The Visit

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A guest staying at Valentines day turns things upside down.
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m_storyman_x
m_storyman_x
10,322 Followers

Life has grown quite comfortable. My wife and I are old enough that it's time to start "enjoying" life a little more as we move closer to retirement. Our four kids are all grown and out of the house, allowing us more freedom to do what we want when we want. We've taken the opportunity to not have to worry about kid's schedules and activities and such to try and be more spontaneous in our activities. We can decide on Saturday morning that we want to go drive across the state to go see something, take a hike in a state park, go fishing, whatever we want. It's been enjoyable in that respect. Most days I come home from work and change, working on one of my many projects, or sit around and watch TV, until it's time to start cooking dinner, which I typically do because I'm home from work before my wife.

Yeah. That's right. I still play dad in the kitchen even though the kids are gone and we could choose to eat at whatever hour we want. Habit is a hard thing to change, and quite frankly my body likes to eat between five and six, which we usually do since I'm cooking, my wife rarely home from school before five-thirty or six.

Typically when she gets home she isn't in the best of moods either. Dealing with eighty plus middle schoolers tends to be tiring, and most dinner times are spent listening to her vent about what Johnny or Janey did to piss her off. After dinner, we sit on the sofa and watch TV until she falls asleep, usually after only a few minutes. This has generated the unfortunate consequence that spontaneity in our relationship has translated into most areas with the notable exception of sex. Yep, that's right. SEX!

Don't get me wrong. I LOVE my wife! I've loved her since I saw her the first time thirty-six years ago, and I still love her every bit as much now as I did then. Oh don't get me wrong. Our life has at times been very tumultuous, partly caused by difficult circumstances and unexpected health issues, and partly because, like many men, I am at times STUPID! Yes, I do mean that kind of stupid. Years ago I made the ultimate mistake and got involved with someone that my wife knew. It started accidently enough, helping her friend out on an ice cold winter night trying to thaw the pipes on her mobile home. The pipe burst and I was soaked before I could stem the flow.

As I said, it was innocent enough, having to get undressed and sit around in just a towel until my clothes dried enough to go home. After a little lighthearted joking about the situation, she undressed as well so that we were now both sitting in towels, which somehow turned into tugging at each other's towels until we were both naked. I'm sure you can guess what happened after that. Like I said, STUPID! After a very hard few months my wife forgave me, though she never quite forgot. She blamed me for allowing myself into such a compromising situation, and the marriage counselor did her best to try and impress on her that part of the reason it happened is because men need sex much more frequently than the once per month she was willing or interested in putting out. While sex improved for a while, she resented it, feeling like she was having sex just for my sake, and eventually I got angry and told her that if she didn't want to have sex with me, then don't. I don't think we had sex for almost four months after that. Eventually we got to where we've been for quite a few years now. Sex on Saturday or Sunday mornings every couple weeks. Not nearly as much as I NEED, but it's enough to keep our marriage intact, which is the goal, since it holds so much more for both of us than just sex.

Being a very giving and caring person, it's no surprise that my wife became a teacher. In addition to all the students she mentors and helps, it isn't unusual for her to volunteer to take one of the new teachers under her wing and teach her the ropes. She never ever mentors a male teacher, presumably to prevent anything close to what happened with me from happening with her. Her latest fledgling was Chris. A thirty-five year old teacher transferring in from another district. She mentored her all the previous school year, having her and occasionally her husband, over for dinner or barbeques and even on a couple occasions trips to the lake with our boat. I liked Chris. She was a very effervescent person, always ready with a smile or a joke. She was slightly shorter than me, though only half of my weight if I were to guess. She had a tight, petite body with a good looking chest, and if I were to guess from the size of the bikini she wore on the boat, had all her blond curls shaved off where it counts.

Her husband was about my size, maybe a bit more muscular and seeming to be in a perpetually bad mood. He drank way too much for my comfort and seemed more interested in my wife's chest than anything else, except maybe for the beer in his hand. Clearly my wife has big tits, her thirty-four double D's easily twice as large as Chris's tits. That's not to say hers are bad looking or small. Quite the contrary, from the view I got in her bikini, I'd guess they were nice full C cups and they wiggled almost the perfect amount every time she moved.

