For the last five years Helen and I have lived in the same house, close to where we each earn our living. At twenty-five Helen is three years my junior. I'm a shade over six feet tall. My light brown skin reflects my heritage, West Indian father and white English mother. Helen stands about five feet six, her milky white skin and straight blonde hair is likewise down to her parentage.
As far as is possible we only bring our lovers home when we know that the other one is out for the night. Helen tends to have serious, long term relationships. I like variety so my lovers are usually short term, more often than not they are other mens' wives.
It was my turn to have the house to myself, the wine was chilled, the meal almost prepared and my expectations for the evening were keeping me semi-rigid. My squeeze for the night was married to a good friend. He was blissfully unaware that she cheated on him, he was also unaware that she gave more of herself to her lovers than the lights out missionary sex he was allowed to have with her. For her lovers there were very few limits and I was anticipating a wild night of lust and debauchery. Sometimes it amused her to let him have his two minutes inside her when she got home. She'd whisper in his ear that she had been thinking about him all evening. He would put her wetness down to her wanting him.
I'd planned an intimate meal, not too heavy on the stomach, with plenty of finger food we could feed each other. By nine-thirty we were sat on the sofa wine glasses in hand. My lover's back was resting on my chest, my arm around her and my hand down her blouse, inside her bra with my fingers exciting her nipple. She turned her head so that we could enjoy a passionate kiss. I took hold of her glass and placed it with mine on the floor. She twisted her body around. Her fingers found my zipper. She released my engorged manhood and teasingly lowered her mouth very slowly and sensually over my glans and down my shaft. It felt like a thousand butterflies were flapping their wings on my cock. He was holding the back of her head not wanting the ecstasy to stop.
The door flew open. In came Helen. Wracking sobs shook her body. Helen saw us, muttered a sorry and dashed upstairs to her bedroom.
That was the end of the evening, the mood had completely evaporated. I was up for reigniting our fire but my lover told me I had better comfort Helen and see what is wrong. I stayed with her until the taxi arrived. We kissed goodnight and I waved her off.
Helen had showered, donned on a nightie and slipped under the duvet. By the time I knocked on the door to her bedroom and bidden enter, Helen was curled up, still sobbing. I sat on the edge of her bed, took her hand asked what was wrong.
Helen told me her boyfriend had promised her a special evening. She thought he was going to ask her to marry him. His idea of a surprise was to take her to bed as soon as she got to his place. He seemed to her to be strangely on edge as if he was nervous or hiding something. Once he had sated himself and left her close to her orgasm he rolled off of her, just as his housemate walked into the room and tried to climb between her legs. Helen added that she screamed and ran to the bathroom. Her boyfriend had thought that because they had role-played a inviting a third into their bed she would like it to happen.
I offered a cuddle to console her. She sat up. I tried to avert my eyes as her pert breasts moved beneath the sheer material of her nightdress. I failed. I'd never had erotic thoughts about Helen. We'd grown up together. Helen was the result of my mother cheating on my father. My beautiful sister was off limits. I'd seen her naked many times, usually during early morning visits to the bathroom. I'd seen her even more often in her underwear, we weren't shy around each other but it was never sexual.
