Joan Takes a Big Step

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Sometimes showing it just isn't enough.
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showher
showher
231 Followers

Thanks again to Editor Angel Love for my appearance of literacy, her good advice and a developing friendship.

*

The cold water was causing my wife's nipples and areolas to jut forward like small proud cones in her halter-top as the wet terrycloth molded itself to her small breasts.

The beginning of June can be chilly for camping in north central Pennsylvania and the trout stream fed lakes stay fairly invigorating all year-round. We liked this area because it is fairly secluded and never over crowded. Our campground was virtually deserted with the exception of a few fishermen, two other families and a lone young man traveling on a bicycle.

The first morning I emerged from the "grown-up" tent into a beautiful, morning sun that promised to warm the mountains into a pleasant, late spring day. The boys were still asleep in their dome tent. The tent was new this year at the request of the boys who wanted private quarters. Joan and I were equally pleased to have "private" quarters.

I was building a small wood fire to take off the damp morning chill when Joan exited the tent wearing the white cotton shift she wore to lounge around the campsite. The chemise was ankle length, had long sleeves and a loose-fitting body. The steadily climbing sun gave sufficient back light to outline the body moving beneath. As the fire quickly caught, I shifted my attention to my bride of fourteen years.

Joan moved around the camp making coffee and starting breakfast. From my vantage point, with the sun abetting my voyeurism, my wife's body was a perfect silhouette.

Her small titties, just slightly sagging after three children, swayed and jiggled as she moved. She never wears a bra so I have to guess her cup size to be either a snug A or a loose B. They lay proudly on her chest and, I think, have improved with child rearing.

Nature's limelight continued drawing shadow pictures against the shift. I could see Joan's waist nipping down from her chest to the flare of her hips. When she turned sideways the slight roundness of her belly and the jutting roundness of her bottom were evident.

By way of a finale, it seemed, Joan turned to directly face the sun. Standing with her muscular, cheerleader legs slightly spread apart, her pear-shaped ass was perfectly outlined by an aura of sunlight. A shaft of light about two fingers across split the silhouette where her magnificent thighs meet. Giving a very slight hint of her womanhood.

I was jolted out of the sun's anatomy lesson by the clatter of the boys tumbling out of their nylon bunkhouse. I assumed the last of the breakfast chores while Joan retired to our tent to change into the uniform of the day. She reappeared a few minutes later dressed in the terrycloth halter and shorts. The faint smell of her "Windsong" perfume, a light touch of make-up and her fresh from the shower look belied the fact that her eldest son was one year shy of teenhood.

After a typical camp breakfast that resembled the menu at a truck stop the boys declared their intention to spend the majority of the day either in the lake or on the beach. Joan and I immediately capitulated envisioning a warm sunny day in a beach chair with some best seller prose.

Already in bathing suits the boys were putting on their sneakers, I was tugging on a pair of Bean's moccasins and Joan was slipping into flip-flops. I couldn't help but notice that the scarlet polish on her toe and fingernails screamed against the hunter orange of her shorts and top. Only my seductress wife would wear nail polish in the woods.

The day moved through the late morning and into the early afternoon with only us as any kind of permanent beach residents. A few people had come for a quick dip and left but we virtually owned the swim area. Joan and I spent some time reading and wading in the shallow water as the boys rotated between lake and beach, cold and warm. It was a very pleasant day.

About one in the afternoon the young man on the bicycle arrived at the beach area. He wrapped a chain, enclosed in tubing, through the frame of the bicycle and through an eyebolt embedded in the concrete parking lot. I smiled; there probably wasn't a bicycle thief within a hundred miles.

He started walking across the sandy beach toward the water. He was tall, about six feet, of average build, defined but not muscular. His hair was short, straight and satin black. He already sported a dark tan undoubtedly from his bicycle travels. The tan was evident by the white expanse between mid-thigh, where his biking shorts ended, and the thigh-high cut of his swimsuit.

Half way across the beach he dropped his helmet in the sand and sprinted toward the cold water. He entered the water still at a sprint and dove headlong for deeper liquid. It was the move of a man lacking the courage to enter cold water step by step.

The young man surfaced near the boys and within minutes new friendships were formed. There was a lot of splashing and cannon balling from the float. This went on until each rioter was a pale shade of blue at which time they headed for the warmth of the sand and towels.