At school functions, I never saw Chris in anything but professional dress, skirts down almost to her knees or pantsuits of various styles. Away from school, I'd noticed that she wore much more revealing clothing, frequently tight short dresses or short shorts. I had no idea just how revealing those outfits really could be until she moved in with us. Yeah, you heard that right. She came home from work one day about six months ago and her husband had cleaned out their apartment, right down to the lease expiring that same day. All he left her was her personal items in the bathroom, her clothes hanging in the closet or piled on the floor and a box of trash bags. Everything else was gone. I'm sure you can imagine what happened next. Yep, that's right. She called my wife in a panic who immediately grabbed me to help pack and move her clothes and stuff into our guest room until she could sort things out. That was way back in September. Here it was, February and she was still living with us, in some ways like an adult child. He cleaned out all the money from their account and left her with a pile of bills and no cash, no car, nothing.

She's slowly getting her feet under her. She has her own cell phone now and she contributes to the food budget and is working on paying off enough bills and setting aside money to get an apartment, though she has a little ways to go yet. She's still borrowing one of our cars, fortunately we have three, though she most often rides to and from work with my wife.

Having her in the house has been quite an adjustment. Where I'd gotten comfortable walking around the house in my underwear or pj's, I had to be careful now that I was adequately covered. If I made a trip to the laundry room for a clean pair of pants, I needed to be sure she wasn't going to walk out on me or I had to wear enough that I wouldn't be embarrassed. After six months though, how much it took to not be embarrassed had gotten considerably less. A t-shirt and boxers were now "adequate", even in my wife's opinion. She hadn't even balked at one time sending me in nothing but a towel to the dryer for the load of underwear she'd washed the previous night, needing a clean bra. I was never very good at the tucked towel thing and ended up dashing the last little bit down the hall with my arms full of clothes and my towel laying in the hallway, much to her amusement.

The other thing that was difficult to adjust to was Chris's dress habits. The first thing she did when she got home from school was to change into something "comfortable". During the warm months, this typically consisted of either micro shorts or tiny skirts, each topped with a tank top, frequently without anything under it. Now that it'd gotten to be winter, her 'go to' was either form fitting yoga pants or the total opposite, floppy gym shorts and sweat shirts. True this shouldn't be a problem, but it seemed that virtually everything she wore was in some way designed or intended to showcase or flash body parts. And flash she did, frequently.

Since she had moved in I had learned just how sexy her tits could look, at least the parts that I'd seen. I'd learned that she was indeed shaved completely, and also just how much inner labia protruded when she chose not to wear panties, which were never anything except tiny thongs. Her breasts were indeed C cups, thirty-two C to be exact, and she kept a small assortment of vibrators and dildos in her room in a shoebox.

While these all seem pretty personal, all of these facts were learned quite by accident and innocently. What did surprise me, was that after the first few weeks I heard absolutely no complaints from my wife about her attire, which she frequently lamented was "awfully exposing" while we were getting ready for bed.

Yeah. Bed. I guess I need to say something about that too. For Chris, bed wear seems to consist of one of two things, panties and bra, or a nightshirt with nothing under it. Her choice of a nightshirt is barely long enough to cover her ass, and regardless of which color she chooses, pink, cream, white, all are mostly translucent enough for me to make out the dark circles of her areola. Oh yeah. She never wears panties with it, so it takes nothing in her motions to accidently, at least I presume accidently, to flash her bare pussy. As I said before, her choice of underwear is only thongs, so seeing her walk down the hall to the kitchen is always enticing, given her ass looks completely bare and sexy.

Overall I wasn't minding the titillating views I was getting, but I was concerned. I'd already made one mistake and I wasn't shooting for another. Consequently I was making frequent requests for sex with my wife due to the added stimulation, which were just as frequently rebuffed because she was tired, or just didn't feel like it. Even our Saturday morning sex seemed abbreviated now that Chris was living with us. This left me with little choice but frequent hand jobs in the shower to relieve the pressure.

