tagLoving WivesLinda's All-Over Tan

Linda's All-Over Tan

byquinn rogan©

Now that I'm past the age of 50, and know a thing or two, I find it hard to believe what an innocent little soul I was about thirty years ago.

I left school at sixteen and started to work in a bank. It was the late sixties, and computers were just coming in. The bank became computerised and recruited from within for programmers. I took the aptitude test and passed, and was transferred to the computer centre, in Berkshire.

I was a Northern lad, from Leeds, and reckoned I could teach these southern softies a thing or two. I had a steady girlfriend, Linda, who also worked in the bank. When I got my transfer, we decided we couldn't bear to be parted, so she got a transfer to a local branch, and we got married – this was in the days before unmarried couples could live together.

So we bought a small semi-detached house in a village on the outskirts of Reading and we had a year of fabulous sex. We had done it before we got married, but opportunities had been few and far between – I didn't even have a car then! – and now we suddenly had a whole house to run around naked in. Linda was a cracking-looking girl – quite small and slight, with long blonde hair and blue eyes, and a lovely pair of perky little tits and a little round bum you could stack a tea-service on!

We shagged ourselves silly in every room in the house and I thought of very little else but sex for the first few months of our marriage. Linda was pretty reserved, as a rule, but she could get very roused when we were 'at it' and I really began to think I was some sort of sex god.

We both played a bit of tennis and we joined the village club almost as soon as we arrived. Linda was really pretty good and she was soon turning out for the club's first team, while I made it into the seconds. The teams were both mixed double outfits, playing against other clubs in a twenty-mile radius.

My regular partner was a woman in her late thirties, called Jennifer St Clair, who was married to the local nob – a landed gentry type called Peter, who was a sort of gentleman farmer. He had been in the Army – the Guards, I think – and he had come out as a Major. They had two teenage kids, who were both away at boarding-school.

Jennifer and I got on O.K. She wasn't as 'posh' as he was – and she came from Yorkshire, too. Her parents had a farm in Swaledale. She was O.K. to look at, too – quite tall, with long athletic legs and really large, bouncy breasts. One of the bonuses of playing with her was the occasional glimpse of her cleavage when she bent down to pick up a ball.

We travelled to away matches by car and, usually, Jennifer commandeered the farm Land Rover and all six of us would squeeze in. One night towards the end of the season, though, she turned up at our house alone to pick me up. On the way, she explained that the other four were going on somewhere afterwards, so Geoff had taken his car.

I quite enjoyed riding in the front seat for a change – especially as Jennifer already had her tennis gear on and her skirt left practically all her long tanned thighs exposed as she drove along. Well, we played our match and Jennifer and I won the decisive last one to give us victory. The opposition entertained us to supper in a local pub and it was dark when we set off back home.

I had had a couple of pints and I was feeling quite good. Jennifer and I chatted about the match and she was very complimentary about the way I had played. I was still in my shorts and, once, she put her hand briefly on my thigh as she recalled a game-winning smash I had delivered.

She took it off again quite quickly but I immediately started wondering what she would do if I did the same thing to her. Honestly, although I had enjoyed my sneaky looks down her top, I hadn't even thought of trying anything on with her until that moment! But, while I was still thinking about it, and during a lull in our conversation, she put her hand back on my thigh and, this time, she left it there.

I couldn't think of anything to say, and she didn't say anything, either, so, after a few seconds, I reached across and put my hand on her thigh.

She glanced across at me and smiled, then pulled into the side of the road and stopped the Land Rover. It was very quiet once the engine had cut out. We were on a deserted country lane, tree-lined on both sides. Jennifer leaned across and her lips met mine.

Automatically, I returned her kiss, and lifted my hand off her leg to put my arms round her. To my astonishment, I felt her hand slide up my thigh and come to rest on my crotch. My cock, of course, began to get hard and she cupped her hand round it, through the material of my shorts.

My first thought was that, if she was feeling my cock, I could feel her tits, but, even so, I half-expected her to knock my hand away as I pushed it up between us. Then I felt the bulge in her shirt, and squeezed. After Linda's much smaller ones, they felt huge. I brought my other hand round and took one in each hand.

