tagLoving WivesTrust Her with Your Kid? Ch. 01

Trust Her with Your Kid? Ch. 01

byISawYourMommy©

At the request of a reader who was kind enough to offer both feedback and a plot suggestion, I have this to say:

"Dave's coming on Sunday," Brent announced from behind the Saturday edition of the Tribune.

"Oh? Any why's that?" Christine questioned, placing her coffee mug on the kitchen table. Her long, slender fingers picked at a cinnamon scone.

"Well, I just think he needs to get out of my parents' hair for a while. You know how upset Mom is that he's taking the year off."

"Not a wise move on his part."

"Mom and Dad don't think so. They aren't real thrilled that he's bartending, either. Apparently, he works three or four nights a week at one of the bars in Highwood. When he's not working, he gets drunk. Either way, he sleeps all day."

Christine chuckled. Brent's little brother was the black sheep of the family. The youngest of four boys, he had been arrested a number of times during his high school years for possession of alcohol and other minor offenses. Though his older siblings had all attended college – two obtained post-graduate degrees – and were doing quite well for themselves, Dave had opted not to go to college immediately, deciding instead to take a year off to "find himself."

"So how long's he going to be staying with us?" she asked, rising from the table and depositing her mug and plate in the kitchen sink of their Gold Coast condominium. Her tight little bottom was hidden by a pair of gray cotton shorts with her husband's fraternity letters emblazoned the cheeks. Brent watched as she shuffled away from him, amazed that the shorts weren't in tatters after seven or eight years of use.

"Just through the end of the Thanksgiving weekend."

"I thought you were leaving town Sunday."

"It's been changed to Monday now. I'll be back Tuesday night, though, Wednesday morning at the latest."

"You want me to look after him for a few days?"

"Yeah." He dropped the paper from in front of his face. "Come on. It's just two days. I leave early Monday, and I'll be back Tuesday."

"No, it's no problem. No problem at all. The office is closed next week anyway. He can run errands and go grocery shopping with me. All that fun stuff."

Brent laughed. "Yeah. I bet he'll really like that."

* * *

It was just after noon and a ray of light streamed in through a gap in the bedroom's blinds. Christine stretched her arms over her head, her knuckles knocking against the bed's headboard. She rolled to her side and glanced at the bedside clock, her heavy breasts rolling along her rib cage. Seeing the time, she slowly sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress.

Her clean, white tennis shoes rested on the floor in front of the nightstand, a bobby sock stuffed into each. The tan pedal-pusher pants were folded neatly on a chair in the corner of the room, her white oxford, bra and thong stacked atop them.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"I gotta go." She grabbed her cell phone from atop the nightstand and checked the recent-calls list.

"So soon?"

"Yeah. I have some errands to run, some calls to make."

"And calls to return?"

She turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder, her piercing blue eyes showing amusement. "Yeah, and return."

"Was that Brent?"

"Mm-hm," she responded, rising from the bed and padding across the carpeted floor to the chair, her tan-lined breasts bobbing on her chest. She grabbed the cotton panties from atop the stack of clothing and pulled them over her lithe legs, adjusting them to conceal the blonde wisps of hair at the apex of her vagina.

"Call him from here."

Christine rolled her eyes as she fastened the 34C bra behind her back, swollen nipples tenting the fabric.

"Think he knows?"

"Knows what?"

"About us."

She sighed heavily. "There is no 'us,' Andre. There's me and there's that," she said, pointing her chin at the sticky, lifeless cock that rested along his thigh. She pulled the khaki pants up her shapely thighs and over her tight bottom. "That's all."

A few minutes later, she slipped from the condominium and called the elevator. The wait and the following ascent seemed interminable, but it afforded her the opportunity to reflect.

She had been sleeping with Andre for several weeks. Actually, "sleeping" is too mild a word. She had been fucking him. That's all it was, pure and simple. While he may have wanted more – a relationship – he wasn't going to get it. Christine was in it for the sex and nothing else. From past experience, she knew she would soon tire of him.

That's how it had gone with the previous adventures outside her marriage. Every few months, she would meet a handsome man in this place or that – a club; on the El; Treasure Island; wherever – and strike up a scorching month or so of raunchy sex. And then she would get bored.

Fidelity had never been her strong suit. In five years of marriage, she couldn't recall a period of six months where the only cock to be buried in her snug vagina was her husband's. Two or three months maybe, but no more than that. She had yet to get caught, at least since she had recited her wedding vows.

