Do You Think My Sister is Hot?

"Do you think my sister is hot?"

To say this question caught me off-guard would be a significant understatement, first because it was apropos of nothing, and second, because it was asked by my wife Sarah who was, at the time, gently stroking my cock.

"I uh, she's um, what do you mean?" I stammered, attempting a guarded response to my wife of nearly twelve years while my mind was flooded with images of her little sister Megan -- in a low-cut black cocktail dress out for a nice dinner, in tight yoga pants lounging around our house and in that bright blue two-piece swimsuit at the beach. She was. Hot, that is. Undeniably, unequivocally goddamn fucking hot.

Sarah's fingers never stopped, gently and slowly gliding up and down on my rock-hard shaft, teasing and stroking. After many years together, and having enjoyed no shortage of sex over that time, we had recently rediscovered the simple pleasure of a good hand job. While no substitute for a proper fucking, sometimes when I was in the mood and Sarah wasn't, she was nonetheless willing to stroke me off, often while whispering naughty things in my ear. But any mention of her sister was most definitely new territory.

Sarah leaned in and whispered in my ear, "it's a simple question Cory. Do you think Megan's hot?" With this she slid her hand down further to caress my balls, cupping them and gently stroking them in her tiny little manicured hand, sending waves of pleasure through my entire core. I was deep into it now, not far from coming already, and thoughts of Sarah's sister were only spurring me on, a fact I was struggling to hide from my wife.

"She's your sister. I've never even thought of her like that."

Immediately, Sarah stopped stroking to me and whispered "bullshit. If you don't give me honest answers to my questions, Cory, I'm going to suddenly get a hand cramp and have to stop what I'm doing."

"Okay! Okay" I sputtered, desperate to feel Sarah's hand give me the release I needed. "Yes. She is. Megan is very attractive."

"I didn't ask if she was attractive, Cory. It is obvious that she is attractive. I asked if you think she is hot."

"Okay. Yes," I said, finally giving up on hiding what I really thought. "Your sister is hot."

I was immediately rewarded for my honesty as Sarah's soft fingers returned to my shaft and started stroking again, more firmly this time. I gasped. "Oh god baby that feels so good."

"She is, isn't she," Sarah said wistfully. "I've always thought so. And not in a jealous way, either. I know how sexy you find me; I know I'm hot too. But she's nine years younger than me and hot in a different way. It's more like it makes me strangely proud, to have such a..." and to emphasize the last part, Sarah leaned in very close and finished in a sultry whisper, "sexy little sister."

Her words and her skilled hand were getting me very close indeed. I was hard as a rock and my mind was flooded with thoughts. Fantasies I'd had about Sarah, about Megan, even about them together, were now being broadcast direct to my cerebral cortex thanks to Sarah's suggestive words. I groaned.

"Yeah I know you love my soft, round, curvy bum but hers is different, isn't it? She's got a nice tight little ass, doesn't she Cory? Remember when we helped her move and she was wearing those burgundy leggings? I noticed you checking her out and I can't blame you. Such a sexy, tight little ass."

Again, my wife emphasized her naughty words breathily while stroking me up and down again. I didn't respond -- I couldn't. I was taken aback. Sarah had never even remotely discussed her sister -- or for that matter any other woman -- in this way before. I felt myself holding back, trying not to erupt too soon, desperate to hear where this was going.

"And her tits Cory, aren't they just perfect?" Sarah enunciated for emphasis on the word 'tits' and I nearly came right there, gasping as she continued stroking me. "They're smaller than mine but so round and perky. Do you remember the swimsuit she wore that day at the beach? Do you remember Cory?"

"Oh god baby. Yes. I remember. Blue. Bikini."

"That's right babe. A tiny little blue bikini. That top was so small too, you could see half of her breasts, couldn't you, her full round breasts, almost to her nipples. It was fucking hot, wasn't it Cor? Did you think about it? Did you think about my sister's hot body when you touched yourself? Tell me."

"Ungggghhhh," I groaned, on the very edge of orgasm now, "yes. Yes baby I thought about her. I thought about your sister. I jerked off that night and I came hard thinking about Megan. I'm sorry baby."

