Sandy Ch. 03

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


When we had dried ourselves off and were back in the bedroom, she watched me start getting dressed. We were both silent; it was the obvious time to suggest when we would meet again, obviously Friday evening with the others, but if we were going to make love – better, have sex – again, it was her place, her option, … or did she want me to suggest a date without sex? She was still just standing there, delightfully naked, as I pulled on my pants, which seemed to accentuate the fact to her.

“I guess I better put something on,” she said softly, and opened a drawer and took out a shorty nightgown and slipped it over her head.

“Aw, you were so nice and naked.”

“Yeah, I know, but it was beginning to feel funny, with you all dressed.

“Come here. There’s something I’ve been wanting to do all evening.”

She looked a little curious as she came close to me. I pulled up her nightgown and leaned down and found her nipple with my mouth, at first all soft, but then popping out, all stiff, as I sucked as much of her breast in my mouth as I could and played with her nipple with my tongue.

“Oooh, don’t start that,” she demurred, but let me continue, and let me slide my lips over and find her other nipple. Then she pushed her nightgown down, forcing me to release her nipple, and with a snort said: “Next time.”

I hadn’t intended it to be that way, the introduction to that question, but it was a very good one.

“When? Do you want to go out?” She hesitated a moment, her nipples still erect under her nightgown:

“Do you want to come back? Tomorrow? She’ll still be away.” She glanced behind me at the bed:

“Kind of a pity to waste the clean bed.”

When I didn’t reply immediately, she added:

“Kind of a silly reason, I guess, but they are my good sheets.”

“Not at all. It would be impolite for a gentleman to refuse a lady’s invitation to her freshly made bed.”

We both snickered, and then I continued:

“I wasn’t planning to workout this much the first week, but I guess it would be good for me to get back in the routine …”

“And good for me, too,” she interrupted with a grin, and then snickered again and added:

“Besides, I need to practice some of the new stuff I learned, … while it is still fresh in my mind.”

“I bet! … Fresh where? In your fresh mouth, … and wherever else your mind is.”

Sandy laughed, and I chuckled, pleased at my turn of phrase and its reception.

Okay? Here? Tomorrow?

“Um-hmm, thank you. Just a workout, no dinner. … Oh, that was pretty blunt, sorry. Maybe just to enjoy a bottle of wine together and watch TV or something.”

“Yeah, ‘TV or something’, and the wine would be nice too.”

“I can get here by myself. What time will you be home?”

“Five thirty, say, quarter to six; the doorman will have to call me.”

Sandy handed me my jacket. As I put it on, she grinned and gathered her nightgown up to her neck and smiled as I took in her naked figure and the said cheerfully:

“I don’t know what I am doing, … but I sure know what we have done.”

“We know what we are doing,” I repeated my earlier statement. She nodded, not looking so convinced, still holding her nightgown up, so I took her breasts in my hands, and after a friendly squeeze, embraced her nude body, holding her shoulders and hips to me. She put her arms around my neck and we exchanged good kisses.

“Kind of funny, … like that painting,” she murmured when we released each other, and her nightgown dropped down to cover her.

“Um-hmm, but a good way to let me remember you.”

We parted at the door, and I headed home, only a few blocks. It was only a little past nine o’clock, which was not only surprising, but good, within the time I could be expected home from training. I wondered if I was going to be able to carry off the subterfuge. Luckily now, my family didn’t take much interest in my gymnastics, but liked that I was continuing with training, but any lie is difficult to maintain. Oh, and I had shaved! Would anyone notice? It would be obvious, if anyone happened to think about it. But then I was recalling the evening: “Real wow!” as Sandy had said about the first time she saw him come. Whatever feelings she had about her boyfriend, she certainly enjoyed sex for its own sake, for her sake, even the first time, when he had come in her hand, admitting that she was pleased to have made a man come, not just relating it to her then boyfriend. And then she had said so directly: “If you want me to. I am curious.” And she was! Had I talked her into it, … or had she already been thinking of trying it, … with whomever? Whatever, she had certainly been thinking that the evening could end in bed, and it had – well, not literally – but tomorrow …!