The few exceptions to Saturday morning sex were Valentine's Day, our anniversary and my birthday. On those three occasions my wife made a special effort to wear something sexy and to be a more active participant. For Valentine's Day, we usually went out for dinner at a nice restaurant, came home and changed into something more appropriate for a sensual date, and then settled down for a romantic movie of some kind before heading back to the bedroom for a little before bed sex. Last year she'd even gone so far as to allow me to start the preliminaries in the living room while we were watching the movie, giving me free reign with her position to play with either her big tits or her pussy. Sex that night seemed even better than most of our "special" occasions, though this year, well today actually, I didn't have much hope for a repeat of that. In fact, I wasn't at all sure what we were going to get to do.

As always, we got up, my wife showered while I made lunches and breakfast. Chris typically showered before bed to avoid any conflicts and tended to stay in bed a few extra minutes.

"Morning Andrew!" she said as she walked through the kitchen towards the laundry room wearing only a tiny white thong panty. "I seem to be completely out of bras this morning."

"Uh huh," I answered, trying not to stare at her tits as they bounced and wiggled slightly with each barefoot step. I watched her bare ass head to the laundry room and then push out at me as she bent over to dig in the dryer. She pulled out a tiny white, lacy bra and stood, facing me, clipping it around her body before pulling the semi sheer lace cups up over both breasts and her clearly hard nipples. By the time she walked back through the kitchen my pj bottoms were tented out obviously. She walked back by me, clearly trying to suppress a grin while she checked out the bulge in the plaid flannel on the way back by.

"Damn," I muttered to myself as I watched her turn and go back into the guest room down the hall. I shook my head to clear the image away and went back to work putting bacon on the microwave tray for breakfast.

"Morning lover!" my wife said sweetly as she walked into the room a few moments later. She walked up behind me and wrapped both arms around my waist, leaning her face to my neck and softly kissing my neck. "Thank you for the card," she whispered in appreciation of the Valentine's Day card I left on her pillow.

"You're welcome lover," I said, turning my head so we could actually kiss on the lips. She pressed her hot lips to mine, the scent of her flowery perfume almost as strong as the minty scent of her mouth wash as she breathed deeply after the seconds long kiss. I felt her hand slide down and grab my half hard cock through my pj bottoms.

"Someone's turned on," she whispered, squeezing my cock for a moment and then sliding her hand farther up to pull the tie on the waistband. I felt my pj's slide down over my ass and then pool around my ankles as her hand moved back down to my now bare cock. "Seems like someone's really turned on," she whispered as she slowly stroked my cock. "Looking forward to tonight?"

"You know I am," I answered before she pressed her lips to mine again, sucking my lower lip gently as she teased my quickly hardening shaft.

"Me too," she whispered as she broke the kiss, smiling at me as she let go of my cock and stepped back. I looked past her and saw Chris standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall, watching us, again, trying to suppress a smile.

"Damn," I muttered, quickly bending down to pull my pj pants up while I blushed. I half expected my wife to say SOMETHING, but instead she walked to the kitchen table as if nothing had happened and sat down to pour a cup of coffee from the pot that I'd set on the table for her.

"What should we eat tonight? Italian or Sushi? Let's do Sushi. I know that's your favorite," my wife said as she stirred her coffee.

"Um. Sure. Sushi sounds great," I answered.

"It does, doesn't it?" Chris added as she stepped out of the hall and sat down across from my wife.

I opened and closed my mouth half a dozen times, trying to figure out how to uninvite Chris from what I was planning as a romantic evening date with my wife. Sadly, nothing came out and my wife didn't object either, leaving me feeling somewhat dejected and frustrated. If she was going to dinner with us, then it was pretty obvious nothing else was happening either, which made what my wife just did to me even more frustrating.

I finished putting the bacon on the tray and stuffed it into the microwave before turning to the stove and cracking some eggs in the pan to fry. I stood there, my pj bottoms tented out obscenely from the hard-on my wife had given me, frying eggs. In just a few minutes I was setting plates on the table with eggs on them, my hard-on somewhat reduced, but still extremely obvious. Neither of them made any mention of how it must have looked, Chris still trying to suppress a smile, my wife completely ignoring the results of her attentions. I got the bacon out of the microwave and set it on the table as well, sitting down at my normal spot at the end of the table with my wife sitting across the corner to my left and Chris similarly to my right.