"Shhhhhhh," Sarah reassured, "don't be sorry. There's nothing to be sorry about. She's sexy and she loves to tease you, of course you would think about her." Sarah shifted position, raising onto her knees next to me so that both of her hands were free. Her left delicately slid under me, just gently cupping my balls while her right continued to deliberately stroke my cock, a bit faster now.

"Oh god. Yes. I'm close baby."

"Yeah I'm gonna make you cum hard babe. I'm gonna make you cum hard while you think about my little sister. What do you think she looks like under that swimsuit, Cory? What do you think her nipples look like?"

"NNNnggggghhh," just another few strokes and I would erupt.

"And underneath those little bikini bottoms . . . what do you think her pussy looks like Cory? How do you think her pussy would taste?"

That did it. I let out a roaring groan and my entire lower body clenched as I came, ejaculating so hard my own semen splashed over my stomach and my wife's delicate fingers, the second spurt reached to my upper chest and neck, then a third, fourth, fifth. My vision went blank for a second as I came hard, my wife's expert fingers continuing to stroke all the way through my orgasm.

I gasped and panted, heart beating like crazy and huffing and puffing from the power of the climax my incredible wife had just given me.

"Oh my god baby. Holy shit. Fuck that was good."

"Yeah I noticed. I think I jerked you into another plane of existence," she laughed out loud. I love making you feel good.

"Oh my god babe. Wow. You are truly the best wife ever. But what was with all that talk about. . ."

"Shhhh," she interrupted. "let's go get cleaned up. You've made one hell of a mess, mister."

...

I never brought up the 'sister talk' again. After twelve years of marriage, I knew how to take a hint.

Sarah had clearly indicated that she didn't want to talk about it, and yet it had been such an incredibly powerful turn-on, I wondered how she had known what it would do to me. Sure, I had stolen the occasional inappropriate glance at Megan -- a peek down a low-cut top or a lingering drinking-in of her ass in a tight pair of leggings -- but I had done my damnedest to be discreet and I certainly hadn't crossed any other lines; in fact, I'd hardly ever been alone with Megan outside of Sarah's presence -- so how did she know? How did she know her sister had been the subject of my fantasies on and off for damn near ten years?

I mean, to be fair it would not have been hard to guess. Despite my hesitancy to answer Sarah's inquiries at first, there was really no question: of course Megan was hot. At 30, Megan was almost a decade younger than her older sister, who had just turned 39. After a few drinks Sarah would sometimes tease Megan about being an "oopsie baby" for their parents.

Some women just seem to come into their own around thirty, and Megan was no exception. She was beautiful in a girl-next-door sort of manner, not with the high, jagged cheekbones, filled lips and sharp features of a model by any stretch, but rather, a soft, pretty, natural feminine beauty. With full, curly dirty-blonde hair just below her shoulders, captivating brown eyes and soft pink lips, she was no doubt a gorgeous woman, but she was so approachable and down-to-earth she just made people feel comfortable and happy in her presence.

Her body had always been tight and slim -- and it still was, to be sure -- but in her late twenties, her curves had rounded out somewhat, her features had softened and slight smile lines started to appear on the corners of her eyes. Much like my wife, who I truly believed had never been sexier than she was now at 39, this natural aging had made her sister more and more attractive with each passing year.

I had started taking notice sometime after Sarah and I were married, when Megan was in her mid-twenties. We became more and more comfortable around one another and eventually I started to see her, not just as my wife's younger sister, but also as a truly desirable woman. It's no surprise, either -- many of the traits I find attractive in her she shares with her sister, for whom I fell hard when I was in my late twenties, and for whom I still lust every single day.

Not that it's been easy. Anyone who's been married for any significant amount of time knows that it ain't all sunshine and roses. Sarah and I have gone through our tough patches to be sure: fights about money, fights about sex, and fights about the stupidest shit imaginable -- sometimes two people are simply out of sync -- but through it all they had maintained love, respect and trust, and with those three you can push through damn near everything.

Another thing that folks experienced in marriage will tell you is that for most, sex is not a constant. It is, like most parts of a serious relationship, constantly in flux (for better or worse) and our marriage is no exception.