I was almost home and considered what I could say about training: the names of a couple of people my family didn’t know, with whom I could say that I had supper with. Then I was there, letting myself in with my key. My parents greeted me as usual with our formal handshake, and my sister came from her room to escort ataşehir say hello. I wondered if her look at my face meant that she recognized that I had shaved. She would know exactly what that suggested. I quickly repressed any thoughts of why and when. I left my jacket in my room and returned to my parents, who were satisfied with my brief description of my evening training, and remembered to mention that I was going to meet the guys again the next day. Then my mother said:

“Oh, there is a letter to us all from Martha. Nice that she wrote and seemed to have enjoyed her stay with us so much. It’s in the letter box.”

The “letter box” was the family’s in-box on my father’s desk, only approached by invitation, such as my mother’s remark. Terribly curious, especially after my mother’s comment, I nonetheless feigned only mild interest, not immediately moving to read it. Somehow, I felt that my sister would tell me about it, tell me her thoughts about it. Maybe that is why she had looked at me that way. Would Martha – I thought of her name as she and not my mother had pronounced it – have ventured to write something that I or my sister could read between the lines? I almost hoped not, for fear that it wouldn’t have escaped my parents, but also hope so, wanting to hear from her. At least, I would have her address.

I sat with my parents for the few minutes before we would all go to bed, ostensibly reading the newspaper, but really more wondering about Martha’s letter, interspersed with images of Sandy – looking down at her sucking on my cock, looking at her aroused, dripping cunt, blushing behind the paper at my thoughts and use of that word. My sister came back in one of her shorty nightgowns and bottom to say good night to us, my parents first and then to me, adding:

“You should read Martha’s letter; it’s to all of us.” And then with a glance to see that our parents were back to their reading, she stroked my cheek with a final “good night.”

Yes, she knew, I thought, thankful that she hadn’t said something about my training – good girl! With this encouragement, I excused myself, saying:

“Well, I guess I should read it.”

“Yes,” my mother agreed: “it is only polite to read every letter addressed to one.”

That sounded less suspicious, I thought as I went and found the letter, an aerogramme, the cheapest form of international airmail. Although it was closely written in her neat script and would take a while to read, I chose to remain standing at my father’s desk as I read it.

It really was a very nice an appreciative letter. She mentioned that she had arrived home safely and found her family all well, and thanked that I had driven her to the airport – harmless enough, although of greater significance to the two of us. Then she wrote how and how much she appreciated each member of the family, admitting that she really didn’t know me as well as she knew my parents and sister. That was also nice and harmless, but so contrary to the fact that again I – and my sister – could understand that she meant the opposite. When she mentioned that she hoped that she had in some way helped my sister during her stay, well, of course, that was also harmless, per se, but her comment that she thought that she had grown up a lot during the year was again something I could only hope that my parents agreed with and didn’t read anything between the lines, consoling myself that they couldn’t really. Then Martha mentioned her brothers, telling that the younger one – “whom I am closer to” – had been shown great interest in all her stories about life in America and in an American family – “although we both know that your family is exceptional and not the average.” My parents could like that, but Martha’s suggestion that her brother also understood that we were “exceptional” was open to interpretation, at least by my sister and me: had she told him how we were exceptional, maybe become “closer” to him, too …?

Oh, she went on to say that he thought that is the way their own family should be! When she continued, telling that he now had his own student room, but that she hadn’t yet visited him, I could only think that she meant for me to understand it that way. I hoped so. No one else in the family could have an interest in his living arrangements. Then she closed, sending greetings to each of us, asking them to be passed on to me if I weren’t at home.

Greatly relieved and delighted with her letter, I thought Martha’s closing remark was very clever: suggesting that she knew little about my plans for the summer; that she assumed that I might not see and read her letter; that, therefore, there wouldn’t be an special or concealed message to me in it. I had to smile to myself, glad that I hadn’t taken it back to the living room to read.

When I returned to my parents, I had the feeling that they had been waiting for me. My mother immediately said:

“Wasn’t that nice! Martha is such a nice girl. I am almost sorry that you didn’t get to know her better.”