When she and Brent were still in college but still in the early stages of their relationship, she had attended a fraternity party; as the night wound down, she found herself in a senior's bunk. He had not been overly discrete about the tryst and, the rumor mill being what it was, word had made its way back to Brent. Bitter fights followed, but they had managed to patch up their broken relationship and, for the most part, moved on.

But from then on, Christine walked on egg shells around Brent when it came to other men. If they were at a party and someone was hitting on her, she made it very clear that she was spoken for. And though she had made some great male friends in college, she didn't keep in contact with any of them for fear that Brent would suspect of her having an affair. She took such great pains to ease his fears that her own – of Brent actually suspecting her – bordered on paranoia.

Hence her preference for random assignations with otherwise strangers.

The pinging of the elevator announcing her arrival on the eighteenth floor pulled her from her contemplation and she exited the car.

* * *

The weekend passed. Sunday afternoon, Christine was reclining on the couch, comfortable in sweats and a baggy tee shirt, her flaxen hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Brent was at the health club working out and she passed the afternoon reading the New York Times, a Lifetime Channel movie playing in the background.

"Look who I found," Brent called out when he returned late in the afternoon, dropping his gym bag at the door.

Christine lowered the paper to see Brent enter the living room, Dave behind him with a large duffel bag slung across his shoulder.

"Hey, Chris," he greeted her.

"Hey there, yourself, sweetie," she responded with a bright smile, folding the newspaper and getting up to give him a hug. "It's so good to see you."

Dave dropped his bag as she approached and gave her a big bear hug, lifting her off her dainty feet and almost squeezing the breath from her lungs.

"It's been too long," he said, releasing his older brother's wife.

"Yeah, no kidding." Christine gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. "And you live so close, too. Why don't we ever see you?"

"I'm a busy man. The ladies take up all of my time," he responded lightheartedly.

She just rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

"Why don't we go up to O'Brien's for dinner in a little bit?" Brent said, joining the conversation.

"Sounds good to me," Dave agreed, looking to Christine for her nod of approval. When he got it, he bent and retrieved his bag from the floor. "Well, I think I'll put this in the guest room and then we can go."

In the guest room, he zipped open the duffel and pulled a pair of pants and button-down shirt from it, hanging them in the closet to prevent them from wrinkling further.

Dave really liked Christine. She was a real sweetheart in his view. She got along great with his family, easing into the roles of daughter-in-law and sister-in-law with little effort. And she never ignored him, either, the way his other brother's wives had. Every time he saw her, she asked how classes were going and, now that he had graduated high school, how his job was treating him.

He thought it interesting, the relationships he had with his brothers and their wives. He got along great with Jimmy and Steve, but hated their arrogant wives. By contrast, he wasn't that fond of Brent (for the same arrogance), but his wife was fantastic.

He also lusted after the woman. She had a fantastic little body and the prettiest cheerleader face. She always dressed well – not flashy, but in hip yet conservative style. When she gave him hugs, his cock would stir, her large breasts molding themselves to his muscular chest, the citrus scent of her shampoo invading his nose.

Dave put his shaving kit in the guest bathroom and readjusted his cock before joining Brent and Christine in the living room.

* * *

"Mornin'."

"Mornin' to you, kid," Christine countered, raising her eyes from the Monday morning Tribune to see Dave shuffle into kitchen, his shorts and tee shirt creased from a night of sleeping in them.

"Brent gone already?" he asked, retrieving a glass from the cabinet and a bottle of orange juice from the refrigerator. He eyed her as he poured his drink. 'No matter the time of day,' Dave thought, 'she always looks put together.' His eyes roamed up the gray wool pants she wore above mid-rise heels and across the cream-colored scoop neck sweater that draped snugly around her torso.

"Yeah. He had an early flight."

"Where'd he go?" he asked, joining her at the table twisting off the end of a croissant that sat before her. He popped it in his mouth with a mischievous grin.

"Detroit. He'll be back tomorrow night." She watched him as he swallowed the stolen morsel. "There's another croissant on the counter if you want it, you know."

"Nah. I'd rather eat yours."

Christine smirked and folded the paper, sliding it away from her and leaning back in her chair.

"So, Dave, tell me: how's everything going living with your parents?"

"It's fine. I'd like to move out, but I'll wait until next year when I go off to school."

