My Dick Fell In Your Sister-byChimney Sweep|
I tripped down the stairs and my dick fell in your sister.
I'm not proud of myself. But I won't spout that 'it just happened' bullshit. I take full responsibility for my actions. I'm not dumb enough to try to sell my wife some flat out lie where I tripped down the stairs and somehow my dick landed in her little sister. Oops. Of course I am hoping the issue never comes up at all, but these things have a way of coming out.
It's not like I don't love my wife. I do, but...well, let me explain. I knew Chelsea from high school and while we didn't date back then we did eventually hook up after I went through college and she went through a shitty marriage. I guess we both got an education. I ran into her three separate times, completely out of the blue, and by that third time we both needed a little bit of saving; her from said shitty marriage, and me from a psycho girlfriend. I figured the universe was trying to tell me something, so I married her.
Of course, along with a wife comes a bunch of in-laws. Enter Chelsea's little sister Callista, Callie for short. Callie had been dating this guy Byron for a long time and apparently her older sister's wedding prompted them to go ahead and get hitched, because they were married about eight months after us.
Chelsea and I decided to wait on kids so we were living the high life, going on cruises twice a year for vacations, staying out late and partying and all that. I'm glad we made that decision because those were damned fun years. Callie, on the other hand, got knocked up right quick.
Now here's where it gets interesting. Byron went completely bat shit crazy when he found out he was going to be a father. Suddenly his childhood was over and the weight of the world was on his shoulders, yadda yadda yadda. Any parents out there know the feeling. Only he chose to deal with it by essentially running away. He ran off to live with some friends in Seattle 'for a while.' This was in the early '90s so the grunge thing was still big and he was throwing himself into that scene with a vengeance trying to party himself to death or something. I never understood the idiot. He'd call every couple of days and weep like a baby or berate Callie for getting pregnant or claim he'd be home in a week, or never, or any number of crazy things. He really screwed her up when she needed him to do exactly the opposite.
So now Callie is alone, abandoned and hormonal as hell so her mood swings are positively epic. Any parents out there know the feeling. I got the job of being her substitute husband, even (at my wife's prodding) going to the Lamaze classes with her. I think Chelsea was scared of the whole pregnancy idea like it was a disease she might catch so she stayed away from her growing sister and made me go over and help all the time. So you see how this could happen, right?
The first time was just some kind of perfect storm. Callie was having lots of back pain, even at six months. Callie is a skinny thing and her weight was all right up front in her belly. She didn't gain an ounce anywhere else. Well, her tits swelled up a bit, but she didn't get all sloppy wobbly big like a lot of pregnant women. Plus, she glowed. I don't know how else to explain it, but not all women do that when they are pregnant. Callie did in spades, even though she usually looked like a wreck with her mousy hair a few days away from a brush and this frazzled look in her eye. My wife Chelsea was the pretty one, but Callie's slightly long face and sharp features weren't in any way unattractive. Anyway, one night after Lamaze she had a request.
"Ow! My back is killing me. Hey, I know I ask a lot and I really appreciate all your help, but do you suppose you could give me a back rub for a little bit? Just right here." She indicated her lower back, just above the waist.
"Sure, of course. Um...couch?" My mind naturally shied away from taking her to the bedroom, just because it would be improper. But she was thinking comfort more than propriety.
"No, the bed is better. I can just stay there and relax." I followed her to the bedroom, only mildly uncomfortable about it. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy putting my hands on a pretty girl as much as the next guy, but as you can see there were complications here.
She crawled right up on the bed and started to flop down on her belly, then got back up on her knees and whipped her top off. She was facing away from me and she had a sport bra on so it's not like it was slow-jazz time or anything, but it was just one more step down the road I didn't realize I was on. She settled back down and I stood next to the bed and did my best to work out the tension in her lower back.
"Ohhhhhh...that's nice," She groaned into the quilt atop the bed. "I've needed this for weeks. Ohhhhh...mmmmmm..." She moaned and groaned appreciatively as I put my hands to work. I tried to keep it very civil and friendly, but I might have strayed an extra half inch too far here or there. After a while she got chatty.
"Byron used to give me backrubs all the time. He has really good hands." I wanted to say something nasty about the guy but I didn't want to get her started. Sometimes she defended him, sometimes she hated him - it was a crap shoot and I didn't want my crap shot so I just shut up. "There's a spot just a little lower that gets really tight, like a few inches below the belt on either side." Yeah, and that would be what we call 'the ass,' but sure, fine, I'll hit that too. I obliged her request and went a few inches south of her belt line, working the muscles hard. Again she groaned.
"Ohhh, yeah, that's it!" Ohhhhhhh..."
