, this time stroking myself as I watched. I managed to time it perfectly, so that my cock spurted just as her hips began to writhe on the bed and her complexion went deep red. All the while, her panties were over my nose and her scent filled my head.
When I'd cleaned myself up, I texted 'thank you, my goddess' and fell asleep dreaming of my wife as Siri climaxed, presumably loudly, on mute on screen. To say I replayed the video the next day is an understatement. By the time my wife had returned from Vegas, I'd uploaded it to my computer, and had it projected on the wall of our bedroom and had drained my balls so many times, I feared she'd want to make love that night and I'd find myself unable. I had not done a jot of work and frankly, didn't care. Having just received the most amazing gift from my wife, I had decided it would have been remiss of me not to make the most of it.
I kissed a rather sheepish Jan at the airport and escorted her to a cab, then took Marissa to our car. I'm not a great one for detecting vibes, but I definitely felt like something had gone down between my wife and my sister on their trip. It may have been the long trip, or perhaps the meeting didn't go as well as expected, so I decided to leave it lie for the moment. Marissa was quiet on the journey home and didn't rise to her usual sparky self as I interrogated her. She said everything had gone well and that both herself and Jan had been well received. As she showered back at home, I arranged a restaurant for dinner -- somewhat of a tradition for us when even either of us had been away.
Conversation was stilted over dinner and on the ride home. Eventually, I poured us both drinks and sat her down and asked her if she was ok. She clinked her ice and stared into her glass for several minutes. I began to feel very worried that something had happened on the trip that had soured the relationship between the two women.
"Is everything ok between you and Jan?" I asked gently.
"Um." She answered and took a large gulp of her drink. Now, I was genuinely fretful.
"What is it?"
She looked into my eyes pleadingly, then dropped them to her glass again. Very meekly she whispered.
"Honey, I fucked up."
My stomach churned at the possibilities packed up in those few words. Had she met someone? Had an affair? Been caught at it by my sister?
"How?" I asked equally gently. "You know you can tell me anything."
She sighed and shook her glass again, making it clink again.
