She set the groceries down on the counter top with a loud thud. As usual, she'd attempted the impossible feat of carrying 12 sacks of groceries up the stairs at once. Now she has a broken high heel to show for it. She sighed, pulling off the hapless patent leather shoe to look at the damage. Jack had bought her this pair of shoes. As an anniversary present.
Where was Jack? She thought. His car was in the driveway. She gave a bittersweet grin gazing at the shoe. It had been their third wedding anniversary. He'd bought her the shoes at a department store. They were absolutely not her cup of tea. But the poor guy was clueless about women, and she could tell that he'd put far more thought into buying them than he should. It touched her deeply to watch his face squirm as she opened the shoe box. She fucked his brains out for it, wearing nothing but those high heels.
What a wild night that had been. Poor guy hadn't ever really explored sexuality, and she'd been waiting anxiously for his sex drive to kick into high gear. He was shocked when she took his cock all the way down her throat, afraid he would kill her. She laughed with his dick tickling her gag reflex and pulled it out to stroke at as she reassured him that all she wanted in the whole wide world was for her hung husband to fuck all her tight pretty holes. The look on his face in the mirror as he negotiated her anal canal was priceless.
They'd come a long way in the four years since that. They'd explored each other's bodies intrepidly. Role play, bondage, toys. She was just pleased that she could channel the lessons of her misspent youth on the man she loved.
These past few months had been yet another point of demarcation. Three months ago, as they cuddled post-coitally in a puddle of his cum, she'd expressed a desire to swing. He'd been against it vehemently at first until he realized all she wanted was to scratch a bisexual itch of hers and maybe have some threesomes. Nervously, he'd gulped at the thought and the sight of his Adam's apple oscillating in his throat prompted her to hop on and ride him again. She grinned, knowing he was going to love having two women going at him. The only question left was who would be the lucky girl.
She put away the cold groceries and slid a fresh loaf of bread into the bread box. Something about the room seemed off. Nothing really looked out of place, and yet there was definitely a new variable for her senses to unravel. She tried blending her awareness into her surroundings, letting her field of vision blur with a wide aperture. She inhaled deeply. Perfume. Not hers. Chanel? Dior? Something like lingering grapefruit. But something else too. Bitter. Sharp on the top of her palette. Like a hazy beer. Pot? Jack doesn't smoke pot.
She wandered into the den and looked around. A woman's black leather handbag. Chanel. And in the ashtray - a wedding gift they'd never used but kept on the coffee table as a paperweight - a roach blackened by combustion. Jill!
What the fuck is my sister doing in my house? I haven't seen Jill since Thanksgiving. What's she doing here from St. Louis? She heard a giggle upstairs and a tiny squeal. Her heart sank.
Jesus, she thought. I told him to think of someone to invite to bed with us. But my sister? What the fuck?! She slowly crept up the staircase and paused on the second floor landing to listen again.
"Mmmm, that's it. Just like that!"
Son of a bitch! She thought. My skank sister fucks my man the second it becomes a possibility for him to sew some wild oats. How could he do this to me? What on earth would let him think THIS was ok? I certainly can't join them! Her mind was racing with rage; rage, and a tinge of something else.
Something stirred inside her as she listened to her sister squeal with delight as her husband's dick railed her. Not jealousy. Not rage at all. Something nice and soft and warm. She could hear his breathing as he humped her. That adorable Tai Chi thing he learned to improve his stamina. Maybe it had worked after all? She just thought it was his familiarity with her pussy.
She still caught those citrus notes from Jill's perfume. It was light and carefree like a Sauvignon Blanc on a warm spring afternoon. But now it was mixed with something much more carnal. It was sweat. His BO and hers. They'd mixed together into a musky potpourri that struck her nostrils harshly but lingered in an arousing way. Somehow she wanted to taste that scent. She wanted to fuck that scent.
What am I thinking?! Join them? Ugh. They'll be lucky I don't kill them. No jury would convict me. But still.
Mom and Dad have been dead and gone for 7 years. Jill has no one meaningful in her life. She's come up through her 20's marching to the beat of her own drum. Jack isn't a prude, he's just naive. I bet he saw a twins porno or something like that and decided the best threesome would be a sisters threesome. She rolled her eyes thinking about the strange brain her husband has.
The arousal between her legs was palpable. Fine, she thought. Let's do this.
She strode over to the bedroom door and opened it. There he was. Her husband with his dick balls deep in her 25 year old sister's cunt. They both gasped and turned to face the door.