"Any acceptance letters yet?"

"Nah. I just sent in the first round of apps a month or so ago. Probably won't hear until after the New Year."

"You should travel. Get out of Chicago. Get out of the Midwest."

"Yeah. I've been thinking about that. About maybe heading out to Colorado for the ski season. One of my fraternity brothers moved out to Steamboat; said I should come out."

"There's an idea. Be a ski bum. Enjoy your year off." She finished her cup of coffee, glanced at her watch, and rose from the table. "Okay, I've got a lot to do today. I better get going."

"Not working?"

"No, the office is closed this week. And anyway I need to get my Thanksgiving grocery shopping done and run some errands. Wanna go with me?"

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather just lay around today."

"That's fine. I'll be back in a few hours. What do you want for dinner tonight?"

"Whatever. I don't care. I'll eat whatever you make."

* * *

Christine brought their plates to the table and they sat and ate their meal, catching up with each other's lives. Finishing his beer, Dave rose to get another, refilling her wine glass while she cleared the empty plates and put them in the dishwasher.

Dave sat at the table as she finished cleaning up and rejoined him.

"So, everything's good at home then?" she asked.

"Yeah." He took a long pull from the Beck's bottle. "I mean, I'd rather have an apartment or live with my friends, but it's not a bad set-up for now. Plus, I'm really considering the Steamboat thing; like you said, I should enjoy this year."

Christine nodded. "So why do you think Brent wanted you to stay here this week?"

"I dunno. Maybe he just thought you might like the company, I guess."

Christine nodded again, her flaxen, ponytailed hair bobbing behind her. "I'm not sure that's it."

A quizzical look passed over his face.

Christine pushed her chair back a little and turned to face him more directly. "What I think is this: he wants you here to keep an eye on me." Her manicured fingers twirled the wineglass atop the granite table, causing it to let out a faint squeak.

Dave smirked at her. "Keep an eye on you? I doubt it."

"I don't think he trusts me," she responded, leaning back in the chair and taking a swig of wine down her slender throat. Her large, soft breasts thrust forward with the movement, swelling her otherwise slim torso.

"Trust you? Of course he trusts you. Why wouldn't he? You've been a good wife."

"Well," she began, leaning forward. The scoop neck of her sweater billowed outward, affording Dave a glimpse of the bra-encased breasts hanging from her chest. "That's the problem: I've been a good wife."

"Yeah? So?"

"Well, I've been a good wife . . ." Christine rose from the chair, approached Dave, and kicked a leg over his, settling her firm bottom on his lap. The faint scent of her perfume wafted through his nostrils and he inhaled deeply. "I've been a good wife to many, many men," she completed in a sing-song voice, draping her tanned arms around her brother-in-law's neck, nuzzling her soft, wet lips against his ear.

"Oh, Jesus," he gasped, squirming in his chair. "What are . . . you . . . doing?"

Christine ground her crotch against his in response, leveraging her arms to pull him closer to her, squishing her breasts between their bodies. Almost involuntarily, Dave's hands went to her trim hips.

His actions could be interpreted as an effort to push her away, to gain space between his thickening cock and her grinding vagina.

But that would be the wrong interpretation.

"Brent wants you here," she breathed into his ear, her hot breath sending chills up his spine, "so you can spy on me."

"But why would . . ." he grunted before Christine took his earlobe between her teeth and bit down gently.

"You're not going to do that, though, are you?" she asked in a whisper, her firm breasts pressing against him, her hardening nipples evident.

Dave merely shook his head.

"You're not going to tell him anything, right?" she inquired, her voice still a whisper at his ear.

Another shake of the head.

Christine released an arm from behind his neck and brought it between them, tweaking one of her brother-in-law's nipples between long, manicured nails.

"Ugh," he groaned, Christine's slender fingers descending across his ripped stomach and cupping his twitching cock through his cotton shorts.

She raised herself from his lap and pressed a manicured hand against his heaving chest, urging him to push away from the table. The chair squeaked across the hardwood floor and Christine grabbed the bottom of his shirt, pulling it over his head.

Dave looked up at his sister-in-law through hooded eyes, shocked but burning with lust at her behavior. She smiled back at him, the girl-next-door appearance and the radiant smile sharply incongruent with her depraved conduct.