Jennifer broke off our kiss and smiled at me. "I thought they had caught your eye," she whispered. "Would you like to see them?"

"Yes, please," I replied, quite seriously, and she sat back and fiddled under her shirt. Her hands emerged, holding her bra, which she dropped on the back seat. She smiled again, then, with one movement, pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it in the back. Then she linked her fingers behind her head and said, "What do you think?"

Her large breasts stood out on her chest, her nipples and areolae dark against the milky-white skin. I said nothing, but leaned over and took one of her nipples in my mouth, while my hand closed over the warm softness of her other breast.

She breathed, – "That's nice" – and ran her fingers through my hair, pushing my face against her bare breast. Her nipple was quite small, but hard, and I ran my tongue over the end of it. My right hand squeezed her other breast harder and rolled her nipple between my thumb and index finger.

I felt Jennifer's breath on my neck and then her teeth lightly nibbled my earlobe. I raised my head and found her mouth again. Her full lips opened wide and her tongue found mine. I dropped my hand from her breast and found the inside of her thigh, just below her short tennis skirt.

I started to slide it up, but, suddenly, her hand caught mine and lifted it away. Her tongue withdrew from my mouth and she broke off our kiss.

"Let's not rush things," she said, gently. "We ought to be getting home."

I opened my mouth to speak but she put a finger on my lips.

"I'm a bit beyond all those gymnastics in the back seats of cars," she said. "Let's wait for a better time, and place."

I swallowed my disappointment, and nodded.

"Can you reach my shirt for me, please?" she asked and I obediently turned and picked it up off the back seat. Then I put it on my lap and took her large breasts in my hands. She smiled at me in the half-darkness.

"You like them, then?"

"Oh, yes," I replied. "They're lovely."

"Give them a goodnight kiss, then," she said, and I bent my head again and tongued each of her nipples in turn.

Then she put her shirt – but not her bra – back on again and started up the Land Rover. Ten minutes later, she dropped me outside my house.

Linda was keen to know how we had got on and I did my best to describe the match and to drive the memory of what had happened in the Land Rover to the back of my mind, but, once Linda and I were in bed, and I was fondling Linda's small firm tits, it was the memory of Jennifer's big soft ones which stiffened my rod as it slid between Linda's parted thighs. …………………………………………………………………………………………………………

I wondered how I was going to make any progress with Jennifer. I didn't see her for the next three days, and then she was almost driven from my mind when Linda's widowed mother was diagnosed with inoperable cancer and, three weeks later, she was dead.

It was a terrible time. She had only just turned 50 and Linda took it terribly hard. Tennis was out – for both of us – for the rest of the season and we spent most of the autumn going up and down to Yorkshire, sorting things out, along with Linda's elder brother, who lived in London.

Eventually, early in the New Year, the house was sold and, when the estate was all sorted out, Linda and her brother got just over £10,000 each – a lot of money, in these days. Linda had lost a lot of enthusiasm for work, and she took the opportunity the money gave her to resign, and applied to go to university the next autumn to study languages and, eventually, to teach them.

She left work at the end of March and began to brush up her languages at home. She also began to get back to her normal self and, thank goodness, our sex life, which had suffered badly, took off again. Linda had lost a little weight, but her tits and her bum were still perky and rounded, and we were soon 'at it' in every corner of the house again.

For some reason, too, Linda became much more imaginative, conversationally, in bed, and began to develop a taste for crude language and describing imaginary situations to turn me on. One of her favourite fantasies was that she was a waitress for four rich Arabs in a private dining-room in a posh hotel – wearing all the little black dress and white apron stuff – and, after an evening of her trying to stop their hands sliding up her thighs while she served them, they eventually converged on her, stripped her totally naked - ignoring her tears and protests - and then made her continue serving them, naked, while they felt her all over. Then, after they had had their coffee, they bent her over the table and, lifting their robes, took her, one by one, doggy-fashion, with their impossibly long, brown, hard cocks.

I found this very erotic, despite my misgivings about enjoying the thought of my wife having sex with other men, and our sex life became even more enriched.

She started tennis again and, because she could play during the day, quickly regained her form. She also began to get quite friendly with Jennifer and often went back to her house with her for a coffee, or lunch, after they had played. Jennifer's 'house' was actually not far short of a mansion – it was a large sprawling farmhouse, with a huge garden, and a fenced-round swimming-pool.

