It was my birthday on Sunday, so I'd invited my daughter Anna and her husband Jack to lunch. It was warm day, so rather than do the whole roast beef and Yorkshire puddings bit, I went for cold-cuts and an array of salads; besides which, Anna is entered for a half-marathon next weekend, so those made it easier for her to stick to her training regime. At 11:00am, I cast a final look across the dining table, found all as it should be and gave myself a metaphorical pat on the back.
Anna & Jack weren't due until 12:30 and all I had left to do now was change my clothes; I'd showered earlier and while I'd told the kids to 'dress casually' felt that I really ought to wear something a little smarter than the camisole top and jogging pants which I'd been slobbing around in all morning. I'd barely moved toward the hallway when I heard a car pulling onto the driveway and a glance through the window told me that it was Anna's; what were they doing here so early?
I opened the door before the doorbell sounded to be greeted by a smiling Jack who whisked me off my feet, twirled me around, wished me a 'Happy Birthday' and planted a kiss on my cheek before lowering me back to the floor. Wow! Looking past Jack to see an empty foyer and car, I enquired as to where Anna was? Jack delivered me another of his infectious smiles, looked at his watch and after a moments thought replied: "At a guess, I'd say..., somewhere near Matlock Golf Course."
"What? Anna doesn't play golf."
Jack laughed. "This is true, but Anna wanted to get in a ten mile training run, so I dropped her off in Cromford to run the rest of the way here; she sent me on ahead with her party clothes -- he held a small bag aloft -- and to help you prepare lunch."
"You're too late, everything's done already. I only need to change out of these clothes and I was on my way to do that as you arrived; I'll just be ten minutes."
I was stepping past Jack, heading for the stairs when one of the spaghetti straps on my top was plucked off my shoulder. I half-turned, assuming that it'd snagged on something, then froze in speechless surprise as Jack flicked the strap off my other shoulder and in that same moment jerked the body of my top downward. As the camisole popped over my boobs to settle in a soft fabric circle about my waist, Jack saucily quipped: "Now that's certainly a task I could help you with."
When Jack stepped forward, one hand reaching either side of my shoulders, I finally voiced a small yelp of protest; it didn't take an Einstein to guess where those were headed! I moved to stop him but those damned spaghetti straps were now around my forearms and by the time that I'd pulled free of them, Jack had unclipped my bra-strap and slipped that off my shoulders too, entangling my arms once again.
Jack's audacity drew a further shriek, but concerned as I might be by his exposure of my breasts, that bra too had to go before I could do anything about it; a shake of the wrists, my bra fell to the floor and finally I could raise my hands to cover my embarrassment. They didn't make it even half-way before Jack caught me by the wrists and yelled "No!" I'd struggled of course, but knew from the outset that it'd be to no avail; Jack meanwhile had fallen silent until several seconds later he added, in an almost reverential whisper : "Oh My God; they're fucking gorgeous."
I stopped struggling and looked at Jack; he was staring at my breasts in open-mouthed silence, he appeared awestruck, mesmerised by the sight and my mind tumbled back almost thirty years. The expression on Jack's face was a reflection of that worn by my husband Alan in the first moment that he'd seen my breasts; that was perhaps the moment that I'd fallen in love with Alan and only shortly before he'd given me the pet-name which he'd used until the day he died.
My breasts aren't particularly special, I barely fill my 34B padded-bras, so even on my elfin frame I'm far from 'top-heavy'; Alan's description was always: 'just a nice handful'. To be fair I've come to appreciate them more as the years have passed, they still sit high and firm, while those of my more well endowed friends have long since headed south. What does make them noteworthy however and is the main reason for my invariably wearing those padded bras and bikinis, are my nipples, these are bright-red and huge, both in their diameter and projection; my kids had terrible difficulty with them when breast-feeding, though Alan similarly deemed them 'just a nice mouthful'.
From hungry the look on Jack's face I suspected that he thought likewise, but he then broke into a grin and whispered "Strawbs; as in strawberries?" I couldn't stop a smile as I nodded in confirmation; Jack had unearthed the secret of Alan's Nickname: It was nothing to do with my strawberry-blonde hair as the wider world had always assumed, but a cheeky reference to my nipples. Jack's hungry look resurfaced in the instant before he pressed forward to envelop my right nipple with his mouth.
I know I ought to have struggled, or at the very least raised a verbal protest, but Alan's been dead for almost three years and having him suckle and chew on my nipples was a favourite. I've learnt how to recreate many of the pleasures and sensations which Alan used to provide, but sucking my own nipples isn't on that list; a down-side of having pert breasts. I knew even then that it was wrong - Jack's my Son-in-law for God's sake! - but I'd missed the feeling of warm lips encapsulating my nipples, so in the moment Jack's did, it was a moan of pleasure rather than a shout of rebuke that issued from my own.
Jack's hands released their grip on my wrists, one moving to my right breast as his mouth transferred to my left nipple; his teeth lightly nipped at that one and I finally managed a physical response to his assault, grasping him by the hair. Shamefully, this wasn't to pull him off me but to press his face more firmly against my boob as I implored him to 'bite it harder'. Jack obliged, drawing a further impassioned groan from me in response to which his other hand dropped to my crotch; Jack's palm cupped my whole mons, his fingers biting through the light cotton of my clothing to press into the soft folds of my vulva.
I was now on fire! I bucked my hips forward, forcing those searching fingers ever harder against my sex; at the same time I finally dragged Jack away from my breast, lifting his face to mine and delivered a kiss of an intensity I'd never bestowed on anyone but my husband. Jack's response was equally fervent; propriety be damned, we were going to do it! When finally we broke our kiss, Jack's voice was hoarse with desire: "Get your pants off Helen; Anna will be here soon, we need to be quick."
Jack's mention of my daughter hit me like iced-water; cooling my ardour and giving me pause; I haltingly replied: "No... I can't... you're Anna's..." When Jack didn't respond I added "...but you're so much stronger than me, if you were to rip them off me... I couldn't stop you."
Jack smiled at that, almost a grin: "So that's how you'd like it Helen. I'll remember that for next time; but this time around we share responsibility." I hesitated, but inexcusably that hesitation was for only a few moments; that iced-water had been but a splash, when what I'd really needed was a bucketful!