She bent at the waist, her little bottom bumping against the table and causing the wine to slosh around in her glass, a few drops escaping to land on the placemat. "I cheated on him. Years ago." Her baby blue eyes, sparkling now, remained locked on his as she bent further, her full lips puckering as they descended on one of his exposed nipples. "I bet he thinks I've done it again."

"Oh, fuck," he groaned as Christine's lips locked around the darkened flesh, sucking it between her teeth, nibbling lightly.

One hand held her steady against his chest as the other closed around the pliant tube hidden beneath his athletic shorts. She rubbed him gently at first, her thin fingers coaxing more blood into his cock. She felt the heat of him through the fabric and her manipulation of the shaft increased, the friction removing any pliancy from it.

Christine let his nipple pop from her lips and she leaned into him. "I wanna suck my brother-in-law's fat cock," she hissed into his ear. "Wanna let me?"

The question was rhetorical and without waiting for an answer, she knelt between Dave's widespread legs and yanked at his shorts. Putting his hands on the seat, he raised his ass up and Christine pulled the shorts and boxers down his thighs and over his knees, helping him pull a socked foot from them.

His cock sprang up when released, slapping against his taut stomach before standing erect, swaying back and forth. The cock's movement reminded her of a display erected on the plaza outside her office building, a series of tall, steel rods that swayed with the blowing of the wind, clanging against each other, making music.

Christine wrapped her slender fingers around the shaft, her manicured nails barely touching each other as she slowly tugged the overheated flesh. Blood coursed through the veins that criss-crossed the shaft, the pulsing flesh pounding against the palm of her hand. She dipped her head and her pink tongue snaked out, swiping across the crown of Dave's cock.

"Oh my," he breathed, his eyes wide.

"Oh my is right," she muttered, her attention focused on the cock before her. She squeezed her hand up its length, squeezing tighter as her elegant fingers covered the head, and a droplet of pre-cum appeared. She used a manicured finger to retrieve it and slid her fist back down, a trail of semen glistening along the underside of his shaft.

She looked up at Dave to find his eyes screwed shut. She spit a wad of saliva, aiming for his cock.

His eyes flew open at the sound and with the sensation of the warm spit sliding down the taut flesh of his shaft. He looked into Christine's smoldering eyes; her smile was lust-filled as her clenching fist again ascended the length of his cock and back down. She bent forward, her lips parted, and her warm mouth engulfed as much of his length as she could manage.

"Oh, gawd," he groaned, his eyes slamming shut as his cockhead bumped against the back of his brother's wife's throat.

Christine gagged at the saliva-inducing intrusion. Spit poured from her mouth and dripped down his inflamed flesh. She pulled her sloppy lips up the shaft, leaving just the head in her mouth, and jerked at Dave's cock.

Involuntarily, his hands dropped to his sides, bracing himself on the chair's seat as his hips bucked violently into Christine's face. His jerking jammed his shaft against the back of her throat again, causing her to gag further. Her nose crashed into his pubic hair, compressing the cartilage against his pubic bone.

She placed her left hand on his stomach to hold him steady, her long cherry nails fanning out across his flesh before curling in, digging into him. Christine pulled her head back, popping the saliva-covered cock from her mouth, her right hand brutally tugging at the shaft.

"Cum in my mouth, brother-in-law," she demanded, her lips slamming back over the head of his cock almost before the wicked words had tumbled across them. Dave's cock slipped into her throat and his pubic hair tickled her upper lip. She held him steady there, her soft lips clamped tightly around the base of his cock and her right hand cradling his balls, massaging the heavy sac. She wagged her head back and forth, like a dog tearing at a bone.

She released her grip on his balls and slid her hand beneath them, the soft flesh of the sac dragging along the inside of her forearm. The pad of her index finger brushed against Dave's perineum before withdrawing, a long nail scraping back across the highly sensitive flesh.

"Oohh, ffuucckk!" he grunted, his head lolling back and forth. Dave's cock lurched in her mouth and a torrent of cum shot through his shaft before splashing against her tonsils, coating them in pearlescent fluid that slid down to her stomach.

Report Story

byISawYourMommy© 30 comments/ 133836 views/ 19 favorites

Share the love

Report a Bug

Next
2 Pages:12

Forgot your password?

Please wait

Change picture

Your current user avatar, all sizes:

Default size User Picture  Medium size User Picture  Small size User Picture  Tiny size User Picture

You have a new user avatar waiting for moderation.

Select new user avatar:

   Cancel