This was in the summer of 1977, which was pretty well wall-to-wall sunshine, and she soon had an early-season tan. One night, while she was stripping for bed, I noticed that her breasts and bottom, while not as tanned as the rest of her, were not milky-white, either. For some reason, this excited me and I started touching her up as soon as she got in beside me.

As always, these days, she was ready for me and, after tonguing her erect little nipples for a while, I asked her about her 'all-over tan'.

She chuckled throatily and, after teasing me for a while, she admitted that, for the last week or two, she and Jennifer had been spending most afternoons swimming, and sunbathing, nude, in Jennifer's pool.

"Do you like my tanned tits?" she asked, her hand snaking down to feel my cock.

"Yes," I breathed, nuzzling her neck as her fingers caressed the underside of my erection. "And your bum!"

She giggled.

"You should see Jennifer's!" she said, then let out a mock squeal of protest as she felt my cock jerk in her hand. For an awful second or two, I felt as if she could read my mind, which had instantly replayed the excitement of the moment when Jennifer had exposed her tits to me in the Land Rover more than six months ago.

Linda squeezed my cock, hard, and then said – "Oh, I don't blame you. She has got gorgeous big tits – and they're so firm! I wish mine were like that. I'd love to have big breasts like that."

"What – so that all the men would look at you?" I said, more to steer the conversation away from Jennifer's big tits than anything else.

"Oh, yes," she breathed, her hand now cupping my balls. "Yes – all looking at me, and stripping me with their eyes."

"They do that now," I said, becoming turned on, myself, by this twist in the conversation. My mouth had dried a little.

"Do they?" breathed Linda, her mouth now circling my nipples and biting them, gently. "Do other men wonder what I look like, naked?"

"Yes," I murmured. "I see them trying to look under your tennis skirt when you play a smash, and they can see the tops of your thighs, and your panties stretched tight across your lovely round bum. And when you bend down to pick up the balls, and your t-shirt falls forward and they see the tops of your breasts ..."

"Oh," she whispered. "They're really trying to see my tits, are they? Maybe, next time, I won't wear a bra, then they'll be able to see my nipples."

That was the moment when I changed from a jealous, possessive husband into – what?

I didn't know, then – all I knew was, when I thought of my pretty little blonde wife getting a thrill out of leaning forward so that some guy could sneak a look at her tits, I felt a charge go through my balls like an electric shock and my cock turned into a rigid pole.

"Would you like that?" I managed to mutter. Suddenly, my tongue was furred and I had difficulty getting the words out.

"Oh, yes," whispered Linda. "And then, when I'd finished playing, I'd go into the long grass behind the pavilion with one of them – no, two – and we'd play 'you show me yours and I'll show you mine' and ... " - but she never did finish her fantasy as, overcome by the strength of the image she was building up in my mind, I gripped Linda's shoulders, forcing her on to her back, then thrust my knee between her thighs to spread her legs apart and drove my prick inside her. She gasped with surprise, but she was very moist and her tight cunt muscles gripped me as I thrust in and out of her.

I was still speaking, between gasps – I don't recall exactly what I was saying, but I do know that, in my mind, it was another man on top of Linda, driving his huge hard cock inside her, and this image brought me quickly to a shuddering climax, with stars bursting in my brain.

I don't know if Linda came, too, that night. I fell on top of her, completely spent and, the next thing I knew, it was morning, and I was on my own in the bed. I could hear Linda downstairs and my heart dropped as the events of the previous night came back to me.

How could I get turned on by thinking of her with someone else? What kind of husband – what kind of man – was I? But, even as my conscience grappled with the problem, I felt my cock begin to stir as the images returned. Despite myself, my hand slid down to grip my tool and I only just managed to grab a paper tissue before I came. I had never wanked since our marriage – what was happening to me?

I got up and had a shower, then, with some trepidation, went downstairs. But Linda was absolutely normal. She made no reference to the previous night, but her good-morning kiss was as warm and loving as always.