I'll admit, I was enjoying it. Backrubs do often lead to more than just backrubs and I'm not immune to that fact, though I wasn't planning anything. Still, there might have been the slightest of stirring in my boxers at having my hands roam a lovely young woman's body.
"I'm glad Chelsea lets you come over to help me. It's been really hard with Byron gone."
"Nobody should have to go through this alone, darlin'. We are both here for you."
"She's not. She treats me like I'm sick or something. She barely talks to me anymore." I could hear a bit of a weepy whimper creeping into her voice.
"I don't know what's got into her lately, but yeah, she is acting a little weird."
"Everybody is acting weird. Somebody at work made a fat joke about me today." The weepy whiney was gaining speed.
"Now that's bullshit. You are a skinny little thing with a bun in the oven. I bet you ten bucks her hips are wider than yours right now." I had hoped to jolt her out of her emotional nosedive but it was too late. I could see her shoulders start to shake and the sobbing began, and while she tried to muffle it into the covers it didn't last long.
"Why isn't he here!" she wailed, rolling onto her side and pulling her knees up, trying to get into a fetal position but not quite able to pull it off. That just made it worse and soon she was crying big fat tears and caterwauling like a lost child.
I felt awful for her but I had no idea what to do. She went on blubbering, half crying, half talking, and I caught maybe a third of what she was saying so it's not like I could respond intelligently. I just sat next to her on the bed and put my hand on her shoulder in what I hoped was a comforting way and waited for the storm to blow over.
It took a while. Seemed like a damned hour to me anyway. Slowly her wracking sobs simmered down to random heaves, then steady sniffling with the occasional sharp shuddering intake of breath, and eventually she was done. She sat up next to me on the edge of the bed, her face red and puffy and smeared with tears. She looked awful.
"I must look awful."
"Of course not. You are glowing." She smiled gratefully and put a hand down on my leg, not suggestively but...
"Thank you. Thank you so much!" She lifted her arms for an embrace and I reciprocated, but we were a little sloppy and kind of both went the same direction. It wasn't an actual kiss or anything, but our cheeks mashed together a bit, my lips touched her ear, and the arms around the back hug turned into a hands on the shoulders deal, and then she turned her face into my neck...and then she kissed me there...and then on my cheek...and then...well. You get the picture.
What started as tender and gentle very quickly escalated into something forceful and needy. She was well and truly over the line when she grabbed my hand and put it on her breast. I had been trying to keep it friendly, as much as you can tongue kiss your sister in law in a friendly way, but that was pretty much the last straw right there. And I can't claim I didn't head right over that line with her at full speed.
Her mouth was forceful and hungry and she sucked my tongue and lips as we kissed. I was about to pull her sport bra away from her tit but she beat me to it by half a second, and then her full, swollen breast was filling my hand. I crawled on top of her and she scooted back onto the bed, awkwardly trying to push her sweat pants off her belly while still kissing me. I helped pull them of and rose up to my knees on the bed, breaking our kiss.
She lay before me, her sport bra pulled up to her arm pits and otherwise naked except for the white ankle socks. I suppose that would have been a good time to think about what I was doing, but I was too busy undoing my pants.
"Oh God!" she said breathlessly as I pushed my jeans and underwear down and my half-rigid cock sprung out. I am big, there's no way around that, and apparently I looked pretty damned impressive. I know she looked like a feast to me. She grabbed my cock and pulled it down to her, not waiting for me to get the pants off. I fell on top of her and caught myself on my hands to as not to actually land on her, while she wiggled a leg aside to let me in. She pulled me right up to her pussy and there I was.
Now that I write it down it seems so clinical and so obviously wrong and stupid, but at the time, in that place, there was such an incredible rush of emotion and sensation and passion and the situation just escalated so damned fast... Yes, I know I am making excuses. Yes, I know it makes no difference. But God DAMN she felt good.
She howled like a banshee as I split her pussy open. She was tight! I guess I expected her to be sloppy loose but that extra volume was pushing everything else out of the way and it made her deliciously snug. She was flowing with lubrication so I slid right in, but we both felt the intensity of that grip.
"Fuck me!" She yelled with her head thrown back. You couldn't have stopped me. I joined her in that wild abandon and started thrashing her body hard. She kept yelling, wailing, screaming "fuck me!" over and over and over. It wasn't pretty or sexy and it didn't last long, but the overwhelming need that gripped us both was phenomenal.
I roared when I came and thrust my load deep inside her. There wasn't much room in there and the fluid quickly emerged around the shaft, leaking out of her overfull pussy. I ground my cock into her and we both howled like animals until the fire left my veins and took my energy with it.
