Surprise from My S-I-L

Five years ago, only in her early fifties, my wife Joan passed away from cancer,. Our children were all married, and there were only the two of us at home. Joan left two older brothers, and her younger sister by almost a decade, Diane. The two were very different - my wife was rather serious and reserved, not easily able to show affection, and not very fashion-conscious. Her younger sister, on the other hand, who married a few days after her eighteenth birthday, was slim, well-dressed, much more outgoing, and retained the face and figure of her very elegant mid-thirties! The two daughters were the nicest of the family - certainly nicer than their parents, my in-laws, whom I detested for their pomposity, their meanness, and the way in which they had all but ignored my wife's years of suffering during her illness.

Nothing ever happened between Diane and me, but I had always sensed a quiet, unexpressed electricity. After Joan died, Diane and I kept in touch from time to time. She lived in the UK countryside, and on my short business visits once a year or so we would meet for coffee, usually in London.

Last summer I let her know that I would be in England for longer than usual - almost two weeks, and she immediately emailed me back and invited me to stay with her and her husband over a weekend. They lived in an old, but modernized, country house near Oxford, and I was very happy to accept the invitation.

Come the day, and I arrived on a sunny summer Friday afternoon. Diane and her husband, Jonathan, were clearly happy to see me. She showed me to my room, which was very comfortable; I showered, changed and joined them on the garden terrace for drinks. She was wearing a summer dress, fashionable and fairly low-cut, and - was it my imagination? - as she sat opposite me seemed to be tantalizing me with glimpses of thigh and leg as she crossed and re-crossed her legs.

In the middle of our small-talk, Jonathan's cell-phone rang.

"What? In New York? When?" He was suddenly very alert and serious, sitting forward on his chair, looking at his watch. Diane and I exchanged glances. He listened on his phone for another minute or two. "OK. I'll be there tomorrow. I can get an early flight from Heathrow," he said, and shut off the phone.

He sat back, and turned to his wife.

"We have trouble. That was James. They have uncovered a fraud in the New York office. I've got to get there." He turned to me. "Mike, I'm so sorry. You'll have to excuse me. I have to go and book a flight."

Jonathan disappeared for not more than fifteen minutes. When he came back, he looked at Diane. "OK. I'm flying out first thing in the morning. I'll have to leave here at about 5 tomorrow morning to get to Heathrow. I should be back on Tuesday. Sorry! I've spoiled the weekend."

"Darling, don't worry. I'm sorry that you won't be here, but I'll just have to entertain Mike by myself!"

Nothing more was said on the subject. At about 7:30 Jonathan lit up the BBQ, and we had a tasty al fresco supper on the terrace, looking out over the English countryside. We talked about this and that, including a lot of family gossip; by 9:30 I was tired, and Jonathan clearly wanted an early night. We had our nightcaps and went to bed. I have to admit that I was a little curious as to how the weekend would play out with just myself alone with the vivacious Diane.

I had good reason to be curious. Early the following morning, just as dawn was breaking, I heard the garage door open, and the sound of Jonathan's car rolling down the gravel drive, and disappearing up the country lane towards the motorway and then out to the airport.

I lay in bed, half-awake, and thinking that if I could I should get another couple of hours sleep. But I suddenly heard my bedroom door opening slowly. I looked up. In the calm, quiet half-light, Diane was standing with her back against the door, dressed in a soft white robe. When she saw me awake, she smiled, and slowly walked across the room. As she reached a few feet away from my bed, she opened the robe, and shrugged it off. Underneath she was wearing lacy, lavender-colored underwear.

She reached my bed and sat on the edge. Her hand stroked my stomach and immediately went to find my cock under the duvet. She smiled at me. "Don't say a word," she murmured, as she caressed and stroked my cock and balls. Suddenly she swung around, and stretched out in the bed with me. Our hands were all over each other. Her long back and well-preserved bottom felt gorgeous. I reached around and unclipped her bra, freeing her very well-shaped and soft breasts.

We spent ages just stroking each other. I stroked and gently squeezed her breasts, and then sucked her hard nipples. She was emitting short groans, and breathing deeper and deeper. She took my hand and placed it firmly on her buttocks. Through her panties I dug my fingers into her cleft and stroked her anus.

"I never knew you were arsey," she whispered.

"Do you like that?" I asked.

"Adore it," she replied.

"We're both overdressed," I said.

She responded by pulling down her panties and wriggling out of them, and them pulling off my pajamas, top and bottom. My prick was really hard by this time. She twisted under me and lay on her back, and opened her legs.

"Fuck me now," she moaned.

I entered her wet cunt. She immediately began pushing her pelvis to rub herself against my hard prick. I found this - well - interesting technique, and lay still above her as she flailed around on my cock. She rocked herself backwards and forwards, and was quickly building up to her orgasm. With a series of gasps she came in a long, writhing climax and I could feel her cunt constricting on my cock.

She lay back. "Not bad, big boy. What do you want?"

"Doggy," I said.

She grinned, got up and turned round to crouch on all fours. She made herself comfortable with her head on a pillow, and her bottom and genitalia up in the air. I held her buttocks and just pounded away, enjoying the exquisite sensation of the heavily lubricated stimulation on my penis. I leaned forward and squeezed her breasts, lightly twisting her nipples. Then I remembered her previous comment, and started stroking her arse. She looked back, grinning. So a finger started exploring her anus. She responded by reaching back underneath herself, and with two well-manicured fingers started gently scratching my balls. It was too much; I came explosively within her.

We both collapsed on the bed, spooning.

"You know," Diane whispered, "Before she died Joan told me that she felt that she'd never given you enough sex, and never been able to give you the sex she thought you wanted." (I remained silent - but she was right. I was astonished that Joan had said this to Diane.) "We had a good giggle when I said that maybe someday I'd try and make it up on her behalf."

We spent most of the rest of the day in bed, lazily masturbating each other, giving each other back rubs, and dozing on and off. In the late afternoon we showered, got dressed, and went out for a long, warm, country walk, which ended with a pint at a local pub. We got back to the house, and grilled a couple of steaks for supper. Afterwards, we both changed and spent a couple of hours watching a film on television. At about 9:00 Diane said quietly "Bed."

She took me by the hand and led me upstairs, this time to her master bedroom. We had a delicious night!

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