And life went on, more or less, normally. That night, when we went to bed, I stayed off the subject of Linda and other men, and was rewarded with a graphic description of the wide dark bush of pubic hair between Jennifer's thighs. On future occasions, to avoid what was now a 'forbidden' topic for me, Linda was happy to describe the naked bodies of other women and girls at the tennis club, which I found a real turn-on.

Sometimes, she would take it a little further and ask me how I would like to get my hands on somebody's tits, or feel them up between the legs, and this fantasising always led to a really good fuck session between us.

I met Jennifer occasionally at the club, and she was always friendly, but nothing more. We no longer played in the same team – I was now in the first team, with Linda, although we didn't play as a couple – so Jennifer and I were never alone together, now. I assumed that, now she was so friendly with Linda, anything between us was now out of the question. Anyway, my sex life with Linda was so good, I didn't really have any regrets.

In the early summer, Jennifer and Peter went off on a short holiday, and Linda agreed to feed their cats every day. On the Saturday morning, she was busy in the house, and she asked me to do it. I said I would, and asked her what I had to do.

She handed me a key.

"You go in through the gate from the lane at the top of their property," she said. "You'll need the key to get in."

I didn't understand, and Linda explained that the gates at the front of the house were padlocked, while the St Clairs were away, and it was much easier to enter their property, which had a high stone wall all around its perimeter, by going through the big wooden door set into the wall on the northern boundary, on a little-used lane. From there, you went through a little copse of trees, and emerged at the top of a little hill, which overlooked the back of the house. The cats lived in an outhouse by the kitchen, and the food was there.

Well, since I was going to enter by the lane, which was just at the back of our estate, I didn't have to take the car – a ten-minute walk saw me by the big door in the high wall, and the key turned easily. The door swung open and I found myself in the welcome shade of the little stand of trees. A path led through them for about fifteen or twenty yards, then, suddenly, I was at the top of a little hill, looking down at the back of the house, the sun glinting at me, reflected by the blue water in the swimming pool.

I walked down the hill, located the outhouse, and left the cat food in three trays on the floor. There was no sign of the cats.

As I made my way back, I tried the handle of the door in the fence which surrounded the pool, but it was locked. I was curious to see where my wife and Jennifer spent their afternoons, naked, and my balls tightened a little at the thought. I glanced back at the house. The pool had a six-foot fence all round, so anything inside could not be seen from ground level, but it was obvious that the first floor windows would offer an excellent view.

I wondered if Peter had ever ... Again, my balls tightened and my mouth dried. I knew, if I had been him – and if I knew my wife had a female friend naked in there – I wouldn't be able to resist the chance of a voyeur's look. Had Jennifer told Peter about her afternoon sessions with Linda? Well, Linda had told me ...

I was at the top of the hill, now. I turned and looked down. The pool was in full view – especially the lounging area nearest the house, farthest away from where I was, now. 'Jesus!' I thought. I felt the key in my pocket. My heart began to beat, very fast.

I hurried through the trees, opened and locked the gate, and made my way home, at a quick trot. Letting myself into the house, I called to Linda that I was going into the town to get a newspaper. She called back "OK" and I jumped into the car.

Half an hour later, I was back, with the Daily Mail – and a duplicate of the key to the door in the lane. I had already tried it out to make sure it worked, and it was now safely jammed under the driver's seat of the car. I was sure the St Clairs seldom used that door and that I should be able to come and go unobserved, if I was careful.

Also, the trees would give excellent cover. The only thing was the distance down the hill, which must have been about a hundred yards, but I had already made up my mind to buy a pair of binoculars. I was really trembling in anticipation as I re-entered the house.

On Monday, I spent my lunch-hour looking for a small, but good, pair of binoculars and eventually I found what I wanted. I decided to keep them in my office desk, for now, as I had figured out that my most likely time would be mid-afternoon, and I would make some excuse to leave work early, taking the binoculars with me.

I managed to stop myself asking when Jennifer and Peter would be coming back and, on Thursday, my patience was rewarded when Linda told me that Jennifer had called to say they were back. In a casual way, I asked if Linda would be playing tennis with Jennifer the next day, but she said Jennifer's sister and her husband had come back with them, and would be staying the weekend. Linda had a game fixed up with someone else, though, and wouldn't be home until after five.

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byquinn rogan© 0 comments/ 216311 views/ 23 favorites

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