I slumped against her but didn't pull out. I was too far gone. After a few minutes of heavy breathing I managed to fall over next to her on the bed. My cock lolled over to the side, wet and swollen from use, showing little sign of deflating. I normally think I'm kind of a stud with that thing, but I had other things on my mind.
"We shouldn't have done that." She said it but it could have been me just as easily. It was the only thought going through my mind.
"No, we shouldn't," I agreed. Callie sat up and tugged her sport bra back into place, leaving her sweat pants and panties down around her ankles. I didn't want to look at her. I'd just see my guilt. But there was something else at play. I was still lying in bed next to a woman. I couldn't shake that idea from my head. Sex is great, but sex with your sister in law is...well, God damn it, it was great! I turned my head to look at her, and I noticed she was already looking at me. Well, part of me.
"You are still hard."
"Yeah, it does that. Mainly when I'm really...excited."
That hung in the air for a little while. I was excited. I wanted more. What a bastard I am, I thought, but I want more.
I sat up, perhaps intending to pull my pants up and get out, but that just brought our faces together as we sat side by side, still half naked. She looked at me. I looked at her. I'm such a bastard.
I kissed her gently and touched her cheek with my fingertips. She responded with soft lips and a shy tongue and a hand on my arm. It was lovely, slow and sexy, and even less defensible that what we had done a few minutes earlier I reached up to push her bra out of the way , then cupped her swollen breast in my hand.
We rolled over onto the bed and I lay on top of her, still kissing her gently. Her belly was a little bit of an impediment, but in a few moments I slipped inside her again. Where before we fucked, now we made love. We took our time and stayed in that position, kissing while I moved in and out in long, graceful strokes. She was still very snug, in fact a little more so than before with her extra weight settling on top of me like that, but the lubrication I had left in there earlier did the job nicely.
As her noises became louder and more insistent I picked up the pace a bit, trying to meet her needs. Once she started it happened quickly, and in a few minutes she was gasping her orgasm into my face, still trying to kiss me while she came. I moved to her neck and kissed and nibbled her there as her body thrashed and shook below me.
My own orgasm was still brewing when she relaxed and released from her powerful ordeal, but still I kept working her. I sped up to my own preferred speed and gently slapped my balls into her ass for a while. Her kiss returned, more needy and full now, and soon I was the one struggling to keep our lips together as my cock boiled over and filled her to overflowing again. I stayed inside her and rested, sweaty and exhausted, fulfilled like I had not felt before.
The feelings running through me were powerful. Of course the first time with a new partner is always exciting, but there was the element of taboo and the incredible intensity of that first collision, and the slow tenderness of the second, plus the feel of her tight passage...I enjoyed it far, far too much.
I cleaned up and headed home. The drive was difficult. Each mile took me further from the joy of having sex with Callie and closer to the crushing guilt for having cheated on my wife. I felt like I was wearing a big neon 'A' on my chest. When I got home I felt like my guilt was glaringly obvious, but Chelsea was light and easy and everything was fine. That almost made it worse. I'm normally a good boy so carrying this guilt and shame was foreign to me.
After that it was common. Every appointment or Lamaze class or call for 'help' ended with me fucking Callie's tight little hole like a wild man, and maybe half the time we would come back around for a second pass like we did the first time. We didn't talk about it. I'm not sure I could have talked about it. It seemed like if we just kept quiet then somehow it wasn't real or didn't count. The lies we tell ourselves are truly astonishing.
That lasted about a month. Then Byron showed up. I guess I should be thankful he didn't show up while I had my cock in his wife, but it would certainly serve him right to get such a shock after the shit he pulled. I was driving Callie home from one of her last appointments before the big day and Byron's Toyota was in the driveway. Callie asked me to stay with her for moral support...and perhaps to kick that little fucker's ass if he needed it. How could I refuse?-byron was appropriately shamed, groveling and pleading for her to take him back. He did a good job and I was honestly surprised. Not every man can grovel like that. Callie started off all stoic and hard but you know how stupid people get when they are in love. She melted for him. It didn't take long before my services were obviously no longer required. I left quietly and drove home in a different kind of haze than usual. I was relieved to have Callie not my problem anymore, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't sad to end our undercover relationship. Obviously it was a mistake, and a bad one at that, but while I was inside her it sure felt right.
That was all about three years ago. Byron is still around and seems to be a decent father and husband. There are no more signs of his little breakdown, though I still don't trust him much. Serena, their little girl, is as cute as can be. My wife has gotten over her aversion to a family and is knocked up right now with twins due in about six weeks. And my secret is still a secret. Life is good and I can't complain, but every now and then, when Callie and I find ourselves alone, we share a brief glance, a knowing look, a silent thrill of memory. Some mistakes you wish you could forget. I hope I always remember that one. And I pray to God it never comes out.