Chris introduced himself as a college junior from the University of Maine traveling cross-country on a bicycle. He had stopped here for two nights and would be leaving in the morning.

He was a handsome young man with a healthy look and a compelling smile. You were immediately attracted to his friendly easy-going manner.

He stood in front of us and talked as we sat in the sand. I could see out of the corner of my eye that Joan was having some difficulty avoiding the eye level bulge in his swimsuit. I did most of the talking to monopolize his attention allowing Joan to indulge herself, which she did, unaware of my assistance.

Soon everyone warmed up and the boys and Chris bravely returned to the water.

I lay back in the sand and said, "Well did you like what you saw?"

"Yes, what a good-looking boy, nice buns." Joan made no pretense at innocence.

In two short sentences we set up a sexual current between us that each sought to heighten. I could feel my heart beating faster and my lower belly began to crawl. Joan was watching Chris walk toward the water and she was absently bouncing her legs up and down causing her thighs to rub together.

We have been playing some exhibition sex games since I discovered Joan liked to show herself to men. It is sexually exciting for me and very rewarding in our lovemaking. During some of our fantasy sessions we discussed Joan having sex with another man either on her own or with me as a third.

Unspoken, that thought hung between us like a hot wire connecting our minds.

"Why don't you go in the water and make a friend?" I suggested.

She looked into my eyes and asked, "Are you sure about this?"

We kissed our tongues fighting for control, I brushed her left tittie and said, "I love you and want you to do something thrilling, go for it!"

Joan casually waded into the water toward Chris and her offspring. The water was up about mid-thigh when the onslaught began. For a few seconds she disappeared behind a wall of splashing turbulent water as the boys and Chris attacked. When she reemerged, she was laughing and choking at the same time. Her sandy blond hair hung in dripping ringlets and the terrycloth outfit had absorbed as much water as it would hold.

The cold water was causing my wife's nipples and areolas to jut forward like small proud cones in her halter as the wet terrycloth molded itself to her small breasts. When she put on the outfit that morning, she had no intention of going into the cold lake water.

Now the wet material clung to her body like a second skin. There was only Joan and the material no lining and no underwear.

The game continued with Joan doing as much splashing as the rest but concentrating her efforts toward Chris. When she bent to scoop the water, the weight of the soaked and stretched terrycloth would pull the halter away from her chest allowing the college boy a view of two small but very lovely tits boasting half inch nipples and puckered areolas. A condition undoubtedly brought on by both the chilly water and anticipation.

The material covering Joan's ass clung to her cheeks and settled into the cleft. During any retreat there was little doubt as to how that beautiful bottom would look naked.

Chris dunked Joan a couple of times using, Joan later said, "Whatever protruding part of my landscape he could put his hands on."

She admitted to trying to dunk him but succeeded only in getting a good feel of a hard body and what promised to be respectable package.

After a few minutes of this mayhem Joan begged off claiming cold but really not wanting things to get out of hand in front of the children. She exited the water with the terrycloth hanging and clinging in all the right places. Chris' eyes mapped her retreat until she wrapped in a towel and sank down beside me.

The boys and Chris came ashore shortly thereafter and we prepared to return to our campsite.

"Why don't you come over to our camp about eight thirty for a beer or glass of wine?" I asked Chris.

"Sounds great," he returned with a wave as he started toward his bike.

Back at camp, in the privacy of the adult tent Joan was changing out of her wet things. Naked and cold her nipples trying to reach an inch long she looked both beautiful and wanton. I took her into my arms and ran my hands over the goose flesh of her cold ass. My erection held in check by my shorts pushed into her nakedness and she ground against me.

"Do you mind that I invited Chris to join us?" I asked.

I could feel the slight tremble Joan had when she got hot. "No," she replied a bit breathless, "I want the three of us to get better acquainted."

"We'll just take things as they come. If either of us has any reservations, we'll end it then," I assured us both.

The rest of late afternoon and early evening were consumed by camp chores, getting the boys some snacks and sitting around the campfire.