I almost choked on my mouth full of fried egg when I felt a hand on my right knee. It would have been unusual enough to feel a hand on my left knee, the side my wife was sitting on. But on my right knee? Chris's hand? I set my fork down as unobtrusively as I could and reached under the table to gently remove her hand. Last thing I needed was to have my wife think I've been playing footsie with Chris! Even though I'm completely innocent other than a little looking, trying to convince her would be damn near impossible!

I took a drink of my glass of milk and before I could pick up my fork again I felt a foot on mine. The foot, clearly from my right side, slowly teased up and down my shin, pushing the leg of my pj pants up as her bare toes stroked up my skin. I was powerless to stop her attentions to my leg, and tried to ignore it as I went back to eating. She leaned farther forward toward the table and I felt a hand on my thigh, gently stroking my flannel covered leg.

I nervously looked over at my wife, thankfully seeing that she hadn't noticed what was going on under the table. She seemed intent on reading an e-mail on her phone as the hand on my thigh pushed farther, sliding to my lap, her fingers finding and teasing into the fly of the pants. I sat, trying to look normal, as her fingers teased my cock with nothing between them. After a few seconds Chris removed her hand and thankfully straightened up again, looking as normal as if nothing had happened. Barely three seconds went by before she dropped her napkin and leaned over to retrieve it, her hand reaching out to my lap as she bent over, quickly finding the still gaping fly. She pushed the fingers of her right hand into the gap in the fabric and wormed out my partly hard dick, leaving a good portion of it exposed as she straightened back up with her napkin.

I sat there, trying to be as normal as possible as she reached under the table again, finding my cock and gently stroking her hand on it, slowly teasing it down as far as she could and then letting her hand slide up and over my mushroom head. After about a dozen excruciatingly slow strokes, she let go and straightened up again across the table from my wife as if nothing had ever happened.

"Goodness! We better get going!" my wife suddenly said, clicking off her phone and pushing away from the table. She leaned over and gave me a quick peck on the lips, as she usually did before she headed off to work, and then turned and walked toward the laundry room and the garage.

"See you tonight," Chris said quietly, leaning down and kissing me on the lips slowly and wetly, her hand sliding down my front to my exposed cock. She wrapped her hand around it and stroked it slowly while she sucked my lips, one after the other in a hot sensuous kiss. Without another word she broke the kiss, pulled her hand from my lap and walked away.

"Holy shit," I swore quietly when she was out of earshot. I heard my wife call down the hall that she'd see me tonight and then the garage door closed with a soft bang. "I'm so fucking in trouble if Elaine finds out what Chris did," I muttered, shaking my head.

I gave up on breakfast and stood up, my cock still sticking out like a flagpole. I cleared the table and then headed to the bedroom to get showered and dressed for work. I turned on the light and saw something left on my pillow.

I picked up the small red wrapped package and pulled off the paper, tossing it into the trashcan next to the bed. I opened the box and found a small pair of bikini briefs. My wife, years ago, used to like seeing me in men's bikini briefs, so I was amply familiar with them, even though now I typically wore boxer briefs. These though, were different from what I used to wear in the material selection. These were a bright red, almost fire engine red, mesh that was sure to hide exactly nothing. There was a folded note tucked inside the folded material.

"Lover. You always want me to wear nice sexy see-through outfits. I thought this time you might enjoy doing the same for me. Put these on knowing that I'm wearing something equally revealing under my dress."

Confused. Yeah. Definitely confused! If this wasn't a prelude to a sexy night, I didn't know what was. But her invitation to Chris for dinner was anything but a romantic sexy night. All I could think of as I stood in the shower some minutes later, was that she had plans for Chris to disappear after dinner so we could have some fun. With my mind finally calmed a little with a possible explanation, I finished showering and got dressed for work, wearing the sexy red underwear for her.

m_storyman_x
m_storyman_x
10,322 Followers