We were stereotypically hot and heavy in the early days, almost literally unable to keep our hands off of one another. We moved in together shortly after we started dating and I swear we fucked ten times a week: in the bed, bent over the bed, on the couch, on the table, in my car, in her car -- one night when I was working late at the office, Sarah had surprised me by walking in to my office, and without saying a word, undoing my buckle and pants and pushing them down with my boxers. She then lifted her pale blue sundress to reveal that she wasn't wearing any panties. She stroked me a few times, then straddled me, placing my already-hard cock at the entrance to her wet vagina and lowering herself. She rode me in my very own office chair, gasping and moaning as her tight pussy and the situation sent me reeling quickly to a climax. I came deep inside her, moaning, and as my orgasm subsided, she kissed me once on the forehead, disengaged, smoothed her dress and walked out. She hadn't said a single word.

From those heady days, early in our relationship, things naturally cooled off a bit as jobs, obligations and life got more intense, but we still managed to stay passionate about one another and found the time to both make love and fuck each other's brains out with regularity.

Then, the greatest struggle of our marriage began, and it damn near tore us apart.

Having kids had always been in the cards for both Sarah and me and since things were going so well with our relationship and our careers, we decided to start a family very early in our marriage, when Sarah was 29 and I was 32.

Unfortunately, and to put it simply: it just didn't work.

I will spare you the details but suffice it to say that after four long years of trying, at first simply throwing away the birth control, then with various fertility boosting strategies, and finally with medical intervention, it became painfully, crystal clear: it would be impossible for Sarah to have children. Ever.

Naturally, this began a pretty dark period for us and for our relationship. We were grieving our inability to have children, the loss of what we had assumed and hoped our family would look like, and that grief made its progression through denial, anger, blaming and resentment; this took a toll.

For the next two years it felt like we were simply going through the motions. We worked, we cooked, we watched TV, we slept. Sex took a back seat. After years of trying to conceive, sex simply became a reminder of what was not to be, and so each of us slowly, piece by piece, pushed it aside. Eventually, though we were still physically intimate in other ways -- cuddling in the morning and touching and kissing regularly -- we just quit having sex.

Of course, this led to even more anger and resentment and we started drifting apart. I spent more and more time at the office and Sarah spent more and more time at yoga, at her sister's place, at work -- basically anywhere we could avoid our home and the reminders of our struggle.

I still loved Sarah and I knew she still loved me, but what we'd gone through had exacted such a price, we couldn't find a way back. I thought that was going to be the end for us, and I am certain Sarah did as well, but then something incredible happened.

It was a Friday night in July. Due to a corporate restructure, I wound up reporting to a new boss, VP of Business Development. She and I got on very well and were building up our working relationship, learning one another's strengths and figuring out how to navigate our new corporate reality, when she invited me and her other four direct reports out for after-work drinks. I was game -- I enjoyed the company of my co-workers and team-building was important at this stage. And besides, I didn't have much excitement to come home to these days anyway. I texted Sarah:

Team drinks after work. Will be home late. We can get a pizza later or feel free to eat without me if you prefer.

My boss, Leanne, suggested DiBissi's and we were all keen. DiBissi's was one of the after-work hotspots downtown. Exceptional food, killer cocktails and usually full of life and fun, especially on Fridays. Not long after, Sarah texted back:

Okay sounds good. Derek suggested drinks too -- if you won't be home anyway maybe I'll take him up on it.

Derek was Sarah's 'work husband' and they had been working closely together in a lab for years. They were great partners at work and legitimate friends. They shared many laughs together and their friendship helped make work more tolerable. Despite their closeness I never had any reason to suspect they were anything more than good friends, and so I had encouraged her to spend time with Derek whenever it came up.

Sounds good. Have fun. I'll keep you posted.

We finished up our workday uneventfully and headed out to meet up at DiBissi's.

I entered and the room was packed, the usual happy hour crew, loud and boisterous, eager to blow off steam from their work week and pack in a few drinks before heading home. I immediately saw Leanne and my team at a long bar table and I made my way through the crowd towards them.

I was greeted warmly, we started chatting about nothing in particular and I ordered a Manhattan. Shortly thereafter, Sarah texted:

Derek had to cancel but I'm not quite ready to go home to an empty house. Going to grab a cocktail solo. Have fun with your work peeps.

I was disappointed on her behalf -- I knew how important it was for both of us to get out and have fun, especially given how uncertain things were between us lately.