About seven thirty Joan excused herself to go down to the restroom/shower area. I got the boys some cokes and broke out a bottle of California red for myself. By the time the kids had consumed the cokes and I was on my second glass of wine Joan reappeared. She sported damp hair but perfect make-up including scarlet red lipstick to match her nails. She smelled of soap and the ever-present perfume.

After accepting my offer of a glass of wine Joan entered the tent and returned wearing the white cotton shift. As I handed her the wine I ran my hand down her back and over her ass. As I expected she was unencumbered by any garment other than the shift.

I could feel my semi-erection move down the leg of my shorts. In a few minutes a stranger would be joining us for the evening and my wife was dressed in a thin cotton shift and was totally naked underneath.

Chris arrived carrying twelve bottles of Labatt Blue and a lawn chair. He was dressed in sweat pants and v-neck pull over and smelled of English Leather; his ebony hair was combed straight back. It was dark enough now that when he smiled his white teeth gleamed in the firelight.

Looking at this fine young man, I could understand why Joan was so immediately drawn to him.

The boys, Chris and Joan started to prepare for roasting hotdogs and marshmallows. I grabbed a clean pair of shorts and a sweatshirt, excused myself and grabbed my own quick shower.

Somewhere around ten the camp quieted down as our hotdog and s'more filled sons retired to their stronghold and the adults settled around the campfire. I stoked up the fire and added a couple of new logs resulting in a warm, bright light and in a few minuets a mellow feeling settled over the camp.

Halfway into her second glass of wine Joan got up to check on the boys whose tent was set up at the farthest end of the camp site.

"You probably couldn't wake them with a cherry bomb," she said reappearing from the shadows.

My wife then started to tidy up the remains of the hotdog roast; a chore that placed her, often, between Chris and me and the bright fire.

She was fully aware of the effect firelight had on the shift. She even paused long enough to add another log; a bending move that allowed the silhouette's small, pointy breasts to fall away from her chest.

While firelight is a distant second to sunlight, Chris was enjoying the same sensuous silhouette dance I had enjoyed that morning.

Chris fished in the cooler for his third beer as I poured my third glass of red.

"More wine?" I called to Joan. Both Chris and I shifted our attention to the sultry dark shape moving beneath the shift.

"About half a glass," my wife replied turning to face us with legs spread and the campfire directly behind.

"Nice?" I queried nodding at Joan's silhouette.

"Beautiful," Chris returned our eyes meeting and holding for one poignant second.

"Chris and I have taken a survey of all males present and we are in agreement that you look very beautiful in the firelight," I quipped. "Don't forget your wine."

Joan approached the table to retrieve her half glass of wine. She was close enough we could smell her perfume. She gave me an almost imperceptible nod of her head and probed deep into my eyes seeking confirmation. She found what she sought.

She positioned herself, once again, between the firelight and Chris. Her legs spread slightly apart and took a sip from the goblet.

"Thank you good gentlemen for the complement," with that slight tremor in her voice. "I must think of something to return the kindness."

"Are you open for suggestions?" Chris' way of testing the waters. He continued with one arm outstretched, "If so, why not come over and join us."

My wife walked to the side of Chris' lawn chair where his outstretched arm wound itself around her waist. Joan took a deep pull on the wineglass and moved in tight to Chris, who remained seated.

Joan now had her hand on our guest's far shoulder and was gently rubbing the side of his neck. She was feeling some warming effect from the wine and drinking in the aroma of his "English Leather." Chris could undoubtedly feel her trembling.

Her eyes seeking my assent Joan asked, "Should we move into the tent and light some candles?"

Two pieces of mosquito netting and a brass zipper became the point of no return in a game Joan and I had embarked on after discovering we both enjoyed her showing off her body.

My stomach felt like I had consumed a wasp's nest and my cock was now steadily seeking the waistband of my shorts.

"Sounds great!" I managed, "Chris, any prior engagements?"

"None that I wouldn't break," he replied smiling widely and tightening his arm around my wife's waist.

Joan bent down and kissed Chris lightly on the lips unwound herself from his arm and moved to where I was standing. As her arms went around my neck she whispered, "I love you and I'm so excited I'm shaking. It feels like a fire and a million butterflies are sharing my belly."

No intentions had ever been spoken aloud. It seemed we were acting as one entity. Chris was the perfect choice, unspoken thoughts seemed to pass between him, Joan and me as if telepathic. In silent agreement we started to move toward the tent.