That was almost too much, but I managed to agree that I was, kadıköy escort bayan too, without looking at my father; I had the feeling that he was somewhat suspect of the idea. I didn’t have time to wonder if I thought that he suspected that maybe we had gotten to know each other better, or was just not in agreement with my mother’s comment; she immediately continued by saying that she agreed with Martha that my sister had seemed to have grown up a lot, “especially since the spring.” That was also almost too much, especially when she added that she thought that our week together on Fire Island had been a good idea, and thanked me for having agreed “to chaperone your little sister.”

All I could manage to say was:

“Yes, it was lot better than I thought it would be. … We actually had a good time.”

Then I remembered my sister’s story for them about her bikini, and ventured:

“Uh, … sorry about the bikini.”

“That’s all right,” my father suddenly interjected: She looks good in it, but a father can be pleased to have a good looking daughter.”

My mother’s glance at him didn’t seem to show agreement, but she seldom contradicted him, compromising with:

“Perhaps, but that is not your fault,” she concluded, turning to me.

That had all gone much better than I could have hoped: Martha’s letter, the week with my sister and with Martha, their week together, and, of course, my evening with Sandy I was going to enjoy telling her – not about my sister.

My parents arose, and we all said good night and went to our rooms.

When I was in bed, my light still on, suddenly my door opened silently. It could only be my sister, not that she had ever visited me before in the night – but I had dreamt that she had, and had fears that she might. The sight of her in the door awakened the wrong feelings, especially when I suddenly remembered the night with Martha when I thought I had been sleeping with my sister. She shook her head, as if to quiet my fears, and closed the door as quietly has she had opened it and approached my bed.

“I’m not going to do anything. What did they say … about the letter?” she whispered.

I gestured that she could sit on my bed, and then I told her that Mother had really liked it, and mentioned my relief at her response. She nodded with a smile:

“Yeah, me too. I wasn’t so sure, knowing too much, … it just seemed so obvious, one thing after another: ‘an exceptional American family,’ you bet! I almost choked when I read about my seeming older. What did the parents say to that?”

“They thought so too, especially since this spring, and Mom thanked me for ‘chaperoning’ you.”

She almost choked again, and I with her, trying to stifle any noise. When we had regained our composure, I warned her to relax and told how I had apologized about her bikini, and what our father had said, and our Mother’s reaction. For a minute, she just held her hand to her mouth, her eyes smiling, as she contained her response, then finally whispering:

“Oh, that was great, thank you, … and Daddy …! I could kiss you for that.”


“I won’t,” and her expression changed: “but I would like to.”


She nodded and stroked my cheek.

“You shaved. I thought so, … and I can only think of one reason why.”

She looked at me questioningly, and when I didn’t say anything, trying to look non-committal, she whispered:

“I know you too well. … Lucky you, if it’s what I think.”

I nodded, feeling I owed it to her to confirm her thoughts – she did know me too well. She just nodded in acknowledgment and then changed the subject, back to Martha’s letter:

“What was all that about her brother? Martha’s?”

I told her a bit, the story about her showing him her first bra. My sister obviously enjoyed and understood that, and then I explained that that was at least partly why Martha had accepted what we had done. My sister really liked that, and almost immediately wondered:

“Oh, do you think they …?

“I don’t know. She sounded like she kind of liked the thought. Why not, knowing us. I was wondering if her writing that he had his own student room suggested that.”

“Oh yeah. I had forgotten that. It didn’t make much sense, but it does, if that was what she was suggesting, … and only you would know. Clever. … And the clever of her at the end, suggesting that you might not be around to read her letter. She knew you were working.”

“Yes, that is what I was thinking, but the parents seemed not to have noticed; she made it sound like we hardly knew each other.”

My sister stifled another noise, and then stroked my cheek again:

“A girl at work?”

I nodded.

“Lucky you, then. Don’t get caught. They like that you are training, … at least the way they think.”

She started to get up, and I had of vision of her nude again, getting off the bed that way the first time, but it was only a vision. At the door, she turned and mouthed “good night”, and I did too. Then she disappeared as silently as she had come. I escort bostancı turned off the light and had some confused thoughts about Martha and my sister and Sandy, and an equally confusing dream involving them and – I think – Martha’s brother, confused, but with no sex.