Damn that sucks. I'll try not to be long.

Take your time. I'm good. Or at least I will be, with a martini in me.

Reassured, I turned my attention back to our group and the conversation topic at hand, which was currently 'guilty pleasure' movies (we tried to ban shop talk from our happy hour table as much as possible.) My drink arrived and I started extolling the virtues of Katherine Heigl's unsung masterpiece '27 Dresses' while my co-workers cajoled and berated me to the amusement of all.

We drank and ate and chatted for a few minutes when someone entering the bar caught my eye. It was Sarah! Damn she was beautiful. I was immediately reminded of how lucky I was to be her husband. I watched as she made her way up to the bar, solo, and found a barstool. As she ordered a drink, I texted her:

We are at DiBissi's. Still having fun but am suddenly distracted by the smoking hot brunette who just walked in ;)

I watched from across the bar and saw Sarah order a drink from the bartender, notice her phone buzzing and check her message. As soon as she read my text, her head popped up, scanning the crowd. In just a few seconds she found me, caught my eye and smiled warmly. It felt good to see her smile at me in that way. It felt really good.

Want to join us? No work talk allowed?

Sarah responded right away:

Thanks but I think I'll pass. Just going to drown my sorrows here for a few minutes and then head home.

It felt very strange to be in the same bar as my wife but at separate tables, but I respected her wishes and left her to her martini while returning to the conversation at my table, which had turned into a heated debate regarding the various merits of b-grade kung fu movies.

A few minutes later, I glanced over at Sarah again. This time, there was a man sitting on the barstool next to her. He was tall, with a full head of wavy black hair and was dressed immaculately in a three-piece suit. He was turned slightly toward Sarah and seemed to be making conversation with her. I felt a slight twinge of jealousy and thought about texting her, but took a deep breath and tried my best to ignore it. Just then, my phone buzzed:

My new friend here would like to buy me a drink . . . I'm not sure my husband would like that much :)

I considered this for a moment. I didn't like it much . . . and yet there was something exciting about my wife being hit on by another man. I replied:

Well it would be rude not to take him up on his hospitality, now wouldn't it?

I watched her interact with him for a few seconds before she picked up her phone and texted me again:

Well, I've got his hopes up now. I wonder if he thinks a twenty-dollar martini is enough to seal the deal.

I replied:

He has good taste. He's hitting on the hottest woman in this bar.

I meant it, too. Watching my wife in her full, bouncy curls, her soft features and feminine curves barely hidden beneath a brightly patterned coral sundress, I really did feel like she was incredibly hot. With all our struggles recently, I hadn't been feeling that as much as I'd like (nor as much as I'm sure Sarah would have liked) and the feeling was both rewarding and exciting. I participated in the conversation at our table as best I could, but my attention was focused on my wife and the stranger who, emboldened by her acceptance of the drink, was getting increasingly more familiar with my wife. Just then, he turned to Sarah, smiling and chatting, and gently placed his left hand on her lower back. I took a deep breath as she reached for her phone:

Cory I should stop this. He's getting pretty handsy.

Of course he is. You're captivating. He wants you.

I watched as they chatted and his hand slid barely, almost imperceptibly lower down my wife's back, not onto her ass but certainly into more intimate territory. I was shocked to find that, rather than jealousy or envy, I was excited. And starting to get a bit turned on. The two were sitting very closely together now, still talking and laughing and drinking, but noticeably the man's hand was no longer on Sarah's back. I surprisingly found myself a bit disappointed that the intimate contact was no longer happening; perhaps he had decided to back off and that would be the end of this encounter. But to the contrary, I got another text message:

Cory his hand is on my leg. On my bare leg under the bar top. It's on my thigh. I should stop this.

I sucked in a deep breath. Barely aware of the people at my own table at this point, I texted back:

Don't stop it. This is so fucking hot.

I tried to focus on the conversation my co-workers were having but my mind was 100% on what was happening under that bar top. Was he stroking her leg with his fingers? That soft, smooth leg I'd stroked thousands of times? Was his hand sliding up on her thigh? How bold was he? How much of her would he try to touch in this crowded bar? I could still see them talking and laughing but, try as I might, I couldn't make out what was happening under the bar.