The tent was a large two-room affair, the main room eight foot by ten feet with a screened window in the back wall. With the exodus of our sons the smaller room on the side served as a storage area. The floor in the main room was laid with two large foam sleeping mats and two sleeping bags zipped together to form a king-size accommodation. Two camp chairs and a small folding table completed the master suite.

Chris and I retrieved the wineglasses and cooler and placed them just inside the zippered screen door on the spare room side of the enclosure. The fire afforded us enough light to refresh our drinks and we took up residence in the camp chairs.

I placed Joan's wineglass on the table between the chairs. She was busy lighting the half dozen candles divided between the table and a suitcase on the opposite side of the space.

The lighting chores completed Joan unzipped the screen door closed the nylon outer flaps and re-zipped the screen. We were now enclosed in a private candlelit cocoon with ventilation provided by the back window.

A smiling Joan, sipping from her glass, knelt between Chris and me. To break the ice I reached down and cupped my wife's right tit through the thin cotton. As I rolled the nipple between my fingers, I nodded to Chris' questioning look.

Chris tentatively weighed Joan's left breast in his left hand. As a welcome to the advance she pulled his head down and placed a lingering, hungry kiss on his mouth. I could see her cheeks depressing as she sucked in his probing tongue.

She broke the kiss but held his hand tight to her tittie. Setting down her wineglass, her free hand pulled me to her hot mouth. She was already breathing hard as our tongues entwined. I squeezed the tit allotted to me and I could feel Joan's rapidly beating heart. As she pulled her mouth from mine her hand closed over my hand on her breast.

Kneeling between Chris and me still holding our hands on her tits Joan said, "It's going to be my party and I'm in charge. Agreed?"

We couldn't agree fast enough.

"What ever you want is fine with me!" replied Chris a slight rise in his voice betraying his excitement.

"Whatever you want, I want sweetheart," I added.

Joan stood and pulled Chris to his feet and moved into his willing arms. She pushed her groin into the tented area of his sweat pants and brought her lips to his in a ravenous, searching kiss.

Chris' hands slid down Joan's back to maul her beautiful ass and pull her even tighter against the iron hard cock restrained by only the cotton of his sweat pants. Joan responded with a slight moan and a renewed assault on his mouth.

I left my chair and moved behind my wife reaching between the two bodies to cup a breast in each hand. Turning around Joan redirected her attack, filling my mouth full of twisting tongue and hot breath. I mimicked Chris' earlier action by massaging her ass and her pulling steaming cunt hard against my own, now granite, cock.

With some hesitation Joan pulled away from my embrace and asked in a very raggedy voice, "Why don't you guys take off those clothes and lie down on the sleeping bags? We have a long slow night and we might as well get comfortable."

Chris shed his top and dropped his sweat pants down to his ankles. Emerging from a thick black nest of pubic hair was seven inches of rigid circumcised cock. He was fully erect and his cock was pointing straight up his stomach. Thick, bluish veins stood out on the white shaft. A darker, purple-tan head of about the same thickness topped his rigid column. With his cock climbing up Chris' belly Joan could see the split on the underside of the head. His testicles dangling, in their wrinkled pouch, from the base of his cock appeared to be the size of golf balls.

There was an absence of any unnecessary fat on his body. The tanned, smoothly defined body exhibited a white area from mid-thigh to just below his navel. As Chris moved to extract himself from the sweats and tennis shoes, the white served to accent his dick and hard, tight ass. My wife looked mesmerized by the sight.

As I removed my own clothing, everything appeared to be moving in slow motion. I could see Chris totally naked and Joan still clad in the shift reaching for his cock. She very gently stroked it a couple of times and motioned Chris to lie down. The light touch of Joan's hand must have been maddening for Chris.

I'm shorter than Chris is and this early in the year my tan is non-existent. I've put on a few pounds but I'm not ashamed to wear a bathing suit.

My wife's attention shifted to my naked erection, uncircumcised maybe an inch shorter but definitely thicker than Chris'. The head is large and has a protruding rim that both Joan and I can feel rubbing the walls of her vagina during intercourse. My wife's hand closed around my shaft and I drew her into my arms.

showher
showher
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