At breakfast, my mother suggested that my sister should reply for us all to Martha’s letter. In the past, such suggestions had usually needed more forceful repetition, but my sister readily agreed, apparently surprising our father, who said that it seemed that Martha was right about her having grown up. My sister made a pretense of saying that knew she would have to sooner or later, not to seem too agreeable, but that didn’t really change the truth of Martha’s statement, and I imagined that Martha would get a much more interesting letter than whatever one of my parents would have written.

I thought to take an additional item of training clothing with me, to underline my evening activity, and was off to work. Sandy and I kept out of each other’s way during the day, also eating lunch with different groups. Of course, when we did see each other once, our eyes met, and we both winked. I wondered if her nipples had stiffened, but we were just passing in the corridor. At the end of the day, I bought another bottle of wine, and then was headed to her apartment, wondering a little what would happen. Well, that seemed pretty obvious, but now it seemed a little strange to be going to a date with the mutual understanding that we were just going to have sex. Oh, maybe “TV or something” and wine, but we both knew we meant another “workout”. Sandy was wittier than I had thought, which I liked, but I wondered if she was having the same thoughts – despite having been so direct the evening before about wanting to use the freshly made bed. She must have slept in it last night, though. But I did have some experience with the situation – with my tutee – I recalled, and that had worked out fine. Whatever, the shower had been a good start – yeah, with my sister, too! – and certainly would be again. I slowed down to wait till quarter to six, wondering how Sandy would greet me.

The doorman called her and then let me go up. She opened the door and greeted me, not with an embrace or kiss, just saying: “Hi, there you are,” and closing the door behind me. She had taken off her shoes and also her panty hose. I presented my bottle of wine, and she thanked for it with a slight smirk at its reference to the previous evening. It was a bottle of white wine, and I followed her into the kitchen where she put it in the refrigerator, asking if we wanted a beer, getting out two cans. We opened them and skaaled and drank, still in the kitchen, and then went back to the living room. I realized that I had only sat at the dining table the night before when she suggested that we sit down. We did, on her sofa-bed, with a too long moment of silence. Then she gave me a sheepish smile and said:

“This is a little funny; I didn’t think how this would be last night.”

“Yeah, I know. I was wondering about that too on the way here.”

“Yeah, kinda, ‘come up for a drink and …'”

“Well, we’re having the drink, skaal.”

“Skaal,” and we drank and looked at each other.

“Oh, I should have offered to take your jacket. Aren’t you warm.”

“Very, thanks.”

We stood up, and I slipped off my jacket, handing it to her, and then followed her into the bedroom. When she had hung it up and turned back to me, I said:

“Isn’t this when you’re supposed to say: ‘I want to slip into something more comfortable’?”

Sandy snickered with a grin and nod and started to unbutton her blouse:

“Don’t you,”

“I don’t have anything to slip into.”

“Well, you’ll just have to go without. … Maybe I’ll want to, too.”

We both snickered and started to take of our clothes, more relaxed after finding our way past the awkward moment. When we were both down to our last underwear, Sandy looked at me and said:

“Still kinda funny, … like an old couple, just taking it off.”

“Yeah, but we aren’t, and I am watching, expectantly.”

“Hmm!” she snorted with a smile:

“Then help me,” and she stepped closer and turned for me to unhook her bra.

Of course, I didn’t just unhook it, I slid my hands around her and found her breasts, recalling their form in my hands, and she nuzzled her ass back against me as she shrugged her shoulders out of the straps and let it slide down her arms, flipping it onto the chair as she said:

“Yeah, that’s better, thanks,” and tilted her head back, presenting her ear to my lips. When I puffed in it, she pressed it to me, and my tongue explored as I held her to me.

“Um-hmmm” she sighed contentedly, and then began to push down her panties, wiggling her hips against me until they dropped to her ankles. As I was about to let go of her breasts to take mine off, she whispered:

“Don’t let go. I’ll take them off,” and reached back and did, with some difficulty, but then they also fell, and she reached back and held me to her, presenting her ear again, that had been neglected during this, purring contentedly again, and more so as one of my hands slid down and fluffed up her pubic hair and then cupped around it and held her, and she snorted when she felt my cock pressing against her ass, and then asked:

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32